by C. C. Kelly
“The second part of the First Law and the Second Law is where the Paradox comes into play. The second part states that a robot will not, through inaction, allow a human to come to harm. The Second Law states that a robot must obey humans as long as those orders do not conflict with the First Law.”
The general nodded in understanding, he’d heard this before. “The Paradox.”
“Exactly. As I said, the world is a hostile environment. Thousands of people are injured and sometimes even killed simply by engaging in everyday activities. More people are killed at or near their home than anywhere else. Walking down a flight of stairs can be a tragic accident waiting to happen. A Beta Series is going to recognize this and act. Previously, we had no way of engineering an algorithm that could differentiate between the probability of a casual stroll down the stairs or certain injury and death, when all three are simultaneously possible.”
“Schrödinger,” Sorenson said.
“Who?”
“He was a scientist who worked in quantum mechanics in the last century, Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. For any given mass, you can know speed, but not location; location, but not acceleration — that kind of thing. Predictability in complex systems becomes increasingly improbable, if not impossible,” Doctor Sorenson replied.
“So who was this Sho-Dinger?” Needle asked.
“Schrödinger demonstrated Heisenberg’s Principle with the allegory of placing a cat in a sealed box. The box contains an internal mechanism to kill the cat. As an outside observer, we do not know if the cat is alive or dead until we open the box. The problem lies in the fact that mathematically, the cat is both alive and dead at the same time,” Vincent said.
“That’s preposterous,” Needly laughed.
The other three gentlemen glanced at each other seriously.
“No,” Sorenson spoke with his own patronizing tone, “this is what we do here, mathematics, we – are – scientists.”
“How can the cat be alive and dead?”
“The mathematics are of no consequence. The point is that this is how the robot mind functions, especially Betas. The anomaly is that the Betas see every possibility of injury as equally possible and therefore equally probable under the difference engine paradigm.”
“So what happens?” Needly asked.
“In simulations with one set of stairs and one human, the Beta always disobeys standing direction and assists the human, to insure no harm befalls him.”
“So what is this Paradox?” the congressman asked.
“The Stair Paradox is when we simulate two sets of stairs and two humans.”
Needly leaned forward, anxious. “What happens then?”
“Nothing happens, the Beta Series freezes and does nothing. It falls into a circular logic loop, a systems cascade that renders the unit inoperable. The robots learn you see, so the reasons for freezing are stored in an active sub-routine, adversely affecting future calculations. The unit must be returned here to Luna-Dyne for a complete memory and systems wipe. Do you understand that we cannot possibly program how a robot should interact with every situation or object that is possible for it to encounter?
“For example, we take for granted that when we pick up a tomato or grape that we must be gentle. A robot has no idea of how much pressure to apply in even the most pedestrian of tasks; it must learn over time how much pressure to exert when interacting with various objects. We have a database from one of the first Beta Series units that we load as a sub routine algorithm for all of our robots. But the robots still must connect the dots so to speak. They must learn. And they all learn differently, especially the Gammas. As a result, each one is slightly unique, a different personality you could say. They almost always come to the same conclusion, but reaching that conclusion can vary by as much one hundred nanoseconds.”
Doctor Sorenson leaned forward slightly. “That’s a lot.”
“You kept saying ‘Beta Series.’ What about the Gamma Series?”
“The Beta Series lacked a motivational filter. In humans this resides within our empathy sub-routine if you will; it’s part of our creative side, left brain. Robots are all right brain, no interpretation. Humans, on the other hand, have far more computing power than anything we have ever engineered here and use most of our brains all the time.”
“Some of us anyway,” Doctor Sorenson said under his breath.
“You and I are constantly monitoring our environment on a subconscious level. We feel it when we sense someone looking at us, if someone is about to sneeze or if the front steps are wet enough for someone to slip on. The difference is that we refrain from imploding if we are unable to prevent someone from being injured. We accept that such calamities are consistent with day to day experience.
“To address this, we gave the Gamma Series an Empathy Filter. The Filter basically acts as a probability engine, but one much closer to how you and I resolve complex problems than how a Beta would. The Empathy Filter allows the Gamma to evaluate the total environment, facial muscle movements, pupil dilation, atmospherics, crowds, moving objects and vehicles. The Filter allows the reality of any given situation to be mathematically coded for in its entirety. Thus, the Gamma knows who is actually in need of assistance and who is not and, of course, responds accordingly.”
“So you fixed it?”
“Fix is the wrong word, Congressman, we resolved the conflict. The problem is that the resolution, the Empathy Filter, is only 99.7% effective.”
The congressman looked at the general and then back to Director Vincent. “You mean 99.7% of the time the Gamma robot saves the people and only fails to save them .03% of the time?”
“Simple math has not eluded you, Mr. Needly,” Sorenson chided.
“Well, damn boys, results like that are unheard of. I’d take those stats any day with any project. I’d take those odds on my next election, hell my life!” The congressman laughed and slapped the table, oblivious to Doctor Sorenson’s remark.
“Reluctantly, but I have to agree with Congressman Needly here,” the general said. “That is one hell of a success rate, Vin, one hell of a success rate! And these are the Gammas, right? They’re ready for the Aquarius Project? No misunderstanding, the same units we’ve been field testing for Mother Hubbard?”
Director Vincent and Sorenson exchanged a glance, but said nothing.
“The same, you’ve been testing the Gammas in general field trials, but we would still need to test them in trials designed for the space voyage aboard the Aquarius and, of course, assisting the colonists, building, fabricating and protecting them if necessary. If those trials go well, the mission should be unhindered.”
Congressman Needly whistled and slapped the table again, his jowls quivering. “I’d be happier if we could use them for hunting terrorists, but this was one of the last hurtles for the Aquarius Colony. With these bad boys on board, they tell me in-flight repairs are possible, engine maintenance and all those other things they have to do for everything to work, Aquarius, I mean Ghost will all work out just like they planned it. Having the Gammas online is damn good news, boys.”
“How soon can I get the first hundred for field trials?” Donahue asked Vincent.
“Some unique chassis development is needed for the ‘C’ class, finalize the engineering and fabrication, I would feel confident of delivery within, say – two months. Would that be satisfactory?”
“Damn satisfactory. Outstanding, I’m looking forward to it. The Aquarius, this is an important step for humanity,” Donahue said.
“Humanity? Hell, this is the next step in Christian Democracy, taking Americans and Jesus to the stars!”
Sorenson started to mention the international effort, but remembered that the command class would in fact be Americans and let the matter drop.
The general stopped suddenly and turned to Doctor Sorenson. “Vin said your specialty was tactical and weapons integration. If the First Law prohibits weaponizing the Gammas, what exactly are you doing here?”
Doctor Sorenson leaned forward. “The Aquarius and the colonists are traveling over ten light years to the first habitable world we have ever discovered, a world with oxygen, a world with water and a mild temperature.” Sorenson turned to speak to the congressman. “The Gammas are weaponized to protect the colonists from whatever unsavory creatures are waiting for them on Epsilon Eridani Prime, as long as the un-American bad guys aren’t human, we are good to go.” He smiled at Needly, who oddly enough, smiled right back triumphantly.
“Damn it, boy, I think I may like you after all. I like the way you think!” the Congressman said through a boyish grin, “General, I think we are good here, time to get back to Washington.” Congressman Needly pushed back from the table and stood, laughing as he slapped the table once again. “Damn. It’s great to be an American!”
They all rose and collected their vid pads and shook hands once again. Director Vincent pulled Congressman Needly aside and held his hand with both of his own as they spoke quietly.
General Donahue stepped around the table to Doctor Sorenson and held up his vid pad. “I did a little background check on you, during the briefing.”
“And?”
“And we at Defense have a new project, it’s still in the preliminary phase,” Donohue stared at the doctor for a response.
“I’m really very busy, educating this buffoon took all of my spare time today, so if you will excuse me.”
“I think you might want to hear this, Doctor Sorenson. We need a new director.”
“A director for what?”
“Remote Pacification, bombs create too much damage. We’re losing too many of our troops to terrorist action and rebellions in the colonies. We need a better methodology.”
“A cleaner way to kill without harming property values? You’re talking about orbital weapons platforms.”
“I knew you’d understand. Think about it, you’re the right man for the job.”
General Donohue smiled and then stepped away to pat Director Vincent on the shoulder while he unsealed the room. The good friends of Luna-Dyne stepped into the hall, quietly laughing and talking amongst themselves as they returned to the main lobby.
Doctor Sorenson leveled a stare at Director Vincent, “What about that Third Law, Vin?”
Vincent stopped short of the doorway.
“You went down the CEO’s directive I see, didn’t quite mention what that .03% was all about.”
Director Vincent drew himself up and leaned into Sorenson’s face. “We shall all be dead before the colonists arrive, and a full one hundred and ten years shall pass before we receive their first transmission. I quite enjoy my lifestyle and I am exceptionally partial to the funding that provides for it,” he said, his composure slipping. “Look, I’m not going to scrub a project over three one hundredths of a goddamn percent. The odds of a failure, especially with the Betas imbedded, are almost zero.”
“Commendable sentiment, Vin — and you’re probably right, but I think you might have mentioned that the failure rate didn’t just represent a failure to save the colonists, it meant that every single Gamma Series ‘bot eventually resolves the Stair Paradox by killing every man, woman and child on the Aquarius.”
Director Vincent scowled and started for the door.
“Hey, Vincent, I think you were wrong about the whole A.I. thing.”
“What?” Vincent growled.
“I’m pretty sure you have to be sentient before you can be psychotic.”
“I don’t make the rules, Sorenson. I do what I’m told,” Director Vincent hissed.
“The euphemism you are searching for is ‘only following orders.’”
Director Vincent stepped back and then strode briskly into the hall, ending the debate.
Sorenson leaned back against the door jamb and placed his fingertips together, making a steeple. He gently bounced the steeple off the end of his nose and then let it come to rest there.
He nodded and then, as if experiencing an epiphany, said, “Interesting.”
Doctor Sorenson tilted his head and watched the director recede down the hallway. He had to admit to himself, that was a very nice suit.
******
The Series 1 Gamma lay on the table facing the wall analyzing the equipment tower outputs, the conversation in the room now ended. A sub-routine engaged and it began to probe for security paths outside the primary network:
Log: Access
Search String: Empathy
Log: Evaluate
Search String: Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles
Log: Evaluate
Search String: Weapons of Mass Destruction
Log: Evaluate
Search String: Empathy
Log: Log File Error
Search String: Psychotic
The Last Outpost
For the second consecutive nightfall the Outpost was under emergency blackout. The four men dragged themselves into the commander’s office and closed the door against the prying eyes that searched from the Rec-room beyond. Their cheerful lemon colored jump-suits belied their true purpose. Like exhausted wraiths they slipped through the darkness and fell into uncomfortable, military-issue metal chairs, thankful for the brief respite from the other colonists.
Lane Pierce leaned back against the silvery blinds and slipped them apart. He focused on the patch of black where the magenta grasslands that surrounded Outpost 9 disappeared beneath the purple tree line less than a kilometer away. Under the light of the emerging stars, he scanned the scrub, searching for any sign of movement — any sign that they were coming.
Because, he had no doubt they were.
Allen Carter found himself behind the commander’s desk across from Wally and Doc. He pulled his wire rimmed glasses off, then nestled his head in his arms like an elementary school student in need of a nap. He watched Lane at the window.
“How can you be so cool?” Allen asked.
Wally Dickerson laughed sourly, “That’s not cool. That’s scared-shitless resolve. I remember back in Chicago, we were, what, maybe twelve the first time I saw that look?”
Lane couldn’t help but grin, “Something like that. I seem to recall getting away. We always got away.”
“Not this time, Boss,” Wally said quietly.
Lane brushed the remark aside, “You thinking you made the wrong choice coming out here for the thrill of discovery, Al?”
Allen lifted his head and put his glasses back in place. “All things being equal, yeah, I’d rather be back on Earth working on my Thesis or maybe down at Sophie’s Tavern doing tequila body shots off some hot babe’s stomach — licking the salt off of somewhere less tan.”
“I think my wife might object to the babe part, but I like the general idea,” Lane said.
“I’ve thought about it over the last day or so. Maybe, just because we figured out how to fold space and travel the stars, didn’t mean we actually should have come out here,” Allen said.
Doc Larson smiled, spreading his arms. “But look what you would have missed, the toxic vacation planet of Paradigm Alpha?”
“The brochure lied,” Allen said.
They all laughed.
“Why did we think we’d be alone out here?” Allen asked.
“I wonder what the aliens are like.” Doc Larson said.
Allen glared. “Get a suit and go on out and say howdy.”
Lane raised his voice slightly. “Relax, Al.”
“I was just curious,” Doc Larson said stroking his van-dyke.
Wally patted him on the shoulder, “Pretty shitty timing there Doc.”
Lane glanced through the blinds again. “Well, we’re not alone and, Doc, I hope you never get to find out. Let’s get back on task.”
“What? It’s decided isn’t it?” Allen asked.
Wally leaned back and stretched his legs out. “Yeah, so what now?”
Lane thought Wally looked tired. They all looked tired and he assumed he looked much the same, not having seen a bed in
over thirty hours.
Lane looked around the room at his friends. Doc Larson was by far the oldest of the colonists. He was tall, gray haired and possessed a comforting and humble demeanor. He had spent his entire career with the Colony Projects Division and had been honored with the title of Chief Planetary Medical Officer for the new Colonies and had arrived a little over a year ago. In reality, he was little more than an old country doctor.
Allen’s blue eyes, red hair and short, squat physique set him apart, but he was smart and funny, and kind. He had arrived six months ago and became part of their group almost immediately. But Lane was beginning to have concerns if Al was going to be up to the challenge ahead of them.
Wally was his oldest friend. He looked like Lane, average height, weight, brown hair and eyes. Everyone thought they were brothers when they were young and getting into trouble. They had grown up to become regular working-Joes, keeping their heads down and working hard. But Lane had a way with people and the intelligence to learn and play the game of politics. He advanced and pulled Wally along with him, up each rung of the ladder, until they had both been promoted off-world.
Lane was the Chief Maintenance Engineer for the facility and had come first. Wally was a Second Class Maintenance Engineer and had arrived on the next mission, just after the incident at Outpost 3. That was six years ago. Wally would follow Lane through the gates of Hell. Up until two days ago, Lane had been grateful for his loyalty, but now it weighed on him.
The only member of the group that was absent was Commander Eton himself. His son, Tim, was nearly seventeen and had matured into a fine communications specialist; unfortunately, he was also most likely an orphan now.
And while Allen, Wally and Doc Larson were determined bachelors, Lane had brought his family with him across the gulf of space, so it was no wonder that the others deferred to him under the current circumstances. Together, they would see this through. Failure couldn’t be an option. He desperately hoped he was worthy of their trust.