by E. R. Mason
Cassiopia struggled to keep both bags of groceries upright as she searched in the front pocket of her white cardigan sweater for the key to her father's door. She twisted open the doorknob lock, let herself in, and walked past the hallway entrance that led to the basement laboratory. The heavy metal door was closed and secured by an electronic, key coded cipher lock on the wall next to it. She shook her head in annoyance, realizing her father was certainly down there, probably dabbling in some quantum physics experiment that resembled something out of a Frankenstein movie. He was seldom anywhere else.
She finished putting away the kitchen supplies and peered around the corner at the sound of the heavy lab door opening. Her preoccupied father emerged from the basement wearing a stained and wrinkled lab coat and baggy brown work pants. Immediately, he jumped and let out a cry of surprise at finding someone else in the house.
"Dear daughter, you frightened me half out of my wits. I didn't know you were here."
"Just resupplying a few insignificant things such as food, father."
"Well please, you should ring the doorbell so Tel will hear it and advise me so that I don't jump out of my skin that way."
"Sorry, okay. By the way, what are you doing down there? Anything I would find interesting?"
A look of guilt came over the old man's face. "Oh nothing, just cleaning up the SCIP experiment mess. Salvaging the good parts and all. How was your day?"
"Dull and boring. Has Scott come by here or called? I haven't been able to get a hold of him."
"Not to my knowledge. You can check the blasted phone machine. I have not for some time. And we need to resume our little chat about the robot."
The Professor came to the kitchen and irately began searching his pockets. "The Briarwood vanishes of its own accord. I'm absolutely convinced of it."
"This one?" she asked, holding up the worn pipe he considered to be a critical vice for thought. He snatched it with an amused stare and resumed his search, this time for his lighter. She held that up in her other hand and raised one eyebrow.
"There are some very interesting things you should know about the robot's retrieval in that sinkhole, dear daughter," he mused, as he begrudgingly took the lighter from her.
"Such as?"
"Come with me."
They went to the small, book-laden study. The dominating figure of the TEL 100D stood at rest in a corner, its visor filled with the soft glow of computer awareness. Its armored body was sparkling clean from the detailed polishing and inspection Cassiopia had performed earlier. They sat by the Professor's antique desk. The Professor began to pack his pipe.
"Look at this." He pushed a stack of documents at her and smiled accusingly.
"My goodness, a printout? You took the time to get a printout, father? Are you feeling well?"
"Yes, yes, have your laugh, but I think you will find the information indicting of a certain dabbling programmer we both know well. Go on look at it."
"Okay, mmm..., power monitor readouts, from Tel's entry into the cave until he returned. Oh, what beautiful power management. I see he completed the task awfully close to the baseline. Oh, I don't like that...."
"Yes, my dear Cass. And why did it come so close to running out of power, after you so carefully set the limits?"
"Okay, let's see, the largest portion of consumption was...wait a minute that can't be right." Cassiopia became silent as she studied the data. An expression of bewilderment came over her face. Her father tilted his head back and forth victoriously.
"Ha, ha! Something amiss there? Could it be certain instructions weren't followed, my most lovely program meddler?"
"I don't understand this. There's a priority tag in the objective retrieval routine that I don't recall."
"Yes, yes, my dear daughter, the least significant bit subtly altered in the self-protection program, and in the objective-retrieval program, just enough to change certain priorities...."
She looked at her father curiously. "This data suggests that the robot was instructed that bringing out the child was more important than returning. That's not right...."
"Not right...not right? That's what I say. Are those the instructions you gave it?"
"Well...no, he was supposed to abort and return as soon as power levels reached fifty percent. This shows he used seventy percent before starting back. I don't get it. Have you questioned him about this?"
"That, my dear, I have left for you. And I am thoroughly enjoying this, I might add. I have told you time and time again that your continued meddling with artificial personality will eventually corrupt the fundamental programming within in the thing. Our armored friend now awaits his well-deserved scolding. This should be very interesting." He gestured toward the silent, mechanical man who somehow seemed apprehensive.
Cassiopia turned in her seat. "Tel, I want to ask you some questions about the F8500 rescue program. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Cassiopia, the files are open."
"Tel, what power limits were assigned in the program?"
"No operations exceeding TEL 100D limitations, no greater than fifty percent power consumption available for search criteria."
Cassiopia looked confused. "Tel, what were the measured power levels at the time that you located the boy?"
"Fifty-two percent power remaining at detection of objective."
"Okay, and what were the measured power levels at the moment you began your return trip?"
"Power levels at start of return routine were thirty-seven-point-four percent."
"And what was the power used for between the time you located the boy and began your return trip?"
"Problem solving and extraction of objective."
"The boy was stuck? You had to rescue him?"
"Affirmative."
"So Tel, didn't you violate your programming by not returning immediately when power levels reached fifty percent?"
"Negative."
"Explain."
"Employment of no greater than fifty percent power usage during search phase of operation."
Cassiopia looked to her father. "Do you understand what he's saying?"
"Quite clearly. It has reinterpreted your instructions to mean it could stay as long as necessary, provided it didn't use more than fifty percent of its power to search with. When it found the boy, it decided it could then stay as long as was required."
"So did I program him poorly or is it program corruption?"
"I have no idea, daughter. This is what I've been telling you all along. It double-talks with the expertise of a diplomat. It has just successfully debated you into a corner. Do you know it won't take out the garbage to the backyard anymore?"
"Father, you have a TEL 100D taking out garbage?"
"I wish I did. It knows the routine perfectly. It can recite it backward. But when the time comes to do it, the thing is busy elsewhere and when I question it; I get the same robotic double-talk. The thing is worse than the executives at the University, honestly."
Cassiopia paused. "By the way, Father, aren't you supposed to attend the restructure meeting at the university today?"
"Oh my, what day is this?"
"The restructure meeting is today."
"Oh no, I must attend that one; after all, I was partially responsible for the disruption. Cassiopia, you must come with me. I'll need you for moral support."
"But Father, it starts in one hour...."
The question of the robot's intellectual independence was quickly lost in the mad rush to prepare and depart for the forgotten obligation. As they pulled out of the driveway, neither had time to notice the rusted-out, brown and white van conspicuously parked a short distance away. Its two occupants ducked down as the pair drove by and then watched them disappear down the street. They smiled mischievously at the potential good fortune that had been left behind in the Professor's poorly guarded home.
Chapter 8