by Bruce Bethke
Basalom felt a tickle in his Second Law sense and formulated a suggestion. “Mistress? If there is another place you’d rather be, we can leave for it right now. ”
Dr. Anastasi opened her eyes and smiled wistfully at the robot; the expression did interesting things to the topography of her face. Basalom quickly scanned and mapped the wrinkles around her eyes, stored the image for later study, and then backed down to normal magnification.
“No, Basalom,” Janet said, in that curiously slow output-only mode that humans used so often. “This is where I want to be. It’s just… ” Her voice tapered off into a little sigh.
Mistress Janet’s last sentence didn’t make immediate sense, so Basalom tried to parse it out. It ’ s just. That broke out to It is just. Substituting for the pronoun, he came up with Being in orbit around Tau Puppis IV is just. Quickly sorting through and discarding all the adverbial meanings of just, he popped up a window full of adjective definitions. Reasonable, proper,righteous, lawful, see Fair
Ah, that seemed to make sense. Being in orbit around Tau
Puppis N is fair.Basalom felt a warm glow of satisfaction in his grammar module. Now if he only understood what Mistress Janet meant.
Janet sighed again and finished the sentence. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking about old Stoneface again, that’s all. Sometimes I swear that man is the albatross I’ll be wearing around my neck the rest of my life. ”
Basalom started to ask Janet why she wanted to wear a terran avian with a three-meter wingspan around her neck, then thought better of it. “Stoneface, mistress?”
“Wendy. Doctor Wendell Avery. My ex-husband. ” Basalom ran a voiceprint across the bottom of his field of view and watched with familiar alarm as the hostility markers erupted like pimples in Or. Anastasi’s voice. “Derec’s father. My chief competitor. The little tin god who’s out to infest the galaxy with his little tin anthills. ”
“By which you mean the robot cities, mistress?” Janet put an elbow on the table and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “I mean exactly that, Basalom. ” She sighed, frowned, and went silent again.
Basalom stood quiet a moment, then switched to thermographic vision. As he’d expected, Or. Anastasi’s skin temperature was rising, and the major arteries in her neck were dilating. He recognized the pattern; she was building up to another angry outburst.
He was still trying to sort out the First Law implications of defusing her temper when it exploded…
“Oammit, Basalom, he’s an architect, not a roboticist!” Janet slammed a wiry fist down on the table and sent her smartbook flying. “That’s my nanotechnology he’s using. My cellular robots; my heuristic programming. But do you think he ever once thought of sharing the credit?”
She kicked the leg of the table and let out a little sob. “The Learning Machine experiments were beautiful. Three innocent, unformed minds, experiencing the universe for the first time. Unit Two, especially; growing up with those brilliant, utterly alien Ceremyons. Just think of what we could have learned from it!
“But instead, old Stoneface dropped one of his architectural nightmares not ten kilometers away and ruined the whole frosted thing. Now Unit Two is traveling with Derec-Ghu knows what kind of hash is in its brain now-and the Ceremyons won’t give us a second chance. ” Janet closed her eyes, plunked her elbows on the table, and put her face in her hands. “I don’t know what I did to deserve having that man in my life, but you’d think I’d have paid for that sin by now. ” Her voice fell silent; a little sound that may have been a sob slipped through her fingers.
Basalom watched and listened, the mass of chaotic potentials that symbolized uncertainty surging through his positronic brain. Mistress Janet was in some kind of pain; he understood that. And pain was equivalent to harm, that was also clear. But while the First Law kept demanding that he take some action to remove that pain, seven centuries of positronic evolution still hadn’t resolved the question of how to comfort a crying woman.
He was saved from further confusion by a message from the scanning team that came in over his commlink accompanied by the video image of the sensor stalk at full extension. “Mistress? The sensor pod is deployed and operational. ”
She did not respond. A minute later, an update followed. “The scanning team reports contact with the transponder on the aeroshell, mistress. The flight recorder appears to be intact. ” Pause. More data flashed through Basalom’s mind, and a tactical plot of the planet with projected and actual reentry curves popped up in his head. “The pod made a soft landing within 200 meters of the planned landing site. Learning Machine #1 was discharged according to program. Preliminary imprinting had begun. All indicators were nominal. ”
After a few seconds, Dr. Anastasi asked, “And then?”
“The umbilical was severed, as programmed. There has been no further contact with Unit # 1 since that time. ”
Janet sat up, brushed back a few loose strands of her grayblond hair, and dabbed at the corner of one eye with the cuff of her lab coat. “Very good,” she said at last. She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. “Very good indeed. Basalom, tell the scanning team to begin searching for the learning machine. Contact me the moment they find any sign
of it. ” She began moving toward the door. “I’ll be, uh, freshening up. ”
“Your orders have been relayed, mistress. ” At the door, she paused and softly said, “And thanks for listening, Basalom. You’re a dear. ” She turned and darted out of the cabin.
Basalom felt the draining flow of grounded-out potentials that was the robotic equivalent of disappointment. Dr. Anastasi had called him a deer, but she’d left the cabin before he could ask her to explain his relationship to Terran herbivores of the genus Cervidae.
Chapter 2. The Hill Of Stars
It was an old tradition, older than robotics itself. As was the case with so many of the behaviors passed down to robots from their human forebears, City Supervisor 3 found it to be slightly illogical; with the development of modern telecommunications technology, it had been several centuries since it was actually necessary for the participants in a conversation to meet physically. Yet traditions have a way of developing an inertia all their own, and so when City Supervisor 3-or as he was usually called, Beta-received the summons to an executive conference, he readily bowed to centuries of custom, delegated his current task to Building Engineer 42, and set out for the Compass Tower.
Not that it had been a terribly interesting task, anyway. He’d spent the last few weeks overseeing subtle changes in building designs, and the task he’d left was just one more round in a pattern of minor refinements. Beta’s personality programming was not yet eccentric enough for him to admit to feeling bored, but ever since Master Derec had reprogrammed the robot city to cease expansion, he’d felt a certain sense of frustrated potentials. Installing a new and improved cornice simply didn’t give him the same warm glow of satisfaction as came from, say, completing an entire block of luxury apartments.
Still,Beta reminded himself, a job ’ s a job. And any job that keeps robots out of the recycling bin is worthwhile. Unbidden, a statement of the Third Law flashed through his mind: A robot must protect its own existence, as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws. ” Yes, Beta thought, that ’ s what we ’ re doing. Protecting our existence. As long as we have jobs, we can justify our continued existence. The Third Law potential resolved to a neat zero sum and stopped bothering him.
As he strolled toward the nearest tunnel stop, Beta allocated a few seconds to look around and review his earlier work. The avenue was broad, clean, and straight as a laser beam. The buildings were tall, angular, and functional, with no outrageous flights of engineering fantasy but enough variation in the use of geometric solids to keep the city from looking monotonous.
We certainly have fulfilled our original purpose. We have constructed a city that ’ s clean, bright, and beautiful.One of the advantages of being a robot was that Beta
could crane his neck and look up at the buildings without slowing his walking pace. Perhaps we overdid it on the gleaming pale blue, though. Maybe next week we can paint a few things, just for contrast. Looking down again, Beta found the entrance to the tunnel stop. He started down the ramp. Along the way, he passed a number of idle function robots.
For a moment he considered ordering them to report to the recycling bin. Then he felt a pang of-could it be guilt? -atthe idea of destroying even non-positronic robots simply for the crime of being unemployed. Pausing a few microseconds, he managed to think up a busywork assignment for them. It was an illogical notion, of course, but he thought he detected a certain primitive kind of gratitude in the way they clanked off to their new jobs.
In a sense, we ’ re all function robots. Some of us are a little more self-aware than others, that ’ s all. Those function robots clean and lube things; I create gleaming, perfect buildings.
Why?
A dangerous question: Already, Beta could feel the stirring of a latent general command to self -destruct if he was no longer serving a useful purpose. Fortunately, with the summons to the executive council still fresh in his input register, he was able to duck that issue. He continued down the ramp.
A half-dozen idle tunnel transit platforms were waiting at the bottom of the ramp. Beta boarded the first one in the queue and gave it his destination. “Compass Tower. ” A fast scanning beam swept over him; the transit platform determined that its passenger was robotic and jumped into traffic with a necksnapping jolt.
Always these subtle reminders,Beta thought. The city was built for humans. Yet we who live here are not human.
The platform shot through the tunnels at maximum speed, darting across lanes and dodging other platforms with reckless abandon. Beta locked his hands tightly on the grips and became a rigid part of the platform.
The force of air alone would knock a human off this platform despite the windscreen. Yet because I am a robot, the tunnel computer trades off safety for efficient traffic flow.
We built this city for humans. We are only caretakers. So where are the humans?
An interesting question, indeed. And one that Beta could not answer.
With another rough jolt, the transit platform slid into the station beneath the Compass Tower and slammed to a stop. Beta unlocked his wrist and knee joints and stepped off; he only had one foot on solid pavement when the platform rocketed off into the storage queue. As i/there was a hurry. Beta looked around the station, saw no one waiting to go anywhere, and dismissed the experience with the positronic equivalent of a shrug. Moving off the apron, he located the ascending slidewalk ramp and started up.
The meeting was to be held in the Central Hall. An apt name, Beta thought. This pyramid we call the Compass Tower is the geographical center of the city. And Central Hall is at the heart of the pyramid. That wasn’t the real reason it was called that, of course; the name came from the fact that the hall housed Central, the enormous, disembodied positronic brain that ultimately controlled all activity in Robot City.
Or used to, anyway.Beta stepped off the last run of slidewalk and entered the cavernous hall.
He was immediately stopped by two hunter robots, tall and menacing in their matte-black armor. Tolerantly, Beta submitted to being surface-scanned, deep-radared, and bitmapped. He was all too familiar with the need for tight security in this, the most critical of all places. After all, it was a lapse in security in this very room that had elevated him to the rank of Supervisor.
The hunters apparently were satisfied that he was who he claimed to be, and had legitimate reason for coming to Central Hall. They waved Beta through the checkpoint, and a moment later he stepped around the corner and got a good look at Central.
Even in its disabled state, Central was an impressive being. A collection of massive black slabs five meters high, resembling nothing so much as a silicon Stonehenge, it blazed with communication lasers, twinkled with monitor lights, and radiated an immense impression of great, dormant intellect on the 104 megahertz band.
At least, we hope it ’ s intellect.A vague mismatch of positronic potentials flowed through Beta’s brain; he identified the feeling as sadness. Pausing a moment, he watched the security observer robots drift overhead in tight, metric patterns, and stole sidelong glances at Positronic Specialists I through 5, who were once again up to their elbows in Central’s brain.
Beta was capable of free-associating. Looking at the brain crew at work always reminded him of that terrible day
Terrible?Beta caught himself. A judgmental expression? Yes, Beta decided, it was terrible. Great responsibility had devolved on him that day a year before, when a malleable robot named SilverSides had appeared and adopted the wolf-like shape of the local dominant species. Breaking into Central Hall, it had attempted to destroy Central.
In that respect, SilverSides had failed. The backup and protective systems had kicked in in time to save Central’s “life. ”
The city had survived, and Central’s authority was simply distributed to first-tier supervisors, like Beta.
In another respect, though, SilverSides had succeeded. Where once Central was a scintillating intellect that guided all the robots in the city and kept them working and thinking in harmony, now it was a babbling idiot-savant, full of bits and pieces of ideas, only occasionally lucid.
Still, we keep believing that it can be restored. We keep telling ourselves that the damage caused by SilverSides can be repaired. and that it can again be the Central we once knew.
Is this another example of how we are evolving? Simple efficiency demands that we scrap Central and leave the supervisors permanently in charge. Yet we supervisors are reluctant to even suggest the idea. We keep insisting that our authority is only temporary. and that we will return power to Central just as soon as it passes diagnostics. That only Central is equipped to administer our fundamental programming.
Could that be the difference between being intelligent and being civilized? Valuing preservation of a fellow robot over efficiency?Caught between his evolving values and his orders to use resources efficiently, Beta felt himself drifting closer and closer to a Second Law crisis.
He was saved by the arrival of his fellow supervisors, Alpha and Gamma. Alpha spoke first. “Friend Beta, I have-with Central’s permission-called this meeting to discuss the status of our mission. ”
Beta turned to greet the arriving robots. “Friend Alpha, Friend Gamma: I received your summons and I am here. ” Beta couldn’t help but noting that his reply was a redundant statement of a self-evident fact; still the traditions had to be maintained. Alpha and Gamma walked past without breaking stride. Beta wheeled and joined them. Together, the three marched straight into the atrium at the heart of Central.
When they were in their assigned positions, Alpha raised his face and addressed the slab that held Central’s console of audio/ video inputs and outputs. “Central, we are here for the meeting. “
“Hmmm?” Central’s one great red eye glowed briefly, then dimmed.
“The meeting, Central. You remember, to discuss the status of our mission?”
“I have the greatest confidence in the mission,” Central said.
“That’s right, Central, we all have confidence in it. ” Beta and Gamma nodded, in support of Alpha. “And, now, if it’s okay with you, we’re going to discuss the status. ”
“What status?”
“Of the mission, Central. ”
“I have the greatest confidence in the mission,” Central said, then he began softly singing “Daisy. ”
Alpha emitted a burst of white noise and turned to Beta and Gamma. “Let’s get on with this. Beta, what exactly is our mission?”
Beta knew that Alpha and Gamma were both exactly as familiar with the mission as he was. After all, it was darned tough to forget something that was coded in ROM. Still, there were traditions that needed to be maintained, and the recitation of common knowledge was one of them.
“Robot
City is a self-replicating mechanism designed to convert uninhabited planets for human use. Through the use of hyperspace teleportation keys and a unique, cellular robot technology-”
“That’s enough, Beta. ” Alpha waved a hand to cut him off. “Gamma, what do you think is the most important word in our mission statement?”
Gamma’s eyes glowed brightly. “The same word that’s the crux of the Laws of Robotics. Human. ”
“Right. ” Alpha looked at Beta again, then back to Gamma. “We have successfully established a viable robotic community on this planet. We have initiated mining operations, developed a manufacturing base, and-insofar as Master Derec allowed-built a city. What’s the one thing missing that prevents us from completing our mission plan?”
Beta thought of his clean, straight, empty streets, and his perfect, unused buildings.
“Humans,” Central said. The heads of all three supervisors jerked up as if they were marionettes on strings.
“Central?” Alpha asked. The great machine’s one red eye glowed brightly. “French: humain. Latin: humanus; akin to humus, the ground. Pertaining to, belonging to, or having the qualities of mankind. ‘The human species is composed of two distinct races, the men who borrow, and the men who lend. ’ Charles Lamb. ”
Alpha looked down again. “Forget it, Central. ”
“Forgetting. ” The red eye went out a moment and then came back on. “Oh, Alpha, you came to visit!”
“For-” Alpha caught himself. Turning to the other two supervisors, he said, “So this is our problem. How do we serve humans if there are no humans here to serve?”
Gamma thought this over a moment. “There are humans on other planets, correct?”
“We can presume so. ”
“And they have some means of travel?”
“Again, we can presume so. ”
“Then we ca-ca-ca-”
Beta reached through to Gamma by commlink. Priority override. Abort thought pattern. Gamma’s eyes dimmed, and he twitched involuntarily as the reset command upset his joint motors.