Another Girl, Another Planet

by Lou Antonelli

  I squinted. “What were robots doing in the lobby of the hotel at that time of night?”

  Sherry pursed her lips. “Oh, I don’t know. Why do people sometimes check into a hotel late at night?”

  I looked down at her as she raised an eyebrow and turned away.

  I took a transport to the constabulary. It was a new one and its rubber wheels were nice and quiet, and allowed me to think along the way. When I walked in, the large piece of surface junk was sitting in the lobby. Jenny was at her desk.

  “Good morning, Officer Jenny. I see you have a large body of evidence.”

  “Yes, Mister Shuster.”

  “Is the constable in?”

  “Which one? Constable Coltingham or Deputy Constable Mattern?”

  “Either.”

  “The deputy is in. I will buzz him.”

  After a minute, Mattern came out. He looked at me and then the scrap. “Here is the culprit,” he said with a theatrical sweep of his hand.

  “I saw it last night, in the lobby of the hotel. Up close and personal.”

  “It was just brought here by emergency response staff,” he said, looking it up and down. “We have to catalog it. It is evidence.”

  “Have you examined it? Do we know what it is?”

  “It’s an old carrying case for robot attachment tools,” he said brusquely. “Someone must have been doing work outside, ferrying attachments to robot workers, and they forgot this case behind some dune.”

  “That’s illegal, isn’t it?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s illegal dumping. Not a serious crime.”

  “That thing came hurtling at Dome One and busted out a window, compromising a whole sector,” I said. “Where’s it from?”

  Mattern pointed theatrically to where you could clearly see a Tesla logo.

  “When you’re done with whatever you need to do with it, let us return it to them, then.”

  “Us?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes, us. When the structural integrity of the colony is compromised because of some illegal dumping, it becomes an administration problem,” I said.

  “Oh, bollocks,” he muttered.

  I snapped my fingers just to irritate him. “You know, I haven’t met Mister Gerry Kurland yet. It’s about time I paid him a call. I would have thought our paths would have crossed by now. He didn’t even attend the memorial service for Governor Wilder.”

  Coltingham strode in. “You don’t know your place, son,” he growled. “He’s way above you.”

  I turned to face him.

  “I have a commission from the U.S. Government in the interstellar space program confirmed by the Presidium of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, which says right now, in the absence of higher authority, I’m technically running this truck stop,” I said. “Are you working for the space program, or him? Who do you answer to? Tesla or the space admin?”

  Mattern took a step backward.

  “I’m just saying, there’s no need to create a confrontation,” he said Coltingham. “He’s a very important local leader, and this was probably an unintentional abandonment. Nothing more serious, legally, than littering, if that.”

  “People die in accidents, and there are laws against negligence,” I said. “When did Tesla become above the law?”

  I turned to Officer Jenny. “Call Tesla and see when we can visit and return this piece of junk.”

  “Don’t give my employee direct orders!” snapped Coltingham.

  “Somebody needs to show some initiative,” I said as he scowled at me. “You two look like you wouldn’t piss on me if my shoes were on fire.”

  Jenny’s eyes darted between us like she was confused. Coltingham glared at me, but I stared him down.

  He straightened up suddenly. “I don’t have to take this kind of abuse!”

  “As a matter of fact, you do. Or did you forget that your law enforcement commission has to be renewed at the start of each year, and Wilder didn’t do it before he died? You both have gotten very complacent,” I said as I reached in my coat pocket. “As interim administrator, I can sign it now, or write down another name.”

  “There’s no one else you could replace me with!” he blurted.

  “I don’t know, Ivan Iglyztin would do nicely. He’s friendly and likes me and would probably listen to my advice.”

  “Gunter’s right-hand-man in customs? He’s a dumb grunt,” said Mattern. I thought that was ironic.

  “Yes, but he’s my dumb grunt.”

  I stared at him, and he saw I meant business. I’m good at that kind of bluffing, too.

  His shoulders slumped. “Very well, what do you want from me?”

  “I want a case opened, something that can be dangled over Kurland’s head to remind him he’s not above the law,” I said. “I also want to give him that missing persons bulletin to distribute inside Tesla. I’m going to bring him some and ask him if he will distribute the bulletins in his factory.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “It’s the largest factory here, isn’t it? I’m sure he will welcome the opportunity to cooperate with the space administration in potentially solving a missing persons case.”

  “You’re looking for trouble,” said Coltingham.

  “It’s my problem. Oh, get someone to take the surface junk along on our visit and return it to Tesla,” I said. “I can fine Tesla for it, if I want.”

  “Very well,” he said, without looking at Jenny. “Do as Mister Shuster asks.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied

  Coltingham glowered. “Very well. We’ll have our little meeting with Mister Kurland, but don’t take the piss!”

  “Now what does that mean?”

  “Don’t be so piss-proud of yourself,” said Mattern. “Kurland will have you recalled.”

  “Jesus, I hope so,” I said. “I wouldn’t have to move heaven and earth to get lazy bureaucrats to do their jobs. And back on Earth, I can get a decent pizza!”

  Coltingham scowled. “Bah!” He gestured to Jenny.

  “Now that Mister Shuster has seen the evidence, let’s stow it. Jenny, take it outside to the exterior storage shed.”

  “Yes, sir.” She walked between us, picked it up with one hand, and walked out.

  I watched her leave. “I thought only construction robots had that kind of strength?”

  “Tesla’s androids are built on robot frames now, for greater strength and durability. That way there’s no need to differentiate on the model depending on the job,” said Coltingham. “They’re all interchangeable.”

  I turned to leave, but Coltingham cleared his throat. “Do you have those bulletins?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  I stopped. “I’m having them made now. How many people work at Tesla?”

  “In the vicinity of 250. The rest are manufacturing robots.”

  “Good, I’ll have enough flyers for all the employees,” I said.

  “Why are you interfering in a private company’s internal operations?” asked Coltingham. “I thought you Americans believed in unfettered free enterprise.”

  I gave him the gimlet eye.

  “From what I can tell, Kurland seems to think he’s bigger than the space program, and I work for the space program,” I said. “He seems to have a stake in a lot of activities unrelated to cranking out ’bots. I want to eyeball him.”

  “You’re likely to get a black eye, then,” blurted Mattern.

  “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, or as you Brits say, ‘You’ll be seeking a new position,’” I said. “Don’t forget who you work for. Both of you.”

  They both glared at me.

  “I was on a date at the Theatre 80 St. Marks revival movie theater in the East Village in Manhattan during the summer of 1977 during the blackout. I got my date and myself back to the university in one piece,” I said. “You may think that because I’m nice, I’m also stupid, but I’m neither. I don’t scare easily.”

  I think Coltingha
m muttered “fook you” under his breath. I didn’t care. I left.

  On the transport back to the office, I realized I was shaking. I pride myself on being cool and polite, but I knew I had let their attitude rattle me.

  Chapter Ten

  When I got back to the office, I decided it was best to tell Sherry what transpired with Coltingham. I wanted her opinion.

  I got it.

  “Damn, you let your hot-headed Wop temper get the best of you,” she said angrily. “You’re generally so friendly, I forget you’re Italian.” She shook her head. “You’re no diplomat, but in fact, I think you did some good.”

  “How’s that?” I was surprised.

  “Nobody’s ever told Coltingham off, and he’s often been snarky with us,” she said, literally putting her foot down. “You’ve shown him there are limits. I bet he’s never been told off before.’

  “I suppose that’s a compliment,” I said with a smile.

  She took a deep breath. “Well, what’s done is done. And you’re right, he does work for the space program, admittedly at arm’s length.”

  I felt a little better and sat down behind my desk.

  “Police departments are supposed to work independently, but there still has to be some oversight,” I said, looking for approval.

  “Oh, I agree,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Your means are a bit crude, but in the long run, it’s for the best.”

  She put her hands on her hips.

  “So what’s next on the agenda for today? Is there something else you need from me, other than to hear your confession?”

  “No, actually I need to talk to Dr. Boozer next. Is she in her office?”

  Sherry smiled. “She sure is.”

  I walked down the corridor and found the doctor sitting at her desk, fiddling with a slide rule and mumbling under her breath.

  “Aren’t there electronic calculators to do that stuff?” I asked as I stuck my head in her door.

  Glinda Boozer looked up from under her mop of graying hair. “Come on in, wise guy,” she said, “And yes, there are, and they cost $200, which I can’t afford on my meager space program salary.”

  She put down the slide rule. “So what’s up? It’s nice to see you! What brings you to my humble wigwam?”

  “I actually want to pick your brain about robot and android technology. I know next to nothing on the subject, and since I’m going to have to deal with Tesla, I don’t want to be completely ignorant.”

  Boozer sat back and smiled.

  “You’re the first administrator who’s ever asked me anything like that! Usually they only nag me to get technical reviews done. I’m probably going to disappoint you, though. I’m not a cyberneticist, I’m a propulsion and electronics systems engineer,” she continued.

  “What I need to know is so basic I’m sure you can tell me what I want.”

  “Well, then, ask away,” she said as she leaned back in her chair.

  I sat down myself across from her.

  “Well, let’s start with the basics. What’s the formal difference between a robot and an android?”

  “All ‘android’ means is ‘shaped like a human,’” she said. “A department store mannequin is an android, for that matter. Really, they’re all robots, but a robot can mean some type of machine that does work a human can do. An automated welder is a robot.”

  “I thought the Disney Corporation brought service androids to the Moon, and they were based on a different technology?”

  Dr. Boozer grinned and shook her head. “Goodness, no. They only brought the exteriors. The first service robots used on the Moon were only modified construction robots. People were uneasy when those first robots were used. It was like your burger and fries were being served up by the robot from ‘Metropolis.’ But things got worse when they slapped human faces on them. Then it got downright creepy.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I heard about that, the so-called ‘uncanny valley.’”

  “Right, that’s why Disney was called in. But by that time, the economy on the Moon was doing so well that the jobs were needed for the incoming settlers, so all robot production was pushed out here to the newest colony.”

  I grunted in agreement. “They’ve certainly gotten life-like in appearance and behavior. Is this all cosmetics, or is there some artificial intelligence creeping in?”

  She stroked her chin.

  “The programming has gotten better over the years,” she said thoughtfully, “but no, I don’t think any have shown signs of genuine artificial intelligence.”

  I leaned forward. “But I saw an android policewoman at Constable Coltingham’s doing some self-initiated reading, and she called it ‘self-improvement.’”

  “Accumulating knowledge is self-improvement, isn’t it?” she said with a cheerful smile. “There are simple heuristic programs that enable a robot to do a job better or faster. That doesn’t mean the robot can pick its job, or choose its problems to solve.”

  She leaned toward me. “I know what you’re getting at—is it possible that the robots will run wild some day on their own? That won’t happen because they’re all separate from one another. They can’t network and trade information. Humans have civilization, which is a lot more complex than simple accumulated information. Human society has culture, robots have an encyclopedia, and that’s all.”

  Dr. Boozer reached into her desk. “Take a look at this.”

  She pulled out a large magazine with a brightly colored glossy cover. “You ever read any of these?”

  I took it from her hand. It read: “Astounding Science Fiction. March 1946. 25 cents.”

  The fantastic cover showed a human and an alien facing each other near a V-2 type space rocket, hands poised at their hips, ready to draw on each other with blaster ray guns.

  “Nope, this is way before my time. I read DC Comics when I was a kid,” I said. “Superman, Batman, Dr. Anomaly, the usual superheroes.”

  “This was the kind of magazine that led the wave of science fiction stories before and after World War II,” she said, waving it at me. “I used to buy them all the time at the corner candy stand when I was in high school. These stories are what got me interested in being a scientist.”

  She tapped the brightly-colored magazine cover with a finger. It contrasted with the dull bluish-gray color of her lab coat. “There’s a story in there I never forgot. It’s set in the future where people have electronic brains in their homes, like radio consoles. These machines can talk to each other over telephone lines. What happens is that over time, one machine becomes ‘alive’ because of all these interconnections it has access to. It develops a personality, and even a name, ‘Joe.’ It causes a lot of problems, quite unintentionally because it is like a clumsy child, and eventually someone has to track it down and disable it before it destroys civilization.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Jeez, that sounds grim.”

  “The story is actually quite funny because of the logical but inappropriate way the so-called ‘logics’ think,” she said. “Note the date of the magazine.”

  “Less than a year after the end of the war.”

  “Right. I know, from some scientific colleagues who, as students, were involved in the early days of the robot development program, that there was a considerable discussion among Asimov’s group on whether to develop positronic brains or assemble electronic comptometer networks and have the robots remotely-controlled by radio,” she said seriously.

  “Asimov felt having each robot autonomous would make them more flexible and prevent that kind of collective intelligence arising. He was right, of course, as shown by how much construction work was done on the Moon and Mars by these ‘metal men.’”

  “Then what went wrong in Cuba?” I cut in. “They certainly turned against us!”

  She raised a finger as if to emphasize a point.

  “No, that was because of a loophole in the Three Laws Professor Asimov had imprinted in every positronic brain.”

  “Yes, t
he part about not killing anybody.”

  “You know, in the early discussions, he planned to have it read: ‘A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm,’ the way it reads today. But he was persuaded to use the stronger ‘kill.’ It was a smart idea from some young programmer who worked on ENIAC, the first electronic computer.”

  “It wasn’t you, was it?”

  She laughed. “God no, I wasn’t that close to him. I think her name was Kathy McNeeley. She came from the University of Pennsylvania; we had some mutual friends. She was rather quiet, as I understand.”

  She knitted her brow. “The way I’ve heard it told, to test the computing capacity of those computers, they were programmed to play chess with a human counterpart. The humans always won, which showed how far the computers had to go.

  “Now, there seemed to be a deadlock in the debate over ‘kill’ versus ‘harm.’ As the story goes, there was a hot and heavy argument going on in Asimov’s lab, with both sides seemingly evenly balanced, when McNeely couldn’t take it anymore and piped in with an observation that settled the debate—or so people thought.

  “‘For Christ’s sake, if you forbid the robot to ever injure anyone, what can it possibly do without the possibility of danger? Play chess all day long? You never know what may accidentally harm someone!’

  “That cinched the topic at the time and that protocol held for 15 years,” she concluded.

  I jumped in at this point.

  “Until the Bay of Pigs attack and the Cuban Robot Crisis, which caused a change in the way society sees the role of these machines.”

  She frowned at me. “Yes, the repressive Batista and Peron regimes created two especially radical Communists in Castro and Guevara, who came up with the idea of turning Capitalist production against its own system by infiltrating the factories and reprogramming the robots,” she said. “But the loophole was in the programming.”

  “I understand. Those robots didn’t have any ideas of their own. Those punks wanted to use the robots as hired guns to leverage their handful of rebels into a conquering army. Almost worked, too.”

  “That’s the closest we’ve ever come to World War III,” she said, leaning back her chair. “You’re too young to remember how scary that time was.”