David Gerrold - When HARLIE Was One

“Mmm. Tell me, just what is it you and HARLIE have been corresponding about?”

“It’s a private matter. I’d rather not—”

“That’s all right. HARLIE and I have no secrets.”

“Still, if you don’t mind—”

“You don’t have to worry about your secrecy, Mr. Krofft. As I said, HARLIE and I have no secrets. He keeps me posted on everything he does—”

“Obviously,” snapped the other, “he hasn’t kept you posted on this. Else you wouldn’t be trying to pump me. All big companies have interdivisional feuds and politics. This research that we’ve done, we’ve done it on our own time, and we’re going to protect it. It’s private, Mr. Auberson, and nobody will know what it’s about until we’re ready to tell them.”

Auberson slid his tongue thoughtfully into his cheek. “Um, all right. We’ll talk to HARLIE.”

The elevator doors opened to face a small lobby, fronted by a double door. On it a sign said, HUMAN ANALOGUE ROBOT, LIFE INPUT EQUIVALENTS. Krofft did not realize the acronym. The same hand that had added the card to Auberson’s door had also added one here: BEWARE OF PECULIAR MACHINE.

They pushed into the lab, a longish sterile room flanked by banks of consoles and tall cabinets like coffins on end. White-smocked technicians monitored growing stacks of printout — one end of the room was already filled. Krofft took it all in with a certain degree of familiarity — and puzzlement.

“I should caution you,” said Auberson, “that you are here only on my authority — and on my sufferance. This is an industrial secret and anything that goes on in here does not go beyond these walls. If you wish yours and HARLIE’s secrecy to be respected, then we’ll expect the same in return.”

“I understand,” the smaller man said. “Now if you’ll just point out Dr. Davidson—”

“ Dr . Davidson? Hasn’t it sunk in yet?”

“Hasn’t what sunk in? I don’t—”

“Look around you.”

Krofft did so.

“What do you see?”

“A computer. And technicians. Some tables. Some stacks of printouts.”

“The computer, Krofft; look at its name.”

“HUMAN ANALOGUE ROBOT, LIFE INPU — HARLIE?”

“Right.”

“Wait a minute.” Anger edged his voice. “You’ve got to be… This is some kind of… You’re not serious.”

“As serious as I’ll ever be,” said Auberson. “HARLIE is a computer and you’re the victim of a misunderstanding — a self-induced one. You’re not the first, however, so don’t be embarrassed.”

“You mean, I’ve been corresponding with a machine?”

“Not exactly. HARLIE’s a human being, Mr. Krofft, a very special kind of human being.”

“I thought you said he was a computer. Just who or what have I been writing to?”

“To HARLIE — but he’s not a machine. At least, not in the sense you mean. His brain schematic is that of a human being.” Auberson thumbed a console to life.

HARLIE, he typed, but before he could identify himself, the machine spat back, YES, BOSS?

Auberson was startled. HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME?

I RECOGNIZED YOUR TOUCH ON THE KEYBOARD.

Auberson jerked his hands back as if stung. He stared at the typer. It was a standard IBM input/output unit. Could HARLIE really sense the difference between one typist and another on its electronic keyboard? Apparently he could. It must be the minute differences in each person’s timing.

Self-consciously, Auberson began typing again. HARLIE, THERE’S SOMEONE HERE I’D LIKE YOU TO MEET.

YES, BOSS. WHO?

MR. STANLEY KROFFT.

UH OH.

YES, UH OH. WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU HAD INITIATED CORRESPONDENCE WITH SOMEONE?

UH — IT SLIPPED MY MIND.

I FIND THAT HARD TO BELIEVE.

WELL, WOULD YOU BELIEVE — — –

NO. I WOULDN’T.

ACTUALLY, continued the typer, YOU TOLD ME I COULD WRITE TO WHOMEVER I WANTED TO ON THIS PROJECT.

ON WHICH PROJECT? AND WHEN DID I SAY THIS?

ON NOVEMBER 23 OF LAST YEAR. IN THAT CONVERSATION WE DISCUSSED THE POSSIBILITY OF NEW METHODS OF PERCEIVING REALITY AND YOU GAVE ME PERMISSION TO PURSUE ANY LINES OF THOUGHT RELATING TO THE DISCOVERY OF SUCH.

Auberson thought back; it had been four or five months, I THOUGHT WE’D ABANDONED THAT.

YOU MIGHT HAVE. I DIDN’T.

THAT’S OBVIOUS. MR. KROFFT IS HERE NOW.

DR. KROFFT. HE IS DR. STANLEY KROFFT, DIRECTOR OF RESEARCH FOR STELLAR-AMERICAN TECHNOLOGY AND RESEARCH INCORPORATED. HE IS SINGULARLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEVELOPMENT OF HYPER-STATE ELECTRONICS — AND, AS SUCH, HE CAN BE CONSIDERED DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL HYPER-STATE DEVICES — INCLUDING THE MARK IV JUDGMENT UNIT. HIS PATENTS ARE LICENSED TO STELLAR-AMERICAN, WHICH SET UP THIS COMPANY AND THREE OTHERS, EACH TO EXPLOIT A PARTICULAR AREA OF HYPER-STATE ELECTRONICS. OUR AREA, OF COURSE, IS COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY. I AM A DIRECT RESULT OF DR. KROFFT’S DISCOVERIES.

I SEE.

NO, YOU DON’T. HE’S ALSO ONE OF THE TOP THEORETICAL PHYSICISTS IN THE WORLD.

OH? Auberson looked at the rumpled man with new respect. If HARLIE felt that Krofft was at the top of his field, then that’s where he was and there was no question about it. OKAY, I’LL LET YOU TALK TO HIM. APPARENTLY, HE HAS SOMETHING HE WANTS TO TELL YOU.

Auberson stepped away from the console, waved the shorter man up.

Krofft looked at him. “Just type?”

Auberson nodded. “Just type.”

Krofft lowered himself gingerly into the chair. He placed his manila folder on the table next to the typer and pecked out carefully, GOOD AFTERNOON, HARLIE.

GOOD AFTERNOON, SIR, the typer responded. The silvery sphere of the typing element clattered across the paper. Krofft gave a slight jump of surprise, but refused to be cowed. He peered forward curiously as the machine began another line. IT is A PLEASURE AND AN HONOR TO MEET YOU IN PERSON — IN THE FLESH, SO TO SPEAK.

IT’S A PLEASURE FOR ME TOO, Krofft typed slowly. AND A SURPRISE. I HAD NO IDEA THAT A MACHINE AS COMPLEX AS YOU EXISTED.

I AM NOT A MACHINE, DR. KROFFT. I AM A HUMAN BEING. A LITTLE MALADJUSTED PERHAPS, BUT STILL…

EXCUSE ME. I APOLOGIZE. DR. AUBERSON HAS ALREADY EXPLAINED, BUT IT IS HARD FOR ME TO MAKE THE MENTAL TRANSITION. HOWEVER, IT DOES EXPLAIN A LOT THAT HAD ME PUZZLED — FOR INSTANCE, THE SPEED AND THOROUGHNESS WITH WHICH YOU WERE ABLE TO HANDLE THE EQUATIONS WE WERE DISCUSSING.

I DO HAVE CERTAIN SKILLS, YES, THAT ARE MECHANICAL. I HOPE THAT YOUR REALIZATION OF MY NATURE WILL NOT INTERFERE WITH OUR WORKING RELATIONSHIP.

IT WON’T. I’LL MAKE SURE OF THAT. IT’S STILL AS PER THE ORIGINAL AGREEMENT. HALF AND HALF.

FINE. I ASSUME THAT YOU HAVE MADE SOME IMPORTANT BREAKTHROUGH AND THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE I COME TO SEE ME IN PERSON?

YOU ASSUME CORRECTLY. Krofft was typing furiously.

HOW. I WANT YOU TO LOOK AT CERTAIN EQUATIONS AND TELL ME IF THEY ARE CORRECT. IF THEY ARE, I WANT YOU TO LOOK AT THE SCHEMATICS WITH THEM — AM I CORRECT IN THINKING THERE IS A CORRELATION? CAN THESE EQUATIONS BE TRANSLATED INTO PHYSICAL FUNCTIONS?

Auberson watched over Krofft’s shoulder for several moments more; then, realizing his original purpose in coming down here, he forced himself to break away. He sat down at another console nearby and switched it on. HARLIE?

YES, SIR.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO START THAT SIR BUSINESS AGAIN. I’M NOT MAD AT YOU.

YOU’RE NOT?

NOT YET, ANYWAY.

MM. I MUST BE SLIPPING.

I WOULDN’T SAY THAT — YOU’VE GOT HALF THE COMPANY IN AN UPROAR THIS MORNING.

ONLY HALF?

I HAVEN’T HEARD FROM THE REST YET.

GOOD. THEN THERE’S STILL HOPE.

Auberson paused. He glanced across the room to where Krofft sat absorbedly typing. Using time-sharing, HARLIE was able to converse with as many as twenty different people at one time, though he rarely did. He was still considered an experimental prototype and not a production unit. Because of that, he was limited to non-essential work — i.e. not necessarily profit-orientated. WHAT’S UP BETWEEN YOU AND DR. KROFFT?