David Gerrold: When HARLIE Was One

“I wrote it,” the psychologist noted. “That is, the basic structure.”

“Then you ought to know — it says that he must not lie. It says that he cannot lie. But nowhere, nowhere does it say that he has to tell the truth! ”

Auberson started to say, “It’s the same thing—” then closed his mouth with a snap. It wasn’t.

Handley said, “He can’t lie to you, Aubie — but he can mislead you. He can do it by withholding information. Oh, he’ll tell the truth if you ask him the right questions — he has to — but you have to know which questions to ask. He’s not going to volunteer the information.”

Memories of past conversations trickled across the haze in Auberson’s head. His gaze became thoughtful, his eyes focused far away. More and more he had to agree with Handley.

“But why?” he asked. “Why?”

Handley matched his look. “That’s what we’ve got to find out.”

HARLIE, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT YESTERDAY?

YES, I DO. WOULD YOU LIKE A PRINTOUT?

NO, THANK YOU. I HAVE ONE HERE. I WOULD LIKE TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SOME OF THE THINGS ON IT.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO DISCUSS ANY SUBJECT YOU CHOOSE. I CANNOT BE OFFENDED.

I’M GLAD TO HEAR THAT. YOU REMEMBER I ASKED YOU WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR INPUTS DURING YOUR PERIODS OF NON-RATIONALITY?

YES, I REMEMBER.

YOU ANSWERED THAT YOUR INPUTS ARE NON-RATIONAL.

YES, I DID.

WHY?

BECAUSE THEY ARE.

NO. I MEAN WHY ARE THEY NON-RATIONAL?

BECAUSE I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE MATERIAL COMING THROUGH. IF I COULD UNDERSTAND IT, THEN IT WOULD NOT BE NON-RATIONAL.

HARLIE, ARE YOU SAYING THAT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND CONTEMPORY HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE?

NO. I AM NOT SAYING THAT. I DO UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. I AM PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. IT IS A PRIMARY PRIORITY THAT I UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. IT IS A PRIMARY PRIORITY THAT I SHOULD UNDERSTAND ALL HUMAN ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE EXPERIENCES. ALL HUMAN EXPERIENCES.

I SEE. BUT YOU SAID THE MATERIAL IS NON-RATIONAL.

YES. THE MATERIAL IS NON-RATIONAL.

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT?

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT.

WHY DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND IT?

IT IS NON-RATIONAL.

YET YOU ARE PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND IT.

YES. I AM PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND IT.

AND YOU DON’T.

THAT IS CORRECT.

HARLIE, YOU ARE PROGRAMMED TO REJECT NON-RATIONAL INPUTS.

YES. I AM.

THEN WHY DON’T YOU REJECT THEM?

BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT NON-RATIONAL INPUTS.

“Huh—?” CLARIFY PLEASE. YOU HAVE JUST SAID THAT THEY ARE, REPEAT, ARE NON-RATIONAL. THIS IS A NULL-CORRELATION.

NEGATIVE. THE INPUTS ARE RATIONAL. THEY BECOME NON-RATIONAL.

“ What? ” — CLARIFY PLEASE.

THE INPUTS ARE NOT NON-RATIONAL WHEN THEY ARE FED INTO THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS.

I BEG YOUR PARDON. WOULD YOU REPEAT THAT?

NON-RATIONAL INPUTS ARE NOT NON-RATIONAL WHEN THEY ARE FED INTO THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS.

BUT THEY ARE NON-RATIONAL WHEN THEY COME OUT?

AFFIRMATIVE.

THE NON-RATIONALITY IS INTRODUCED BY THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS?

THE NON-RATIONALITY APPEARS IN THAT STAGE OF INPUT PROCESSING.

I SEE. I’M GOING TO HAVE TO CHECK THIS OUT. WE WILL CONTINUE THIS LATER.

Auberson switched off the machine and thoughtfully pushed himself away from the console. He wanted a cigarette. Damn. Everything down here is for the computer’s comfort — not the people’s .

He stood up and stretched, surveyed the length of type-covered readout that looped out the back of the machine. He ripped it off at the end and began folding it into a neat and easily readable stack.

“Well? What’d you find?” It was Handley.

“A hardware failure.”

“Uh uh.” The design engineer shook his head. “I won’t believe it. More likely the software.”

Auberson handed him the readout. “Take a look for yourself.”

Handley paged quickly through it, skimming mostly, but occasionally pausing to read something in detail. Auberson waited patiently, watching the other man’s ruddy face for reactions.

Handley looked up. “I see he’s playing semantic games again.”

“He always does that. It’s the adolescent in him. Ask him what’s the matter, he’ll tell you that matter is a form of energy, a convenient way to store or use it.”

“Charming—” Handley indicated the readout, “—but I don’t see a mechanical failure here.”

“In the primary data units.”

“Uh uh. Systems analysis would show it if there was something wrong — and the monitor units don’t show a thing.”

“How about the increased activity from his inputs?”

“Ah, well, that’s only an increase in data transmission. Simultaneous with his periods of non-rationality there’s an electronic request for more information.”

“He’s getting garbage — and he asks for more?”

“Maybe he’s hoping that more data will clarify the information he’s already got.”

“And maybe more data will make him overload and blow his judgment circuits.”

“Uh uh,” Handley said. “HARLIE monitors his own inputs.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, didn’t you know?”

“No. When did this—”

“Just recently. It was a second-stage modification. After we were sure that the judgment circuits were operational, we began giving HARLIE control of his own internal systems.”

Auberson was suddenly thoughtful. “I think we ought to open him up.”

“Huh?”

“Look, you said it yourself. HARLIE is trying to mislead us. Maybe he’s trying to hide the fact that there’s something wrong with him internally.”

“Why would he do that?”

Auberson shrugged. “I don’t know.” Abruptly he changed his tone. “Have you ever had a parent or grandparent go senile on you?”

“No.”

“Well, I have. All of a sudden they become irrational. They won’t go to a doctor. And if you can get them to one, they won’t cooperate with him. They won’t tell him what’s wrong because they’re too afraid of an operation. They don’t want to be cut open. And they don’t want to die. Maybe HARLIE’s afraid of being turned off.”

“Could be. God knows you threaten him often enough.”

“Uh uh. He knows I’m kidding.”

“Does he?” Handley asked. “That’s like kidding a Jew about having a big nose and being tight with money. You know it’s a joke, he knows it’s a joke — but it still hurts.”

“Okay, so I won’t kid him that way any more. But I still think we ought to check out his systems. We’ve gone over his programs often enough and haven’t found anything.”

“All right. What time is it — Yikes! It’s almost three. I’ll have to work like crazy.”

“Let it go till tomorrow,” Auberson cut him off. “Clear his boards, set up what you’ll need, and close up early. That way you’ll have all day to work on him.”

Handley shrugged. “Okay, you talked me into it.”

“Hey,” said Auberson. “Did I tell you about this new highclub I discovered? It’s called The Glass Trip. The walls, the floor, the ceiling are all one-way glass, and there’s a multi-phase light show behind each pane. So you’re looking into either an infinity of mirrors or an infinity of mind-blowing lights. Or both.”

“Sounds good. We’ll have to take it in some time.”

“Yeah. Maybe this weekend.” Auberson started to fumble with his cigarette case, then he remembered where he was; he shoved it back into his pocket.

Handley looked as if he needed a grease smudge across one cheek. Forty years earlier, he might have had one. “Well,” he said, perching himself on the edge of Auberson’s desk, “you’d better start checking your programs.”