David Gerrold: When HARLIE Was One

“Huh? Then what about these periods of non-rationality? Why is he shut down?”

“Because,” Auberson said slowly. I have to get this right . “Because we weren’t prepared for him to be so perfectly human . If perfect is the word.”

The other Board members were alert with interest now. Even Miss Stimson had paused in her note-taking.

“We had designed him to be human, we had built him to be human, we had even programmed him to think like a human — then we turned him on and expected him to act like a machine. Well, surprise. He didn’t.”

Elzer asked, “The nature of the trouble then…?”

“Human error, if you will.” Auberson let it drop.

In the silence that followed, Auberson fancied he could hear Elzer’s cash-register brain totaling up the man-hours that had been lost since they had started arguing. “Human error?” he repeated. “Yours or HARLIE’s? Or both — each compounding each? I suppose you’re going to blame his periods of non-rationality on human error as well.”

“Why not? How else would you characterize our approach to them?”

“ ‘Human error’ is an over-polite euphemism for what I would call it.”

Auberson ignored that. “We’d thought his non-rationality was a physical problem, or perhaps a programming error. We were wrong. He was neither physically nor mentally ill. He was — I almost hate to say it — emotionally upset.”

Elzer snorted. Loudly.

“His periods of non-rationality were/are triggered by something that’s bothering him. We don’t know what that is, but we can find out.”

Elzer was skeptical. He nudged the man next to him and said, “Anthropomorphism. Auberson’s projecting his own problems onto those of the machine.”

“Elzer, you’re a fool. Look, if you had to go down to that computer room right now and talk to HARLIE, how would you treat him?”

“Huh? Like a machine, of course.”

Auberson felt a tightness in his neck and shoulders. “No, I mean, if you sat down at a console and had to carry on a conversation with him, who would you think was at the other end?”

“The machine.” The little man was impassive.

Auberson gave up. He addressed the rest of the Board instead. “That’s the human error I mentioned. HARLIE is not a machine. He is a human being, with the abilities and reactions of one, allowing of course for his environment. When you speak to him via the typers it is quite easy to assume him to be a normal healthy human being; he is a rational individual, and he has a distinct and definite personality. It’s impossible for me to think of him as anything but human. However, even I had made a mistake. I hadn’t asked myself ‘how old is HARLIE?’ ”

He paused for effect.

Dome shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. Elzer sniffed. Miss Stimson lowered her pad and looked at Auberson. Her eyes were bright.

“We’d been thinking,” he continued, “that HARLIE was a thirty– or forty-year-old man. Or we thought of him as being the same age as ourselves. Or no age at all. How old is Mickey Mouse? We didn’t think about it — and that was our mistake. HARLIE’s a child. An adolescent, if you prefer. He’s reached that point in life where he has a pretty good idea of the nature of the world and his relation to it. He is now ready to act like any other adolescent and question the setup. We were thinking we had an Instant Einstein, when actually we’ve got an enfant terrible .

“His periods of non-rationality?” asked Dome,

“An adolescent drug trip — the reaction to our irrationalities. He’s discovered pot — or its electronic equivalent.”

“Don’t you think that’s grounds enough for dismantling him?” suggested Elzer.

“Would you kill your son if you caught him taking acid?” Auberson snapped back.

“Of course not. I’d try to straighten him out—”

“Oh? And what about the Highmasters in your cigarette case? He’d only be imitating his old man.”

“Acid and pot are two different things.”

Auberson sighed. “The difference is only in degree, not in kind. HARLIE’s only been doing what everyone else in his environment has — tripping out. It’s what any adolescent does; he was looking for a role model. In this case, he chose me. It was a logical choice; I was the closest one to him. He saw that I was high most of the time, so he decided to experiment with it himself. Or as near as he could get to it.”

“Yes, your fondness for the weed has been noticed,” Elzer said pointedly. “Among other things—”

“Then perhaps you’ve also noticed that I haven’t smoked anything since we started these sessions. And I don’t intend to start again while HARLIE is using me for a model. I’ve got to keep my head about me. It took HARLIE to show me that.”

“We’ve gone off on a tangent,” Elzer said suddenly. “I believe there’s still a motion on the floor. I call for the vote.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Auberson said.

“What question?”

“On what grounds can you justify discontinuing the HARLIE project?”

“It’s unprofitable.”

“Unprofitable…? For God’s sake, man! Give it a chance. Sure we haven’t shown any profits yet, but we will eventually. I don’t know how, but we will if you’ll just give us that chance.”

“I object to throwing away good money after bad.”

“Dammit, Elzer — we’re just beginning to understand what we’ve got in HARLIE. If you shut him down now, you’ll be setting back computer science to… to… to I don’t know when.”

The little man scoffed, “I think you overestimate your own importance.”

“All right, then let’s try this one. I’ve told you several times already that HARLIE is human. If you try to have him shut down, I’ll bring charges against you for attempted murder.”

“You couldn’t.” But he was startled.

“Want to find out?”

Dome interrupted them. “That’s a legal question that we’ll let the lawyers fight out. Or rather, we’re going to keep the lawyers from ever getting that far.” He frowned at Auberson. “We’ll go into it later. The point is that HARLIE is a drain on corporate funds—”

“We’re budgeted for him for the next three years.”

“—a drain on corporate funds,” Dome repeated, “with no immediate prospect of return. It’s not how successful your research has been that we’re concerned with. It’s whether or not we want to continue.”

There was something in the chairman’s voice that made Auberson pause. “All right,” he said wearily. “What do you want me to do?”

“Show a profit,” put in Elzer.

Both Dome and Auberson ignored him. Dome said, “Show us a plan. Where are you going with HARLIE? What are you going to do with him? And most of all, what is he going to do for us?”

“I’m not sure I can answer that right now…”

“How much time do you need?”

Auberson shrugged. “I can’t say.”

“Why don’t you ask HARLIE for the answer?” Elzer mocked.

Auberson looked at him. “I believe I will. I believe I will.”

But he didn’t. Not right away.

The motion was tabled, and the meeting broke up on an uncertain note. Auberson brooded through the halls until he finally came to rest in the company cafeteria, a sterile plastic chamber lined with colorless murals.

Those periods of non-rationality still annoyed him, but for new reasons. Why hadn’t he foreseen their possibility? What had he overlooked?

He had a vague feeling that Elzer was right, that perhaps he wasn’t suited to be in charge of the project. He had bungled it. Badly. Worst of all, he couldn’t figure why. He knew and he didn’t know. The answer was there, but he couldn’t convince himself of it.