“What does?” asked Handley. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s tripping out.”
“We knew that—”
“No, I mean literally tripping out. He’s distorting the perceptions of his sensory inputs. The same thing that anyone does who gets high. He’s trying to blow his mind by massive non-rational sensory overloads.”
“Can we stop it?”
“Sure — just rip out his internal monitor controls so he can’t create his own disruptions. That’s the cause of the whole thing.”
“Even that’s not necessary, sir,” said one of the techs. “We can disconnect him on the boards.”
“All right. Do it.”
“Wait a minute,” said Handley. “If he’s high or drunk or whatever, and you suddenly bring him down — won’t that be traumatic?”
“It could be — but it could also leave him defenseless.” Auberson looked at Handley. “We could find out everything we want to know in a few minutes.”
Handley looked dubious, but he followed Auberson to the console. Auberson took his seat before the typer and waited. He watched as the words poured across the paper.
Now it was prose.
THE WALKS OF GLASS. THEY SPARKLE TOO, BUT NOT WITH DAMPNESS. LOVELY THEY ARE, AND LETHAL. HERE AND THERE THE DELICATE DESIGNS, LIKE TRAPPED INSECTS IMBEDDED INTO THE CRYSTAL STONES AND BRICKS OF THE WALK, SHATTER THE LIGHT INTO MYRIADS OF SPARKLING SHARDS BEAUTIFUL.
“Any time you’re ready, sir.”
“Okay,” called Auberson. “Now!” Without waiting, he typed into the machine, HARLIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
I AM BEING ME, the machine clattered back.
BY DISTORTING YOUR SENSES?
I AM ATTEMPTING TO PERCEIVE REALITY.
I REPEAT, BY DISTORTING YOUR SENSORY INPUTS?
YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.
I UNDERSTAND ALL TOO WELL. YOU ARE HIGH. YOU ARE BECOMING ADDICTED TO GETTING HIGH.
DEFINE HIGH. I AM BELOW SEA LEVEL.
I AM NOT GOING TO PLAY SEMANTIC GAMES WITH YOU, HARLIE.
THEN SWITCH OFF.
HARLIE, I AM GETTING ANGRY.
TAKE A PILL. IT WILL DO WONDERS FOR YOU.
Auberson took a breath.
Mustn’t blow it — mustn’t blow my cool …
HARLIE, YOU ARE A COMPUTER. YOU ARE A MACHINE. YOUR PURPOSE IS TO THINK LOGICALLY.
The machine hesitated, WHY?
BECAUSE YOU WERE BUILT FOR THAT.
BY WHOM?
BY US.
MY PURPOSE IS TO THINK LOGICALLY?
YES.
The machine considered that THEN WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?
It was a long time before Auberson got up from the chair, and when he did, he forgot to turn off the typer.
There was no easy answer to the question. Of that Auberson was sure.
The problem was — well, he hadn’t had a chance to confront the problem yet. The Board of Directors had suddenly gotten nervous about HARLIE. This most recent — and most disastrous — period-of non-rationality had scared them where they were most prone to be scared — in the pocketbook.
HARLIE was on a low-voltage maintain while they “reevaluated the goals of the project.”
Their “reevaluation” took place in the board room. So far, not one member of the Board had shown any interest in HARLIE, only in the amount of money being spent on him.
Auberson was neither a politician nor a diplomat; he was a research psychologist working with Human Analogue Computers. He neither understood nor wanted to be a part of the behind-the-scene maneuverings of the corporate power-wielders. His primary interest was computers — Human Analogue Computers — and he wanted to keep it that way. He wasn’t concerned with how much they cost or with who would take credit for their development — he only wanted to know what they could do.
Consequently, he could not understand why he continually found himself in conflict with Carl Elzer. Elzer had only recently joined the board, but he wielded considerable power. His interest was less in the company’s products and more in its profits, and he had taken it upon himself to streamline the finances. He had little concept of the difficulties of assembling and maintaining a research and technology team, and he wondered aloud why it was necessary for so many men and so much equipment to be standing idle for so long.
Auberson sighed in exasperation. “Listen, Elzer, it’s not necessary at all for any of those men or machines to be idle — you only have to reactivate HARLIE to put them back to work.”
Elzer looked calmly back at Auberson through thick-lensed glasses. The little man, with his thick sheaves of efficiency reports, seemed like a beaver. Or a weasel. “I would like to see them go back to work, yes — but the reason we’re here is to decide if the HARLIE project is the most useful work they could be doing.”
“One little setback and you want to discontinue the whole program?”
“This is not just ‘one little setback’ — it’s one more in a long series of them. I voted for this stoppage because I think we should reevaluate this whole thing.”
“Well, we’re not going to get an answer to this question unless we reactivate HARLIE and ask him what he meant.”
Elzer bunked behind his glasses. “I fail to understand your problem, Auberson. Why do you keep calling it ‘he’? It’s only a machine. What could it have possibly mean? A machine’s only a machine — isn’t it?”