After some bad-tempered bickering the landlord finally agreed. They went downstairs, where he produced the required sum in the form of a banker’s note, thus protecting Cree from being waylaid and robbed. Cree then turned to Jasperodus with a show of sternness.
‘Jasperodus, this is your new master. Serve him as you have served me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Jasperodus said meekly.
After Cree Inwing had gone the landlord looked Jasperodus over and chuckled. ‘I heard about your little fracas this morning. A robot that cannot be commandeered – that’s a valuable commodity in this city! I’ll get a few days’ work out of you first, then, with a new ownership deed, you should fetch … let’s see … twenty-five thousand with no questions asked!’
He directed Jasperodus to his duties and went off laughing.
Late that night Jasperodus slipped away and once more turned his steps to the slums where, by means of study, he proposed to turn himself into a fully urbanised being.
8
The small room was a box ten feet by eight. The unpainted plaster of the walls was broken in places, revealing bare brick; the single window looked down three storeys to a dusty courtyard where grew a few stunted shrubs. There was, however, a chair on which Jasperodus sat – a habit he had picked up along the way, although it was physiologically unnecessary for him.
Otherwise the room was filled with books. Piles of books, tumbling in terraces and seracs, books on nearly every science that was available to the New Empire, but especially on mathematics, physics, engineering and robotics.
With the help of this untidy library of mainly second-hand volumes Jasperodus had filled in many gaps in his knowledge, and could count himself an expert in several spheres, notably that of mathematics. He had no cause now to fear he had an educational inferiority to the sophisticates of Tansiann.
His primary aim had been, as he frequently reminded himself, to excel at everything and thus to prove his equality with mankind. But time and time again he had been drawn to one particular subject: robotics. This he had studied with manic intensity, until he was conversant with all the main principles of robot design.
In his hands at the present moment was a slim volume that came to the heart of his inquiries:
ON AN ARTIFICIAL CONSCIOUSNESS
Much study and investigation has gone into the possibility of producing an artificial consciousness which would make construct minds virtually indistinguishable from the natural variety. The formulae on which such a consciousness would have to be based have even been elucidated.
These formulae refer themselves to the central feature of consciousness, namely its characteristic property of self-reference, or the ‘problem of the perceiving “I”’ as it has been called. The nature of conscious perception is such that the perceived object becomes perfectly blended, or ‘identified’ with the perceiving subject or ‘I’. In other words ‘I’ becomes the object and at the same time remains itself. The problem of an artificial consciousness then hinges on duplicating this phenomenon.
Unfortunately no arrangement of material or energy can achieve this. All matter is essentially particulate: perfect blending does not occur. The same holds for any conceivable type of logic circuitry, no matter how advanced its state of integration may be. Early attempts at machine consciousness relied on the principle, where ‘I’ is the directrix (i.e. subject) and ‘X’ the object, of raising each to the power of the other in an alternating series, thus:
And so on with variations, such as bending the process into an ever-accelerating cycle known as the ‘perception vortex’. No positive result was ever obtained from this method, beyond defining some techniques for ordinary machine (i.e. un-conscious) perception that were already available. The reason for this failure is that the arrangement is asymptotic – however far it is carried a unity cannot be achieved between the ‘perceiving directrix’ and the object. It may be stated categorically that consciousness cannot be artificially created in the physical universe as it is constituted, because that would require the operation of a physical entity having no differentiation between its parts, and no such entity can exist in the material realm. Consciousness must therefore have a spiritual, not a material source, and cannot be duplicated.
There followed the consciousness formulae in full. Jasperodus, having studied them time and again, together with all the associated theorems and equations first enunciated to him by Padua, now understood them and was forced to admit their cogency. Secretly he had hoped to discover some flaw, some chink in robotic theory, that would leave open the possibility – however remote – that he was conscious, or at least that he might strive to attain consciousness. But the equations were watertight. It seemed certain both that he lacked true sentience and that he never could acquire it, thus invalidating the passionate boast he had made to Inwing.
With a gesture of despair he flung the book aside.
Jasperodus had been living as a free construct in Robot Town, the slum borough of Subuh, for about six months. In that time he had become a recognised figure there, though he was but one among Subuh’s droves of colourful characters, and for his part he had learned much about the more wayward aspects of robot psychology. He saw it as a tribute to the robotic art that constructs, made to be slaves, could go so much against their own natures as to follow the example of men and live as free individuals. Admittedly the phenomenon was not too common, being more the result of a combination of accidents than of planning; nevertheless the total number of wild robots to be found was large. Most intriguing to Jasperodus were the knacks and tricks by which they evaded recapture. Some robots simply went to elaborate lengths to avoid all human contact. Others used a form of double-think, engaging themselves in a deeply divisive effort to misunderstand any direct order through close examination of its grammar or semantics. And there were some in whom this ploy had developed into an advanced neurosis rendering them incapable of hearing anything a human being said.
Safest from capture were those robots with a secret command language known only to their masters. Such machines were rare, but they would accept no commands except in that language and therefore had an unusual degree of personal freedom. A few of more urbane capability, intellectually superior to a normal human, even managed to survive in select districts like the Elan. Most wild robots, however, lived here in Subuh, where they had blended to some extent with the more poverty-stricken elements of the populace, who were apt to look upon them with a sort of grudging fellow-feeling. The robots occupied, in fact, the very lowest rung of the social ladder. Classed as non-persons, lacking the protection of the law, they were subject to every kind of exploitation.
A great problem every robot faced was how to obtain sufficient money to buy replacement isotope batteries, which ran down every few years. A trap many fell into was to sell sections of their brain, hoping to make good the loss later. A slower method was to become a wage-earner, with all the disadvantages of the dispossessed. Various kinds of work were available, the feature common to them all being that the wages paid to a wild robot were a fraction of those earned by a human or even by a robot hired out by an owner. Some wages offered were so trifling as never to amount to anything. Slightly better money could be made from dangerous work, where there was less competition from humans or from robot-owners – in fact there were high-risk tasks that were almost entirely the province of wild robots. Jasperodus had for a spell hired himself out as a construction worker, clambering up the spidery lacework of a new radio tower a thousand feet above the ground, and had earned enough to rent his room and to buy the books he needed.
But now a more serious need had arisen. His own isotope battery, which should have been good for ten years, was failing.
For some days now he had been receiving the autonomic signal warning of an incipient power drop. He could only suppose that the battery had been damaged when Horsu Greb had sent him into the furnace beneath King Zhorm’s palace, and that Padua had failed to diagnose or rectify the fault.
He rose and left the building, after having decided on a destination. A short distance along the sidewalk a tall robot with an elegant gait hailed him.
It was Mark V, a nickname the robot had earned because of his pride in being Mark V of his series. He fell in step with Jasperodus and they walked along together.
‘I have been considering your little conundrum,’ he told Jasperodus in smooth, reasonable tones, ‘and a solution has occurred to me.’
‘Indeed, and what is that?’ Jasperodus asked, interested despite himself. He spent a considerable amount of time in the company of Mark V, who was an intelligent construct, discussing matters of mutual interest – particularly the subject which obsessed Jasperodus. There was even a chance, he thought, of hearing something original from the Mark V brain.
‘You raised the question of the putative quality called “consciousness”,’ Mark V began. ‘I have resolved the matter in the following way. All descriptions of “consciousness” follow more or less this pattern: a machine may be aware of an incoming sensory impression, meaning that the impression is received, analysed, recognised, related to other impressions, acted on and stored. A human being also does all this, but in addition to being merely aware he is said to be aware of being aware, and this awareness of awareness is claimed to constitute consciousness. Now what does this mean? Is it that the whole process of perception, integration and action is then lumped together and again presented to the mind as a new impression, the second time round as it were? If so, what would be the point of such an operation? It would add nothing that was not there before. Besides – I have studied neural anatomy – the human brain makes no provision for such an arrangement so far as I know. Therefore I deduce that the effect must be on a smaller scale – if it exists at all. I surmise that “awareness of awareness” is merely some kind of limiting circuit or delay line, accidentally inserted by evolution and responsible for the notorious tardiness of human thought. As such it serves no useful function and is certainly not necessary for advanced intellectual mentation. For that reason, no doubt, the great robot designers omitted it from their plans.’
‘I had received the strong impression that consciousness is an important and elevated state that we robots cannot attain,’ Jasperodus replied.
Mark V gave an amused laugh. ‘Quite untrue, and the idea is unsupported by observation. Note that clod making his way on the other side of the street.’ He pointed to a stooped, badly dressed figure who plodded along wearing a vacant expression. ‘Is he in any elevated mental state? Clearly not. He spends his time in daydreams; he has not learned the skill of consecutive thought, he cannot even ponder on his impressions, as we do. Would you even go so far as to say, then, that he is “aware of being aware”? I would not! Perhaps he would conduct himself with more dignity if he were! He is our mental inferior, Jasperodus, not our superior, and he is typical of the vast mass of his kind.’
‘You mention that you have studied brain anatomy,’ Jasperodus said. ‘What does the human brain possess that ours do not?’
‘Very little,’ answered Mark V. ‘That is why I say this “consciousness” is a triviality, or else nonexistent.’
Jasperodus thought over Mark V’s words. ‘Your arguments are not new,’ he said eventually. ‘I have heard something like them before.’
As a matter of fact he also had hit upon a theorem recently that seemed to imply that consciousness – by which he meant the element of conscious experience he imagined he possessed – was a figment in men as well as in himself.
The theorem made use of the notion of time. Philosophers were all agreed that the past did not vanish from existence but persisted in some way; perhaps not in the same condition as the present, but nevertheless in accordance with the principle that the universe did not uncreate its products once it had created them, which was what a vanishing past would require.
What, then, of past consciousness? Did that also persist? Was a man conscious in the past as well as in the present? If so, then by Jasperodus’ reasoning he would continue to perceive the past simultaneously with the present, and there would be no differentiation between past, present and future. If not, then it became necessary to introduce another factor: the factor of death. At death consciousness was extinguished like a candle flame. What then of the past life it had illumined? Was that past life dead and inert … robotic? And if consciousness was expunged once it had run its course, what then of the tenet that the universe did not discard its creations, consciousness being one of those creations?
Either alternative was untenable. By this reductio ad absurdum Jasperodus was able to argue that man did not, after all, possess consciousness; then there was no paradox.
But of course this conclusion was hedged about with provisos. He had no guarantee that what he understood by the word ‘consciousness’ corresponded to what it was in reality. Also there was another way, just as simple, out of the dilemma: that the philosophers were wrong and the past did vanish.
Altogether Jasperodus drew little comfort from these intellectual theories, which he somehow felt to be missing the mark. It was clear, for example, that Mark V looked at the question of consciousness entirely from the point of view of a machine that lacked it.
For his part, Jasperodus had to confess that he could discern a subtle difference between men and robots, though it often took some time to notice it. He had found that Padua was right. However clever and entertaining a construct might be – Mark V, with whom he had now had a long and fruitful acquaintance, was as sophisticated a personality as one could desire – Jasperodus came, after a time, to recognise that he faced a machine without internal awareness. Robots were ghosts of men, shells of men, mimicking men’s conduct, thought and feeling. In a human being, on the other hand, even in the most stupid, there was some indefinable inner spark, sensed rather than seen, that made him a man.
And what of himself? Self-observation was the most difficult of disciplines. He had sometimes tried to keep watch over himself in a detached fashion, while walking, talking or thinking, to try to ascertain what judgement he would make of himself if he were an independent observer. The experiment brought some interesting mental states, but no definite information. He was, so far as he still knew, a shell of a man, like Mark V.
How much, in fact, was he like Mark V? With a shock Jasperodus suddenly realised how close to him he was mentally. He remembered the books back in his room. All the subjects in which he had absorbed himself in the past months were those that were most attractive to the mind of the intelligent robot: mathematics, physics, logic and philosophy, all of a purely intellectual character, containing very little by way of emotion. Quite unawares he had been following his machine nature. The recognition of this depressed him unutterably. To equal the talents of men, presumably, he would have to excel in music, in painting, in poetry and the like.
‘Very well,’ he told himself privately, ‘that comes next.’
They walked past a row of decrepit buildings and rounded a corner, where Jasperodus saw a wild robot about to be impounded by a team of robot-catchers. The men were from out of the district by the look of it: one of the semi-professional teams that made a living by trapping footloose constructs. Surprisingly they were not as much a feature of Subuh as might have been imagined, since the human inhabitants as well as robots made them unwelcome.
In this case, however, they were about to gain their object. Mark V hung back and seemed ready to make off, but Jasperodus sprang forward, scattered the catchers and swung their victim round by his shoulder.
‘Whatever these rogues have ordered you to do, cancel it,’ he instructed the robot firmly. ‘Join Mark V there; absent yourselves and I will join you shortly.’
The robot nodded, greatly re
lieved, and moved to obey.
The impounders quickly recovered from their surprise. They rounded on Jasperodus.
‘You too!’ one shouted. ‘Cease this rowdyism! You are under our command now, so behave quietly!’
Jasperodus raised his fist threateningly. ‘Neither I nor anyone in the vicinity is about to be enslaved by you. Remove yourselves or you will suffer for it.’
Perplexed and sullen, they retreated. Jasperodus returned to join Mark V and the robot he had rescued.
‘Many thanks,’ the latter said gratefully. Jasperodus nodded briefly in reply.
‘I have noticed on previous occasions your ability to command other robots, even against the orders of human beings,’ Mark V commented. ‘It is an unusual talent. Others of us, in fact, have remarked on it.’
Jasperodus received the observation sourly. ‘I have even been known to command men,’ he rumbled.
‘That would indeed be unusual.’ Mark V tapped one hand against the other, a habit he was prone to when he did not quite know how to approach a subject. ‘Something we free robots of Subuh lack is a leader,’ he said diffidently. ‘Many constructs feel we would all benefit from a modicum of organisation, if a robot of the necessary qualities could be found. You would seem well suited for the role …?’
‘It does not fall in with my plans,’ Jasperodus interrupted brusquely.
‘Ah. Well, just so.’
After a few embarrassed pleasantries Mark V took his departure, taking the other robot with him. Jasperodus proceeded out of Subuh and walked for several miles across Tansiann towards the space-ground. As he approached it the great spaceyard took on the aspect of a city whose towers were rearing rocketships and control centres. He paused to watch one interplanetary booster taking off, washing the site with heat, steam and billowing flame. Activity on the space-ground had become almost frenetic of late as the imperial forces sought to counteract the reverses they had met on Mars. From the reports he had read Jasperodus knew that the Empire’s resources were being stretched to the utmost to maintain the Martian outpost. Getting sufficient men and materials to the red planet to fight a protracted war was proving almost prohibitively difficult in the face of harassment by the Borgor Alliance, that coalition of northern nations whose policy was to prevent the expansion of the New Empire by any means. As the Empire’s strength grew, so did that of the Alliance. So far hostilities had not erupted into full-scale war. When they did Jasperodus foresaw that much that Charrane had achieved might be destroyed.
Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis Page 13
