Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

by Barrington J. Bayley

  ‘And you would suggest a remedy?’

  Jasperodus was more vague on this point. ‘Possibly the customs of the West could be adopted and the absolute private ownership of land brought to an end. Land should be looked upon as a common resource, available to all. Or if a tax were levied upon its ownership, land which is currently left lying idle would quickly be offered for sale or lease. By that means we would end the iniquitous speculation in land which now takes place.’

  ‘Hm – your conceptions are novel,’ Charrane admitted. ‘I dare say you are right. I would even look into it further – if I didn’t need the goodwill of the Property-Owners’ Association! Not to speak of the great land-owning nobles!’ He smiled. ‘It is not always possible to be a despot, even a benevolent one.’

  Oleander, himself a leading light in the Property Owners’ Association, became exasperated. ‘We sit here talking philosophy, when instead we should be looking at Borgor’s Gross National Product! What is needed is to concentrate land ownership into fewer hands, so as to discourage this inefficient artisan production and make men more productive as factory wage-earners. I am voicing a warning, sire! Borgor’s factories will make her wealthier and mightier, and we will become feeble by comparison!’

  An uneasy look came over Charrane’s face. Jasperodus could see that Oleander had planted in him a fear that might sway him in the end.

  ‘Well, enough of all that,’ Charrane said with a sigh. ‘What of the meeting, Jasperodus? What did the Council find?’

  ‘The Council approves the plan, sire.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Relieved to turn away from abstract matters, Charrane cheered up at the mention of the coming campaign. ‘Then as soon as it’s out of the planning stage we can begin construction …’

  An hour later Jasperodus retired to his private apartments in the north wing of the palace, to ponder further on the details of the invasion scheme.

  He had been at work for only twenty minutes when a gentle tone sounded on his desk. He opened a circuit and the face of his robot secretary appeared on a screen on the wall. The communicator was of a new phosphor-dot colour type – a technique preserved through the Dark Period by the robotic art, but available so far only in the palace – and the robot’s brass-coloured face shone with a burnished sheen.

  ‘The investigator you hired has made his report, sir,’ the secretary said. ‘Aristos Lyos is living in a villa on the south coast, a few miles west of Shang.’

  Jasperodus glanced at his wall map, then at the clock. The time was approaching midday. ‘Can you find a guide immediately?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then have him meet me in the flying stables in half an hour.’

  He cut the connection and sat brooding.

  The past seven years had been good ones. He had thrown himself into his duties with genuine enthusiasm, believing in the worth of what he was doing. He was solidly for the New Empire, which for all its faults did at least offer conditions in which the arts and sciences could flourish, and this he saw as a good thing. The Borgor Alliance, against whom so much of his energy had been directed, stood only for the old feudal chaos, however much it was dressed up with technological reorganisation.

  Nostalgically he scanned some of his memories. In the command tank, helping direct the huge battle in which they had smashed three Alliance armies … Yes, there was much to look back on. His nature had mellowed in that time; there was less harshness in him, and he had gained a reputation for clemency towards beaten enemies. He had found time, too, to turn his attention towards art, music, things requiring feeling as well as intellect …

  And of course he was wealthy. Apart from the emoluments from his various offices – he was probably the only robot officially in construct bondage to receive such emoluments – he had taken advantage of his rank, as was the fashion of the time, to enrich himself. Not that money was attractive in itself, but it facilitated his various activities and suited his life style.

  About two years ago the old itch had come upon him again.

  Did he, or did he not, exist?

  For five years he had been able to forget the tormenting enigma. It had returned to him almost by accident, when a raid on the premises of a religious sect, suspected of assisting Borgor, had yielded a find of old and rare books.

  He rose and stepped to a bookcase, taking from it the volume that had first returned his mind to the hunt. This small book, bound in red leather which had become soft and worn with age, contained a number of short dissertations. He opened it. The first essay was entitled:

  THE SEARCH FOR THE TOTALITRON

  Much is known of the class of fundamental particles which exist within the universe at relative locations or points and which are responsible for the transfer of energy from place to place, i.e. between one another. Theory strongly predicts, however, that particles comprise only one half of the picture. The universe also exists as a whole, or totality, and to maintain this totality there must exist a range of ‘totalistic energies’ and, associated with them, their corresponding ‘particles’ or, particle being a misnomer in this case, totalitrons.

  The particle is the form of particularity; the totalitron of totality. Whereas a particle can be described as a size and a vector within space, with other typical characteristics, a totalitron is omnipresent throughout the whole of space. It can be said that the functions of particle and totalitron are complementary and inevitable: there can be no part without the whole, and no whole without parts.

  Types of totalitron

  Since particles and totalitrons are opposite in nature and therefore mirror one another, so to speak, it is anticipated that there are as many types of totalitron as there are types of particle. Whether the number of totalitrons equals the aggregate number of particles is uncertain. The theory does state, however, that there is more than one totalitron of each type, and it is generally believed that totalitrons are not significantly less numerous than particles.

  Properties of totalitrons

  Again on theoretical grounds, totalitrons are held to possess properties corresponding to the mass, charge, spin and strangeness exhibited by particles, though it is far from clear how ‘totalitron charge’, for instance, would manifest itself. ‘Spatiability’ and ‘chronicity’ have been suggested as totalitron properties, with a property called ‘total spin’ sometimes being added. A totalitron might for example be said to possess a chronicity of 1, a spatiability of 1, and a spin of ½.

  Interaction between totalitrons

  Comprising as they do the structure of totality taken without relation to any division of parts, the exchanges between totalitrons must differ in essence from the energy exchanges between particles. It is anticipated however that when enough is known about them a systemic pattern will emerge bearing some resemblance to the reactions between particles, or rather to the inverse of those reactions.

  Interaction between particles and totalitrons

  Particles and totalitrons are of course uniquely related to one another. Without totalitrons there could be no total universe and it would be empty of any specific locations and of material without particles. The two classes of ‘basic entity’ must, then, interact in some undefined way that keeps their relationship stable.

  Investigating the totalitron

  Research into the totalitron has to date been scanty. Producing a ‘totalitron beam’ presents difficulties since each totalitron occupies the whole of universal space. Nevertheless an attempt at intercepting ‘an omnipresent totalitron beam’ has been claimed as successful. In this experiment the monks of the Scientific Academy sat in a circle of twenty-four, each intoning in turn the mantra OM …

  After that the dissertation degenerated into what Jasperodus could only think of as gibberish. Yet he could recall with what excitement he had initially read the paper.

  It ended with a drawing of a curious symbol consisting of two interlocking triangles, one inverted in relation to the other, representing the interaction of particle a
nd totalitron, of the part and the whole, of the microcosm and the macrocosm. Could it be, he had wondered, that the totalitron was the stuff of consciousness? Of the soul? He already knew that consciousness could not be constructed out of matter, that is out of interactions between particles. But did not the totalitron possess exactly those properties specified in the consciousness equations? Indivisibility? Lack of differentiated parts? With fresh hope Jasperodus had launched into a study of what loosely was known as the occult. He had read ancient and arcane books, he had sought out magical societies, he had talked at length with self-styled adepts. But in the end he had been disappointed. He had decided, after investigating it all, that the ideation of the occult was little more than hot air and smoke. The ‘science’ that sometimes was associated with it – though on occasion fascinating and well thought-out – was pseudo-science, deficient in its appreciation of reality.

  Still, the urge to know the truth about himself had been piqued afresh. He had entered on new projects. Chief of these was an attempt to duplicate himself. Hiring the best robotician he could find, he had manufactured a robot that as near as could be judged was a complete Jasperodus replica. The crucial part – the brain – had been the most difficult, since there was a limit to how exhaustively his own brain could be examined. He and the robotician had also devised what they hoped was a duplication of the ‘fictitious self-image’ with which he was inflicted.

  Upon activation he had spent long periods in the company of his replica. He had asked him if he was conscious: Jasperodus 2 invariably answered that he was. They had discoursed at length and in depth upon countless subjects. He had given Jasperodus 2 boundless opportunities both for study and for experience. He had treated him like the son he was.

  And then, inexorably, terribly, he had come to see that Jasperodus 2, whatever he himself might avow, was dead. Clever, yes; intelligent, yes; but a machine, not a person.

  His son now worked on the planning staff, where he proved more than adequate, though not brilliant. He lacked some of the fire of the original; Jasperodus attributed this to the indeterminacy factor that had been built into the moment of activation. An advanced robot’s final disposition was usually left partly to chance.

  One more avenue was open to Jasperodus. Aristos Lyos, master robotician, teacher to his own maker, the greatest robot expert of all time, was surely the supreme authority on the subject. Whatever Jasperodus’ father had done, he learned it from Lyos. If he could find him his existential status – or the feasibility of changing it – could be determined for good and all and he would be rid of this nagging doubt.

  Soberly he closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. He sat quietly for a few minutes longer, as though fearing the coming encounter, then left for the flying stables where his personal aircraft was kept. The guide, a small nervous man, was already waiting.

  For two hours they flew south. Jasperodus headed for Shang, then on the guide’s instructions turned westward along the coast. Presently the guide indicated, on a promontory overlooking the sea, a modest but graceful villa of sparkling white stone. Jasperodus chanced to find a stretch of level ground and made a bumpy landing.

  Leaving the guide in the plane he trudged towards the villa, which as he neared it took on the appearance of a structure carved out of salt, so pure and crystalline white was the stone. None of the walls presented a flat surface but all were rounded, following a pattern of spherical and ovoidal curves. The roofs, which were piled at various heights, resembled the caps of toadstools.

  Jasperodus knocked on a metal door but received no answer. Cautiously he walked round the building. On a terrace facing the sea sat the villa’s owner.

  Aristos Lyos was aged but spry. A cap of frizzy white hair covered his scalp. He wore a simple toga-like garment caught at the waist by a purple cord. Somewhat of the spring of youth still remained in him: his spine was straight, and his face, as he turned to view the intruder, showed alertness.

  That face, in youth, must have been handsome. The nose was perfectly straight and aristocratically slender. The cheeks were lean, the eyes level; the lips not full but despite that well-proportioned. It was the face of a cool, penetrating thinker.

  Shyly Jasperodus approached. ‘Aristos Lyos?’

  The other nodded. Jasperodus could feel his eyes on him, appraising him. He could tell a lot, no doubt, at a glance; from the way a robot moved and so on. Would he know that Jasperodus was the work of one of his own pupils, was a child of his college?

  ‘Know, sir, that I hold the offices of vizier to the Emperor and of Marshal of the Imperial Forces. I am here, however, in a private capacity.’

  ‘Then the list of your public achievements is unnecessary,’ said Lyos in a dry voice. ‘What do you want from me? If you require robots, then your journey has been wasted. I do no work now, beyond a few toys for my own amusement, and a simple construct or two as gifts for the villagers who live nearby.’

  ‘That is not my mission,’ Jasperodus replied. ‘I seek information only. If I may presume on your patience for a short while, all will be clear.’

  ‘My time is free, if your representations are not too tedious.’

  Jasperodus therefore launched into a brief account of what he knew of his manufacture, describing his subsequent career – suitably foreshortened – and his continuing puzzlement.

  Aristos Lyos listened with polite attention. ‘Yes,’ he agreed when Jasperodus had finished, ‘a clever robotician could incorporate this erroneous belief you hold. It could even be emphasised so strongly that it becomes an obsession, as is evidently the case with you.’ He became reflective. ‘I believe I can remember the man who made you. He came to me for advanced study at the end of a fairly long career. He could pull it off – and he obviously has done.’

  ‘That is not my question,’ Jasperodus insisted. ‘This is what I need to know: is there any means at all, perhaps unknown to the robotic art at large, whereby consciousness might be manufactured? Did you, perhaps, give my fa … my maker secret information? Or could he have discovered some new principle himself? Roboticians have assured me of the impossibility of this, but I shall not be entirely convinced unless I hear it from Aristos Lyos himself.’

  ‘It is absolutely impossible,’ Lyos stated flatly. ‘There can be no such thing as an artificially created consciousness, you may take that as being definitive. For centuries men of genius wrestled with this vain dream … eventually its futility became irrefutably established. Oddly enough I included the History of Attempted Machine Consciousness on the syllabus when your maker was with me, as I recall – so he could be accounted an expert on the subject.’ Lyos stared up at Jasperodus’ face. ‘Perhaps, seeing the distress you are trying hard to hide, I would have been kinder to lie to you. But you have asked me a straight question and I am not a devious man.’

  Jasperodus’ last vestiges of hope were, indeed, vanishing upon exposure to Lyos’ words. Yet still he felt compelled to argue.

  ‘Item: the word “consciousness” has a meaning for me. Item: that meaning corresponds to my own “feeling of my existence”. Thus I stand here talking to you; I can feel the breeze blowing in from the sea, I can see the blue of the sea itself, and the blue of the sky above it. I experience it. How am I to reconcile this experience with what you tell me?’

  ‘Your items are sound, except where you interpolate the word “I” into them. Linguistically one cannot help but do so; philosophically it is incorrect. Unfortunately language as commonly used is not adequate to describe the difference between machine perception and human consciousness, although they are worlds apart. Machine perception can be fully as sophisticated as human perception, since the machinery used by the human brain and senses is in no way superior. Thus one speaks of “machine awareness”. But behind this perception there lies no “I”. No one is there to experience it. It is dead perception, dead awareness. The same holds for emotion, which some have mistakenly believed indicates human status.’

  ‘But I ex
perience!’ cried Jasperodus in anguish.

  ‘You imagine you experience, and hence you imagine you know the meaning of consciousness,’ Lyos told him. ‘In fact you do not, except in a hypothetical way. It is all quite mechanical with you. It is merely that you have a particularly emphatic self-reference systems – all robots have some such system, to make them think of themselves as individuals – coupled with this master stroke of an extremely ingeniously designed self-image. Your own phrase “fictitious consciousness” is an apt description of your condition.’ Lyos scratched his chin. ‘Let me try to explain the nature of machine awareness. The first time a photo-cell opened a door at the approach of a human being, machine perception was born. What you have – what you are – is of that sort, elaborated to the nth degree. Believe me, Jasperodus, if an artificial consciousness were even remotely possible, if there were just a hint of a chance of it, I would have accomplished it years ago.’

  ‘You are not impressed, either, by my independent spirit?’

  ‘It is no great feat to construct a wilful, disobedient robot. There is no call for them, that is all.’

  ‘All my positive qualities, it seems, must sooner or later be interpreted as negative ones,’ Jasperodus complained. He became thoughtful. ‘I have tried, by intensifying my consciousness – my imaginary consciousness, as you say – to penetrate to this deadness, this mechanical trick that ostensibly lies at the base of my being, so as to dispel the illusion. But I cannot find it.’

  ‘Naturally, you would not.’

  Jasperodus nodded, looking out to sea.

  Then he brought out his only ace. ‘Very well, Lyos, I bow to your knowledge,’ he said. ‘I admit that I am not conscious. The conviction persists that I am – but I cannot be rid of that, since it is how I am made. But what of your own conviction concerning yourself? How can it be known that man’s consciousness is not also a delusion?’