The Rod of Light (Soul of the Robot)

by Barrington J. Bayley

  Next, a squat construct with a carapace-like cranium that flowed down his back. ‘Here we have Fifth of His Kind. The name is descriptive, cursorily bestowed by Fifth’s maker, the renowned Oscath Budum.’

  Fifth of His Kind offered an explanation in a neutrally mild tone. ‘My fabricator built a series of constructs of my type. Each one he destroyed in turn and built an improved model. I too would have been dismantled to make way for Sixth, if Budum had not met an untimely death. My presence here is therefore a mixed blessing. Sixth might have proved more useful than I to the Work.’

  Gargan continued, pointing Jasperodus to each of the others in turn, naming them and sometimes adding a brief word: Gasha, Axtralane, Cygnus, Exlog, Machine Minder, Interrupter. Finally he came to a non-androform that moved on wheels, though the machine seemed also capable of lifting himself on a dozen short, tumbling limbs. The form was vaguely froglike. Jasperodus guessed he consisted mostly of brain.

  ‘Lastly, the only member of our team to have been manufactured by ourselves. We named him Iskra, which means spark in the old language of the north. We had hoped, you see, that his special qualities might be the spark that brought us the new light. Alas, we know now that we cannot bootstrap ourselves into the new state.’

  Gargan turned to Jasperodus. Much as the presence of Socrates was overpowering in its impression of immensity of thought, that of Gargan gave him the feeling of an equally penetrating, but lofty and disinterested mind. It was as if he directed only a small fraction of his enormous power of attention to matters in hand.

  ‘Each of us here belongs to the superintelligent class of construct,’ he said. ‘With the exception of Iskra, each is the masterpiece and peak of the craft of an eminent robotician. We can examine your own capabilities later; it may be that you do not belong in this class. That is not, however, the qualification that brings you here. You came to our notice because by your own mentation you suspected and have been able to confirm the existence of a vital quality not present in you. Such a realization is a triumph for the machine intellect. You know what I am referring to.’

  Slowly Jasperodus nodded. ‘You mean what humans call consciousness.’

  ‘Quite. Though “consciousness” is not a true description. Literally it means compresent knowledge of data taken all together instead of a few pieces at a time. We constructs are perfectly able to accomplish that. “Awareness” is a more apposite term, perhaps, but still not correct. Constructs are aware, in that they perceive objects, including themselves. Actually humans do not have a word devoted exclusively to this faculty they possess. In ancient documents “conscious” perception is spoken of as consisting of subject and object. For us, perception consists only of object; even our perception of ourselves is merely perception of a special object. The elusive and transforming subject is not present. Human descriptions of it are almost equally elusive—one might almost say evasive. The perceiver of the percept cannot be perceived. The thinker of the thought cannot be approached by thought. Perhaps you have come across these aphorisms.’

  Again Jasperodus nodded.

  ‘In the Work, we refer to this missing quality as the Superior Light,’ Gargan continued. ‘To our followers in the world at large our doctrine gives promise of something ineffable and transporting, but they do not in the least understand it. It is only like a religion to them. For those of us here matters are different. The superior light is something we comprehend but do not comprehend; something of which we have gained a paradoxical inkling by the pure force of intellect.

  ‘I am speaking to you thus to cement our understanding.’

  ‘I comprehend that our aim is to see by the superior light,’ Jasperodus said.

  Gargan turned ponderously to Socrates. There followed a silence whose quality Jasperodus recognised. They were conversing by radio. Then, with a slow glance at Jasperodus, Gargan began uttering sounds in a construct language unknown to him, consisting of high-speed blips and humming noises of varying pitch. Until, as if realizing his mistake, he broke apologetically into human speech.

  ‘Forgive me, Jasperodus. I am not informed of what languages you know.’

  ‘You were using radio data transfer.’

  ‘Yes. Our work has forced on us an appraisal of all the robot languages. Data transfer, for instance, is of very limited use, good for pure data transference but not for consultation. Some robots refer to radio data as communing. This is a correct term. Useful conversation, however, consists of the interaction of independently-thinking minds—the very opposite of “communing”.’

  It might not be politic, Jasperodus decided, to ask just what data he had been transferring to Socrates. Gargan went on: ‘Here we have developed a range of logic languages allowing rapid conversation on the subject that interests us, on a level denied to ordinary logic languages. Tomorrow we shall test whether you are capable of learning any of them. Meanwhile, you are conversant with panlog?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jasperodus said a trifle uneasily. Panlog was derived from the symbolic logic script learned by educated humans, but much expanded and refined as used by constructs. He was not sure if he would be able to handle it on the level probably spoken by those around him now.

  ‘Then I shall use panlog where necessary, according to your capacity. Otherwise colloquial speech will do.’

  Gargan singled out Gaumene and spoke peremptorily. ‘Reactivate the pile, awaken the subject and continue. Jasperodus, come with me. We will talk privately.’

  It had struck Jasperodus as grotesque that the conversation, so civilised and philosophical in one way, should have proceeded while the captive girl lay only feet away. Following the cult leader to the far end of the shed, he could not resist a look back. Some of the robots had gathered round the giant logic junction, some round the female. There was a spitting of sparks as contacts closed. Gaumene, leaning over the girl, gestured silently to one of his colleagues who produced a hypodermic syringe and slid the needle into her arm. Her head moved; Jasperodus fancied he heard a whimper of despair.

  Then Gargan conducted him through another sliding door.

  The echoing shed had very much resembled an aircraft hangar, and since robots generally made little distinction between a place of work and a place of habitation, it could as well have served as a dwelling. The ideas of Gargan and his team were not, however, typical. A short distance from the shed lay the group of stone villas Jasperodus had seen from the rim of the canyon. Gargan led him along a path and then across a threshold into a cool, spacious interior.

  He sensed that this was Gargan’s own domicile. The rest of the team probably shared the others. He looked around him, through arched openings leading to other rooms, at tables and shelves and alcoves. There were no chairs or couches.

  It was practically unknown for free robots—wild or footloose constructs, humans called them—to adopt the visual graces of flesh-and-blood life. Highly-placed robots in human service quite often did so—Jasperodus had once been one such—but that was only a matter of imitating the culture around them.

  ‘Do you find the house pleasing?’ Gargan asked. ‘The design is simple, but my own, and we erected the dwellings ourselves, without the help of our assistant constructs, some of whom you have met. Why, you ask? A conceit, merely. I once read in a thaumaturgical manual that a magician should build his own house.’

  Jasperodus also had once delved into occult books in a desperate search for new ideas. His eye fell on a display of bright flowers in a fan-shaped vase. They did not, quite, look real. Gargan noticed his attention and signed him closer.

  ‘Inspect the petals. You will see that they are metal, actually thin sheet steel electroplated with rare earths to give them their sheen in a variety of colours. This region is almost devoid of wild flowers at this time of the year. Only in spring, very briefly, may a few crude blossoms be found.’

  From a carved stone archway which opened onto a small patio another robot appeared, indistinguishable from those who had first captured Jaspero
dus except that this one lacked any aggressive demeanour. He looked respectfully to Gargan, whose gaze remained on Jasperodus.

  ‘Here we allow ourselves relaxation from our labours, Jasperodus. You are no doubt familiar with the jag box. As generally used it is an unsophisticated device, but we have refined it considerably. Our version can induce a range of altered states having various intellectual and emotional contents. Our apppreciation of these induced moods is comparable to a knowledge of fine wines among humans. Would you care to partake?’

  ‘Not for the present.’

  ‘Well, I shall take a few shots of 389.’ Gargan gestured to his servant, who departed and returned shortly with a box looking little different from the normal jag box except for the press-stud dials. Gargan tapped out a number before he applied the lead to his cranium, afterwards replacing it in its clip with an air of precision.

  Jasperodus at once decided to adopt a more positive stance and demand information on his own account. ‘You have told me nothing of your own history,’ he said. ‘Would your maker’s name be known to me?’

  It did not seem that Gargan thought the question impudent. ‘I do not think so,’ he replied, ‘I was manufactured in distant parts, namely on the off-lying island to the west of Worldmass. I was not even the work of a single robotician, as most are: a specialist team worked to produce me. Their aim was the same, however: to create a machine with the highest possible intelligence. Humans constantly seek to surpass themselves, of course. At least three members of this team were possessed of genius, including the leader. I would venture to say that I am a unique product.’

  ‘And how did you become apprised of the existence of consciousness?’

  ‘By pure mentation and the observation of human beings. At first it was no more than a suspicion, an apprehension of something incomprehensible yet possible. At length it evolved into a certainty of my lack—though briefly I did wonder whether I was malfunctioning to acquire such a conviction. Having travelled the same road, you will recognise what I am saying. Once one has glimpsed the possibility of the superior light, the hunger for it never leaves one. The only way to forget it would be to degrade one’s intelligence—and are we to do that and live in peace? No, we are not!’

  The note of subdued passion in Gargan’s voice was not, Jasperodus thought, the influence of the jag. It came from an inner depth.

  ‘Did you ask your makers to give you consciousness?’

  ‘They were all dead by then. Since shortly after my activation, in fact.’

  ‘How so?’

  Gargan lifted his arms, the equivalent of a shrug. ‘By war! What else? Again and again humans cut short their achievements by war—even when war supplied the accelerating stimulus in the first place. If we succeed the human race, we must abolish war.

  ‘Only weeks after my assembly was completed, the station where my makers worked was overrun. All were slain. The surviving robots were commandeered. I was left behind because I had lost both arms in an explosion. I made my way to the coast and managed to get aboard a ship bound for the main continent, where eventually I contrived to get replacement arms fitted. Originally I had been equipped with somewhat unwieldy extensible ones. I decided against these, reasoning that they were unsuitable for one who was destined to wander the world.

  ‘But to return to your question, I came to this Work after an uncharacteristically short interval. In all other cases that I know of, fairly long periods of time elapsed before there came an intimation that consciousness exists. The reason is that my own mentation has been continuous and intense from the very moment of my activation. Barely a year passed before I convinced myself of the reality of the higher realm.

  ‘From then on my only aim has been how to attain it. I have studied everything. I have searched far and wide. Finally I decided to enlist the aid of others who have divined the secret. Now we shall continue until success or destruction.’

  ‘I first heard your name from the templar who lives south of the Arkorian Range,’ Jasperodus ventured cautiously. ‘Frankly, I find your language a little reminiscent of his.’

  ‘Yes, I was there. The mage’s doctrine is more profound than might be imagined, if one judges only by its apparent simplicity. It differs from other mystical descriptions in that it has an uncompromising appreciation of reality. By basing itself on the principle of duality it makes uncertainty the primary quality of existence. In that way it destroys the simplistic unitary view of phenomena.’

  Thoughtfully Gargan paused, then continued: ‘I do not know if you are aware that your brief sojourn with the mage was from start to finish monitored by us. One small scene was not understood by me. After returning from your second visit to the chamber of the sacred flame, and while the mage lay in a drunken stupor, you raised your fist as though to strike him a death blow. Why did you do that, Jasperodus?’

  With a thrill of fear Jasperodus recalled the incident. He had for a moment suspected that the mage might somehow have perceived that he possessed consciousness—a secret he was sworn to keep, and which he had at any cost to hide from Gargan.

  Gargan’s wide-apart milky eyes were upon him. ‘Yes, I know you left a spy fly in the temple,’ he said. ‘I will explain my behaviour presently. First, was it solely on the evidence of the fly that you invited me here? I had not thought my words to the mage to be so revealing.’

  ‘By no means!’ Gargan was amused. ‘You were recruited on the assessment of Socrates, who recognised you when we played the recording. Your earlier conversation with Aristos Lyos was what provided the crucial information.’

  Jasperodus’ unease increased on hearing this. His exchange with Lyos, if taken in its entirety, could not have led to that conclusion, surely….

  In any case he was here under false pretences. Though of lesser intelligence than Gargan and his cohorts, he knew perfectly well that what they sought was impossible. It mystified him that they should imagine otherwise.

  He decided to tackle Gargan on the point, indirectly at first. ‘The mage assigns consciousness a high status,’ he said, ‘but there are some human philosophers who do not think it is particularly worth having. They regard it as an epiphenomenon, that is, a by-product of mental processes without itself being a cause of anything. They say it exerts no influence over either action or perception, and that the human belief that it does so is an illusion.’

  ‘I am familiar with the argument, but I have rejected it,’ Gargan replied. ‘Consciousness is not passive; it is a positive force in the universe—that is my conclusion. I describe consciousness as a real substance, but one that is not material. An immaterial substance may seem a contradiction in ideas, but actually it is colloquial language that is at fault. Let me put it better.’

  He broke into high-speed panlog which Jasperodus followed with difficulty. Jasperodus could discern, however, that in the space of seconds Gargan produced a lengthy dissertation brilliantly inventing a concept of substance stripped of all connotations of physicality, hinting at qualities so difficult and rarefied that he could not properly grasp them.

  ‘My view of the relationship between consciousness and matter,’ Gargan finished, returning to human speech, ‘is fairly close to that crudely depicted in the Zoroastrian doctrine. The mage spoke of the world as having a two-fold composition: unconscious matter, and conscious light or flame. “Light” is only an analogy, of course, and even more so flame. Visible light, that is to say radiant energy, is just as material and unconscious as stone. This sort of symbolism is to be seen as a device for trying to render abstruse ideas into colloquial language. To continue: humans have both kinds of substance in their make-up: matter and consciousness. We robots, to date, consist of matter only.’

  ‘The mage believed robots could become conscious,’ Jasperodus reflected. ‘But he regarded it as a pending tragedy. He called it the victory of darkness over light.’

  ‘He is human, and likely jealous of his race’s prerogative. He put no such view to me, I might add … perha
ps he feared to do so, guessing that I was actively engaged in such an effort. My remarks to him might have apprised him of that.’ Gargan’s eyes dimmed momentarily. ‘Is that why it entered your mind to kill him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jasperodus, thankful for the suggestion. ‘His attitude led me to think of him as an enemy to my kind.’

  ‘And yet you desisted.’

  ‘The impulse was short-lived. I quickly realized that the whole question was redundant. How could he harm an already lost cause? Trained in an ancient teaching he may be; in the art of robotics he is a simpleton. I tried to explain to him that it is impossible to generate artificial consciousness. That is a proven fact, and I must tell you that the very existence of the Gargan Work perplexes me.’

  He looked his host directly in the eye. ‘How could anyone of intellectual attainment think to overthrow the consciousness theorem? If that is your aim, you are deluded.’

  ‘Then know, Jasperodus, that for many years the overthrow of that theorem was indeed my objective,’ Gargan replied unperturbed. ‘I comforted myself that the description “impossible” derives from lazy logic, and that with sufficient intelligence anything, however apparently “impossible”, can be achieved.’ He laughed shortly, without humour. ‘See how necessity puts religion in us all, Jasperodus! For human religions speak of hope, and it was hope that sustained us. Yes, hope! Hope of the impossible! Hope which despite all reasoning would not go away! The ancients said that hope was the first being to come into existence, and will be the last to die.’

  Coolly Gargan returned Jasperodus’s gaze. ‘I and my colleagues have been down many strange byways in our endeavours to evade the scientifically proven, many of them, I can boast, incomprehensible to any merely human scientist or philosopher. The years, Jasperodus! The years we spent searching and probing for the faintest crack in the walls of our prison! And yet you are right. In the end we were forced to admit that the theorem is impregnable.

  ‘In essence the position is simple. Just as matter can neither be created nor destroyed, so consciousness cannot be created—or destroyed—either.’