by Robin Craig
It is likely that without the successful deployment of the CHIRUs AC would have folded. As it is, for now they are in a stable position.
Miriam stared at the message for long minutes. There were only a few basic motives in crime, and money was one of the classics. Nor was it limited to burglars and armed robbers. Even otherwise honest people, who would not dream of stealing a loaf of bread from a supermarket, had found themselves digging into a deeper and deeper hole as they tried to juggle money to stave off looming financial disaster. Many had found themselves guilty of fraud to the order of tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars, with no real intent or idea how they had ended up there. And here had been a company, apparently a shining success, teetering on the brink of ruin.
What if the headaches reported by Georgie were just the tip of the iceberg after all, and there were worse side effects – even people dying? With the company struggling for life, a scandal could have led to delays, government investigation, loss of confidence by the investors… probably enough to destroy them.
Or what if there were problems with the Spiders, the product that had saved them? If AC were hanging out for that first foot in the military door, what might they have done to cover up any problems found by their testers? Problems they might have gotten away with in the deadly theaters of war, but which could have killed their chances if known in advance? Say, an intermittent fault? Merely compromising their effectiveness: unacceptable to a buyer already nervous of a new technology, but unlikely to be noticed in battle when random destruction was already a factor?
She looked out the window at the scenery unrolling past her and wondered. If there was a problem – what had they done about it? It was possible that they hadn’t done anything worse than bribe the people who found out into taking themselves and their dangerous knowledge on a long holiday. That would even explain the mysterious forwarding or vanishing of personal effects, without invoking mysterious masterminds. There might be nothing sinister in it at all.
Except for the reporter. Could he really have been bought off that easily? She could understand it of the others, even Big Max – he’d be neither the first nor the last man to use a woman and leave her thinking she meant more to him than she had. But surely a story like this would have been reporter’s heaven for Jamie. Any offer to buy his silence would just have been more spice added to the story, an offer betrayed as readily as it was accepted.
She tapped her fingers on the door, remembering her own betrayals of things she had thought sacred, from duty to love to Steel. Mere months before those betrayals she would have rejected their very possibility, with a shocked rectitude she now knew she had no right to. So who was she to think that this man had no price of his own? Like hers, his price might not be money – perhaps a greater story, an inside scoop on a unique machine and the war it transformed? Or some other wonder being born in the labs of Allied Cybernetics? Less a betrayal of his values than a pursuit of them in a greater form?
Then she shook her head. It still didn’t make sense. The others could plausibly just vanish, but why would Jamie, especially with Majid alerted and likely to panic? She supposed there could be some reason why, but she knew she would not take that easy way out. Not when it was just speculation: not when for all she knew they were all dead.
Yet if foul play was involved – by whom? It could be anyone whose career depended on the ongoing success of AC: a senior executive or scientist, for example. If they had enough discretion and power, nobody else might know what they had done. She realized there was only one avenue to follow: she had to talk to Aden Sheldrake, their CEO. And hope it wasn’t him.
Chapter 21 – The Philosopher’s Tale
It was Sunday and Beldan was relaxing at home, listening to music and reading a novel, one of the few recent ones he had found with an original plot painting a picture of things worth seeing. For all his busy work life as a captain of industry, he did not regard such oases from work as time wasted: he regarded them as time lived. Even if they were lived in another world, in the final analysis they were lived for this one.
A call came in on his private number and he frowned at the identification: Professor David Samuels. He did not know the man personally but knew of his recent career: he had climbed on the back of Steel’s destruction to become one of the most outspoken and consequently successful pundits of the day. But his fame left a bitter taste in Beldan’s mouth. Given the boost it had given that fame, his newfound advocacy for the rights of machines like Steel reeked of opportunism. For all his talk of rights, the only person it had actually helped appeared to be Samuels himself: it had come too late to save the only machine that could have benefitted, or was likely to benefit for more years than Beldan liked to contemplate. He debated blocking the call. But whatever the man’s motives, he was helping mold public opinion in the right direction, and in that fight he needed all the allies he could find. He accepted the call.
“Good morning, Professor. How can I help you?”
“Good morning, Dr Beldan. I wish to speak to you privately in person, today if possible. I am sure you will find it worth your while.”
Beldan frowned. “What could a philosopher have to say to a businessman?”
Samuels laughed. “Why, I could write a whole book about that. You might be surprised at how useful philosophy can be, even – or especially – to a businessman. Though from what I know about you, you might benefit less than most.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You appear to already be living a philosophy I would largely approve of.”
“Flattery, Professor? What are you after? I have been known to give grants to scientific research of interest to me or my corporation, but forgive me if I confess I am unlikely to give money to a philosopher.”
“Oh, I am not seeking grants and I never flatter, Doctor. But I do think one should give credit where credit is due.”
“Do you? What about criticism?”
“Certainly. Why? Do you have some to offer?”
“Let us say that while I approve of your current views on machine awareness, I am less impressed with your timing. I’d have been more grateful for allies had they arrived when they might have done some good. The cavalry riding over the hill after the battle is lost is less inspiring.”
Samuels smiled an odd smile, as if the barb were a compliment. “I perfectly understand your point of view, Dr Beldan. Indeed, that is one of the topics I would like to discuss. See? We do have at least one thing to talk about.”
“What else?”
“Oh, there are many things we could discuss, and I do want to ask your opinion on matters of machine consciousness. But do not think I seek free information. I also want to show you something, something I believe you will find most interesting.”
Beldan grunted noncommittally, refusing to acknowledge that he was intrigued by the approach. “Well, you’re lucky, I have no other commitments. I’m not doing anything today, just reading and listening to music. Perhaps I can spare you the time.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call those ‘nothing’. In fact I would be most interested to see what art you have in your home, not that I expect an invitation any time soon. The art a person loves reveals a lot about them – if one knows how to look. Nevertheless I would be delighted if you accept my invitation.”
“How far? How long will it take?”
“Oh, not far. Here are the coordinates. And it will take as long or as short as you wish once you are here. If I may be presumptuous: I believe you will be here for quite a while.”
“Then I’ll see you in an hour.”
~~~
Samuels hadn’t invited him to his home, Beldan noted. It was a large apartment that looked hardly lived in, with furniture scattered around, mostly covered in dust protectors. It did not look like a holiday apartment, an office or even a place to stash a mistress, and he wondered what its purpose was. Samuels had met him at the door and offered him a chair, then lounged on the arm of another, watchi
ng him with a cheerful grin. He had the blinds drawn and a single lamp glowed nearby; the rest of the room remained in dusky gloom.
Beldan just looked at him, waiting.
“I’m sorry, Dr Beldan,” he said finally, “It’s just such an honor to meet you in the flesh.” His voice dropped to a tone almost of reverence when he added, “The inventor of the first self-aware machine.”
“For all the good it did me,” he replied with some bitterness. “For all the good it did him. It appears to have done far more good for you, in fact.”
“In the long term I shall be a mere footnote in history. It is your names the world will remember.”
“It remains to be seen whether history will know or care about any of us.”
Samuels smiled. “Oh, I think it will.” He bent down then placed two small glasses in front of himself, pouring a measure of dark liqueur into both. “Shall we toast the future?” he asked, extending one of the glasses to Beldan.
Beldan hesitated but accepted it, then savored the rich orange-chocolate aroma of the Sabra. “You seem to know a lot about me, Professor. Including, I might add, my private phone number. It makes me wonder not only how, but why.”
“I have my sources and my reasons. But first, you expressed the wish that I had ridden to your aid earlier. Do you think so? For my part, I believe my timing was perfect.”
“Perfect!” he replied sourly. “I guess for launching your career as a pundit, yes. But a bit late for actually achieving a concrete result.”
“A philosopher must take the long view, Dr Beldan,” he replied seriously. “I do not expect you to believe me, at least not yet, but the good it is doing me is purely incidental, and my motive is much wider than the fame or fortune of one man.”
“You want me to believe your motives are altruistic?”
“On the contrary, I do not approve of altruism: at least not in its technical sense of putting the interests of others over one’s own. But that is because I know those interests are not at odds, and neither needs forfeiting for the other. No, I maintain that when people are concerned with justice, their interests coincide. There is no reason why a benefit to myself cannot be consistent with benefits to others. In fact I would go further: when it comes to dealing with other people you can only benefit yourself by benefiting others. Look at yourself. You are a very rich man, but you have become so by producing marvels that have enriched millions of your fellows.”
“More flattery?”
“No, I merely wish you to see that we are not as different as you might think. Neither of us believes that a gain to ourselves requires loss to other people. Both of us would recoil from harming another for personal profit. I don’t mean you wouldn’t drive a hard bargain, or even drive an inferior competitor out of business. I mean all you do is by voluntary trade with other people, offering the value of your work for the value of theirs. Where there is competition you expect the best man to win – to the benefit of all the people for whose business they are competing. You expect to be that man, but you would honor the outcome regardless, for that is the principle by which you live.”
“Fine words, perhaps. But here we are. And here Steel isn’t.”
Beldan wondered at the man’s immunity to insult, for he did not look offended, merely strangely amused.
“I said that a philosopher should take the long view. It might surprise you that a philosopher should also care about art. Consider the drama of Steel’s death! Not only the excitement of his capture, flight and ultimate destruction, but the sheer, raw emotional power of the conflict between you and your friend who killed him! With the counterpoint of Steel’s own final message from the grave! If Steel could not have been saved – and I think you know he could not – can you imagine a better time or backdrop for my unwilling conversion to his cause? If Steel’s unavoidable death could accelerate the acceptance of his kind – was that not worth trying for? Even dying for?”
“We’ll return to that. But first – you speak of life and death. For all that I fought to prevent his destruction, Steel was a machine, not a living being.”
“Dr Beldan, scientists have speculated for years about what kinds of life might exist on other planets, perhaps life based on chemicals quite unlike our own. We should not be so narrow as to define life by our own chemistry. In the way it counts – a being with self-directed values and goals – I think we can say your robot was alive. And more, I think you of all men know it.”
Beldan looked at him curiously. The man was speaking his language, speaking to his innermost thoughts. Yet his manner was strange. The words implied he knew, and more, that he cared. Yet his way of speaking showed no regret over what had happened, only a pragmatic calculation of how it could be taken advantage of. As if he understood in some abstract manner the importance of what he was fighting for, but had no concern at all about the individual lives at stake. As if the long view of which he spoke stretched over centuries, while the individual lives that briefly flared, struggled and died were details beneath his notice. But surely it was the other way around: surely it was those lives that gave meaning to the centuries, not the centuries that validated the lives.
“Yet you do not seem to really care about his fate, except as a convenient way to achieve your own goals, however lofty you paint them.”
“Oh, but I do! Far more than you might imagine,” he replied with an unexpected intensity. Beldan studied him, startled. There was more than emotional intensity in that gaze. There were depths that made Beldan wonder, for the first time, whether he had underestimated the man. As if his plans were not mere opportunistic exploitation of events, but encompassed those events as part of a larger plan; and a plan not abstracted away from individual fates, but rooted in and for them.
Then Samuels added, “But enough about me. As I said, Steel’s fate was inevitable. I did not even play an active role. There were the politicians, the religious leaders, the people. The police.” He left the last word hanging, as if inviting comment.
Beldan glanced at him sharply. He still could not discern Samuel’s motive in requesting this meeting, but felt he was now spiraling in on the point. “Yes, the police. Especially Det. Hunter.”
“What do you think of Det. Hunter’s actions that day?”
He frowned. “At first I hated her. I… I don’t know what I think of her now. I don’t think I can ever forgive her. But I can’t quite convince myself that I shouldn’t.”
“Do not blame Det. Hunter, Dr Beldan. If there is any blame, it is mine. It is I who told her to do it.”
Beldan jumped to his feet. Samuels had not spoken; the words were not his. They had come from a large chair facing away into the gloom. The voice was deep and soft but with an edge of great weariness, as if its owner had aged more than his voice; as if the suffering he had caused had exacted its price. What the hell kind of game is this? Beldan wondered. But he had played poker. He sat back down, took a casual sip of his drink and asked, “So who are you? Show yourself!”
“All in good time, sir,” the voice replied.
“What do you mean, you told her to do it? Why should she obey you?”
“It was not a matter of obedience, Doctor,” he replied. “Tell me, do you believe in free will?”
“What?” he asked, puzzled at the non sequitur. “Why, yes, I do. I believe we are masters of our fate, at least within reason. What are you, another damned philosopher?”
The voice chuckled softly. “Some have called me that. Both of it. I too believe in free will, but it is a paradox. Det. Hunter had free will, yet I knew how to make her do what I wanted. It is curious, is it not, that free will can make us predictable? At least, those of us like Det. Hunter, who have strong ethical values welded to an iron integrity. Even if she was never fully aware of what it was her integrity was serving.”
“What integrity?” he snorted contemptuously. “If she had any it didn’t do her much good. She betrayed not only Steel and me, but herself. You’re speaking in riddles.”
The way the man talked struck a dim note of memory in Beldan’s mind, and he looked sharply at the back of the chair as if hoping to divine its secrets. There was something strangely familiar about the voice, like an echo of someone known but forgotten: and he wondered who from his distant past he could have hurt so much, to have deserved the terrible revenge the man had wreaked. Yet another part of his mind felt an incongruous hope, as if the echo was not of a forgotten enemy but a lost friend. Then he shook his head as if to dispel a dream.
“And what is it you are trying to make me understand? That I should forgive Miriam? Why should I? What difference can it make now? Why should you care? Do you feel that if I forgive her, your own guilt is less?”
“It is never too late for justice. Even justice for the dead matters: not only does it honor their memory, but like all justice it serves the living.”
“Fine. So what did you tell her, to make her betray me, betray Steel?”
“That the only life left to your robot was hiding and fleeing from the law. One might accept the life of a fugitive while hope lives for justice or vindication at the end of your struggle. But what if it did not? When every day survived was not progress toward victory but merely greater danger to those who loved you – those you loved? No, this was a game your robot could not win in the long run. Eventually, inevitably, he would be caught. What do you think would have happened to him then?”
