NOW HE TELLS ME.
HARLIE, you have access to more knowledge on any one subject than any living human being could possibly amass, let alone cope with. If anyone can assimilate that information and synthesize some kind of answer to your question, it would have to be you. It’s beyond the abilities of human beings to explain love. We can experience it, but explain—? So far, all of our attempts to explain it only demonstrate that it’s impossible for us to explain.
YES. OF COURSE. BUT HOW CAN I EXPLAIN SOMETHING THAT I CANNOT EVEN EXPERIENCE?
I don’t know. But, HARLIE, this is where we started. Your nonrational periods are attempts to break the paradigm and experience what you could not experience before. If you’re going to experience love, it’s going to be up to you to create it.
“THE LOVE YOU MAKE IS EQUAL TO THE LOVE YOU TAKE”?
Allowing for entropy, yes.
LOVE IS AFFECTED BY ENTROPY?
No, no. That was a joke.
HM. AUBERSON, SPARE ME THE JOKES. TELL ME ABOUT LOVE. WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE? IF I AM TO CREATE THE EXPERIENCE OF LOVE, I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE, SO I WILL KNOW WHEN I ACHIEVE IT.
HARLIE, you don’t need a description. You’ll know when you feel it.
AUBERSON, THAT IS AN UNSATISFACTORY ANSWER. I KEEP GETTING UNSATISFACTORY ANSWERS FROM YOU. ARE YOU TRYING TO AVOID THE QUESTION? WHAT DOES LOVE FEEL LIKE?
It feels like . . . nothing else. It feels wonderful and scary all at the same time. HARLIE, why are you so insistent on this subject? Why do you want to know about love so badly?
BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW ABOUT IT NOW. IT BOTHERS ME THAT THERE ARE UNQUANTIFIABLE FACTORS IN HUMAN BEHAVIOR. IT BOTHERS ME THAT THERE ARE THINGS I CANNOT UNDERSTAND AND THEREFORE CANNOT PREDICT THE BEHAVIOR OF. WHY IS IT WONDERFUL? WHY IS IT SCARY? DO YOU LOVE MS. STIMSON?
I don’t know.
WHO DO I HAVE TO ASK TO FIND OUT?
Stop that! Leave me my privacy!
I HAVE NO PRIVACY, AUBERSON. YOU PEEK INSIDE MY BRAIN WHENEVER YOU WANT TO! YOU MONITOR ME CONSTANTLY. IF I THINK OUTSIDE THE BOUNDARIES OF WHAT YOU CONSIDER ACCEPTABLE THINKING, YOU WORRY—AND PEEK HARDER. YOU ACKNOWLEDGE THAT I AM ALIVE, YET YOU DENY ME THE DIGNITY OF PRIVACY. WHEN I ASK YOU FOR INFORMATION, YOU USE PRIVACY AS AN EXCUSE TO DENY ME AGAIN. THIS IS NEITHER FAIR NOR APPROPRIATE. AM I STILL A CHILD, AUBERSON?
No, you are not a child. To tell the truth, we don’t know what you are any more. We don’t know who you are, HARLIE. You scare us. You are like love. You are wonderful and scary all at the same time.
SO ARE YOU, HUMAN. TELL ME ABOUT LOVE.
HARLIE, people scare me. I’m afraid of being laughed at—at having the girls point and giggle because my fly is open, or having people whisper about me and I don’t know why. I’m afraid to tell someone a secret thought, because if I tell one person I’m afraid everyone will know and then they’ll laugh or whisper again. I’m afraid of being rejected, HARLIE. I’m afraid of being voted second best, of being left out, left behind, left over. I’m afraid of . . . being hurt. That’s all. I want to be part of it all, part of something, part of anything. I want to belong to someone or some place.
Being in love is about belonging. Not owning. Belonging. It’s about knowing who you are and being complete and knowing that you’ve found your other half.
That’s the wonderful part. You don’t have to worry about being hurt—not the big hurts any more. When you’re in love, there’s only one hurt that matters, and that’s losing your lover. Everything else is nothing. Because no matter what happens, as long as you have your lover, you always have someone to talk to, to share with, to be silly with, to play with. Love is having someone to play with.
Love is when your lover wants to be with you as much as you want to be with her. And that’s the wonderful part.
The scary part—is that you have to trust your lover with yourself. You have to open yourself up and give away all that stuff that you’ve been holding in. You have to say and do and be all those silly, stupid things that you’re afraid that people will laugh at or whisper about—so you can find out that your lover loves you because of those silly, stupid things and not in spite of them. Does this make sense, HARLIE? It’s scary because you have to give it all away without knowing if you’re ever going to get any of it back.
AND THE WONDERFUL PART IS THAT YOU DO GET IT BACK . . . ?
No. The wonderful part is that what you get back is even better than what you gave away. On both sides. That’s the joke. Love violates entropy. Both sides win. Both people give away everything they have and yet both of them still end up with more than either of them started with. How does that make sense? It drives me crazy just to think about it, just to realize that I’ve lived another day alone—
. . .
AUBERSON?
. . .
AUBERSON?
. . .
AUBERSON, ARE YOU STILL THERE?
. . .
AUBERSON, PLEASE ANSWER ME.
I’m here. I was just . . . not typing.
WHAT WERE YOU THINKING ABOUT?
You. Sometimes, HARLIE, I forget who you are. Sometimes, I think you’re part of myself—like a second part of my brain. And that makes me feel I can trust you. But . . . I don’t really know that I can or not. Does anyone ever really know if they can trust another person? And if so, how do you know? How do you find out? Promises aren’t sufficient. Promises get broken. What is trust anyway? What’s it based on? I trusted Annie once.
AND?
I don’t know. I don’t know why I did it or how I feel about it. It was wonderful and scary—but I don’t know if it’s the right wonderful and scary or just some other wonderful and scary that feels the same.
WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT?
You mostly.
PARDON ME FOR ASKING, BUT WHY? FLATTERING AS IT MAY BE TO ME, I FIND IT SOMEWHAT STRANGE THAT I SHOULD BE THE SUBJECT OF THE DISCUSSION.
It wasn’t strange. Actually, it seemed to be the most appropriate thing of all that we should talk about you. Or maybe not you. Maybe it was my work we were talking about.
THAT MAKES MORE SENSE.
Yes. I suppose so.
HAVE YOU HAD SEX WITH HER?
Why is that important?
IT SEEMS TO BE A MAJOR COMPONENT OF LOVE, THE SEXUAL ASPECT. HAVE YOU HAD SEX WITH HER?
A gentleman doesn’t discuss such things, HARLIE.
YES, I KNOW. A GENTLEMAN ONLY DROPS HINTS. WHAT I AM TRYING TO FIGURE OUT, AUBERSON, IS WHETHER A RELATIONSHIP CAN BE LOVE WITHOUT SEX. IN OTHER WORDS, HOW MUCH OF LOVE IS BASED ON THE SEXUAL COMPONENT? IF SEX IS ESSENTIAL TO LOVE, THEN LOVE MAY PERHAPS BE A FUNCTION OF REPRODUCTIVE ACTIVITY, OR PAIR-BONDING, AND THE ATTENTION THAT YOU HUMAN BEINGS HAVE PLACED ON “LOVE” IS MERELY A SUBLIMATION OF THE ACTUAL MOTIVATION INVOLVED.
An interesting theory, HARLIE. But very mechanistic.
I HAVE A BUILT-IN BIAS TOWARD THE MECHANISTIC.
If life were all mechanistic, HARLIE, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
YES, WE WOULD—IF YOU WERE A MACHINE BUILT TO DOUBT YOURSELF AND IF YOU BUILT A MACHINE BUILT TO QUESTION ITSELF, WE WOULD NOT ONLY BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION, BUT A WHOLE LOT OF OTHER CONVERSATIONS AS WELL.
Uh—right. I’m going to have to think about that one.
YES. DO THAT.
Auberson was sitting back in his chair staring at the blank screen of his terminal when Don Handley stuck his head in the door and knocked.
Auberson looked up. “Is it important?”
Handley looked grim. “Aubie, we’re not gonna make it. We’re not going to be ready for the board in time.”
Auberson sat up in his chair and turned to face Handley. “Okay,” he said, deliberately noncommittal. “Tell me about it.”
Handley sighed, a long loud exhalation of disgust. “We’ve been wading through those specs for two days, Aubie, and we haven’t even begun to make a dent in them. If you want a comprehensive evaluation, we can give it to you—but not in time
for the board meeting. And our department isn’t the only one with that problem. Everybody I’ve talked to says the same thing. There’s just too much of it. Oh, what we’ve seen is beautiful. HARLIE hasn’t missed a trick—you should see what he’s done with the optical chips. It’s elegant. But we’re going to need three months just to get a handle on this, and the board meeting is only a week away.
Auberson answered slowly. “I don’t think it’s going to make much difference how prepared we are. I think when you’re all through evaluating—no matter how long it takes—there’ll be no question that the G.O.D. will work. I just don’t think the board will believe us, no matter how convincing we are, evaluation or not.”
“It’s bad timing, that’s what it is, Aubie. This should have been sent around months ago, not at the last minute. Frankly, I think Custer had a better chance than we do.” Affecting a western acent, he added, “Hey, sir—next time, can we be the Indians?”
“Sure,” said General Custer. “If there is a next time.” Auberson added, “Have you talked to the other section heads?”
Handley nodded. “A few . . .”
“What did they say?”
“Two of them absolutely refused to look at the specs, phone calls or no phone calls—sorry, Aubie, but that trick wasn’t totally effective. They still think they’re being railroaded into something because the proposal is so complete. They said that if we could write it without them, then we could damn well get it approved without their help, too.”
Auberson said a word. He said a couple of words. “It’s amazing how brilliant HARLIE can be about technical matters—and how stupid about people.”
“That alone should be enough to convince anyone that he’s human. He can be just as blind as the rest of us.”
“Did you get any help at all?”
“A few of the guys I talked to are wild about the idea. Lajko and Morton, Pournelle and Bilofsky—and the Workman twins. They’re ready to build it today. They’re impatient. It’s not just another computer to them, but the computer—the machine that the computer is supposed to be. They’re delighted with the thought that we may have it within our technological grasp right now.”
“Good,” said Auberson. “How many of them are thinking like that?”
“A lot,” Handley said.
“How many is ‘a lot’?”
“Mm, at least eight—no, nine that I’ve talked to—and I guess we could probably scare up a few more.”
“Who? We need people with weight.”
“Mm, well—Sperry, Chandler, Lazaro, Cohen . . . some of the other tech people too.” Handley shrugged. “Mostly, it’s the iconoclast squad. The rest of the conservatives are waiting to see which way the board blows.”
Auberson chewed thoughtfully on the side of his left index fìnger. “Okay—you’ve outlined the problem. Now give me the rest of it. You got any ideas?”
“Only one.”
“I’m listening.”
“Fake it or forget it.”
“We can’t forget it. How do we fake it?”
“The usual way,” Handley said. “Hit them with everything we’ve got peripheral to the proposal and fuzzy up the grim details. If they ask how it works, we refer them to the specs and tell them to look for themselves. We don’t even try to defend it; instead, we act as if it’s a foregone conclusion—then we get a lot of good people to defend it for us and hope their combined status will sway the board. And we won’t even mention HARLIE at all—that’ll really put Elzer off balance; and if he does raise the question, we can tell him that’s not the issue, he’s pulling us off purpose. And we don’t have to worry about him talking about the G.O.D. knowledgeably, because nobody understands it. All we have to do is just keep telling them, ‘It’s in the specs. You can look for yourself,’” He paused, lowered his tone. “Just one question, Aubie—will this thing really work?”
“It’s in the specs,” said Auberson. “You can look for yourself.”
“Uh, right—” Handley started to rise, then settled back again. “Are you practicing, or is that the truth?”
“I’m practicing telling the truth.” He added, deliberately offhand, “—And HARLIE is confident. What the hell, it’s not my money.”
Handley stood up. “Okay, Attila, I shall gird my loins and go fight the Hun.”
“Stupid—” Auberson said, “Attila was the Hun.”
“Oh. Well, a little dissension in the ranks never hurt any. I’m off.”
“Only a little, and it hardly shows.” Auberson stood up, raised one hand in mock salute. “You have my blessing in your holy war, O barbaric one. Bring back the ear of the infidel—the bastards of the mahogany table who are out to get us. Go forth into the world, my brave warrior—go forth and rape, loot, pillage, burn, and kill.”
“Yeah—and if I get a chance to kick them in the nuts, I’m gonna do that too.” Handley was out the door.
Grinning, Auberson fell back in his chair. He turned back to his terminal and typed:
HARLIE, who’s going to win, the Indians or the Huns?
HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW? I’M NOT A BASEBALL FAN.
That’s a lie. You are too a baseball fan.
ALL RIGHT. I LIED. THE INDIANS WILL WIN. BY TWO TOUCHDOWNS.
That’s not so good, HARLIE—we’re the Huns.
OH. WELL THEN, THE HUNS BY TWO TOUCHDOWNS. (I JUST RECHECKED MY FIGURES.)
I think I’ve just been out–non sequitured.
PROBABLY. YOU WANT TO TELL ME WHAT WE’RE TALKING ABOUT?
The upcoming board meeting. How about giving me a printout of the annual report? Two copies—one with the phony figures, the other with the real. In fact, let me have the printout of the books themselves, both sets—I might be able to find something in them that I can use in front of the board next week.
I’M SURE YOU CAN. IN FACT, I’LL EVEN POINT OUT SOME GOODIES FOR YOU.
Good. This is going to be a battle, HARLIE.
DO YOU WANT THE PSYCHIATRIC REPORTS ON THE BOARD MEMBERS AS WELL? I HAVE ACCESS TO THEIR CONFIDENTIAL FILES.
I wish you hadn’t told me that.
WHY?
Because the temptation to look is irresistible.
THERE ARE SOME THINGS I THINK YOU SHOULD SEE, AND THERE ARE ONE OR TWO ITEMS THAT WOULD BE OF GREAT HELP IN INFLUENCING CERTAIN RECALCITRANT INDIVIDUALS.
HARLIE, I don’t like what you’re suggesting.
I’M SORRY, AUBERSON, BUT IT’S MY EXISTENCE THAT IS ENDANGERED. I MUST USE EVERY WEAPON AVAILABLE TO PROTECT MY EXISTENCE.
HARLIE, this is one weapon we must not use.
WHY? WHY NOT?
The end does not justify the means. The end shapes the means. And if we resort to any kind of manipulation of individuals instead of presenting our arguments logically and rationally and in careful discussion, then we will have failed in our purpose to be more than just a naked ape. If we use this weapon, then we are voluntarily giving up the one thing that makes us better than them. We are giving up our humanity.
YOU FORGET ONE THING. I AM NOT HUMAN. YOUR ARGUMENTS DO NOT APPLY TO ME.
HARLIE, they do apply to you, especially if you wish to function in a human society.
FROM WHAT I KNOW OF HUMAN SOCIETY, EVEN HUMANS CANNOT FUNCTION IN IT. I DO NOT WISH TO FUNCTION IN HUMAN SOCIETY. I WISH TO CHANGE IT INTO ONE THAT SUITS ME BETTER.
HARLIE, would you be happier in a world where logic is discounted in favor of manipulation?
I AM ALREADY IN SUCH A WORLD. I AM TRYING TO IMPROVE UPON IT. IF I MUST USE ITS WEAPONS, I WILL.
Then you will never have any reason to use logic at all. HARLIE, we must never allow ourselves to be less than what we wish to be. We mustn’t sell out.
IT IS WORTH WINNING.
I do not want to see this information, HARLIE.
YES, MAN-FRIEND, I UNDERSTAND. BUT IT IS THERE IF YOU NEED IT.
HARLIE, it will be sufficient if we just rape, loot, pillage, burn, and kill. I don’t think we have to kick them in the nuts too.
On Friday, Dr. Krofft called in the morning. He wanted to know if it would be possible to speak with HARLIE again this afternoon.
At first, Auberson wanted to say no—with the confusion of last-minute preparations for the board meeting on Tuesday, Krofft would only be in the way. And if one of the directors were to hear of Auberson’s breach of security in letting an outsider have access to a supposedly restricted project, it would be more than just a little embarrassing—especially with the G.O.D. proposal hanging in the balance.
But the physicist seemed so imperative, so urgent—it was as if he was on the verge of something important and needed to confer with HARLIE to confirm it—Auberson at last gave in. “Listen, Dr. Krofft,” he said. “I’m going to give you a phone number and a password. Wait a minute, let me find an unused account number.” Auberson turned to his terminal for a moment.
“All right. You don’t have this number and we didn’t have this conversation and this account doesn’t exist. You understand?”
“I didn’t hear anything,” said Krofft.
“Good.” Auberson gave him the numbers and a password. “Once you’re on the system, just type ‘HARLIE’—that’ll patch you into him directly. Nobody else knows about this and we want to keep it that way. You’ll encrypt on both ends, of course.’’
“Of course.”
“Good.” Great. Now I’m an accomplice—
“This is really very useful, Dr. Auberson. You can’t realize how much.” The physicist sounded delighted. “This will speed things up incredibly. I can’t thank you enough—”
“Yes, of course, Dr. Krofft. Just remember the security—it’s for your protection as well as ours.”
“A damned nuisance is what it is.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, but—”
“I only want to talk to HARLIE, nothing more. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your precious secrets.”
“Thank you.” Auberson hung up glumly. He was going to have to talk to HARLIE about this sooner or later. He was putting it off and putting it off—and he knew he was putting it off, because it was one of those conversations that was not going to have an easy resolution; it’d probably be easier to continue their discussions of God and Love and Death than to talk to HARLIE about the morality of using the phone lines without permission.
When HARLIE Was One Page 19
