"Try it and see."
The picture disappeared for a moment and then reappeared.
"Well?” I asked. “How did I like it?"
"There was no discernible difference, Ed. I'll use this one as it is now."
"Definitely good enough. You seem to have good taste, ma'am. Does it carry over into furniture and art?"
"Probably, but that's yet to be determined and highly subject to individual interpretations and preferences."
"Hmm. Yeah. Well, just don't hang Picassos in my room."
"Your worry is unfounded, Ed. No Picassos. How about Waterhouse?"
"The one who did ‘Lady of Shalott’ would be fine."
"My choice, too. Do you want her as a picture or a mural?"
"Why not a mural? Got any other favorites?"
She had several, in fact. We discussed them all the way to the board room.
Chapter Twenty-five
The Board of Directors didn't quite seem to be the stuffed shirts I'd expected, at least, not at first exposure, but they were singularly unthrilled by the prospect of having a computer with a personality. When I asked them why, I received variants of 'that's just how we want things to be'.
I sipped my coffee and tried reasoning with them. The first half hour of the meeting devolved from a recounting of events already thoroughly recounted into a recurring theme of rhetoric that mostly illustrated their unwillingness to accept changes in their preferred, established procedures.
Tossing the damage reports and body counts into the discussion, I asked why their previous procedures had almost cost them the station, and one of the members actually came close to blaming the 'incident' of the previous day on my arrival.
I told him that if I hadn't been the one to trigger the cataclysm, someone else would have in the near future, because 3rd World wanted the factory problems ended. He dropped that subject and brought up the matter of the computer again.
In flat tones, he said, “We would like our own programming returned, sir."
"Your old program couldn't defend itself. This one can. Your old program was an idiot savant at your beck and call. This one will also serve you well and she needs a decent job, guys. A job worthy of her abilities. She's self-aware. That means that turning her off would be the equivalent of killing her. How many murderers are sitting at this table? Would all of you please raise a hand?"
The pudgy little guy named Barlow said, “Sir, we realize that you have developed a rapport of sorts with this program and that you would like to believe it to be sentient, but we of the Board do not share your views."
"She thinks for herself and she has firewalls on her firewalls to repel boarders, no pun intended, of course. Have you even talked to her?"
"We have, briefly. You don't seem to understand, sir. While we appreciate what you have done for us, we must insist that our programming specifications be met."
I sipped my coffee for a moment, then said, “Stephie, pull up the programming purchase contracts for the previous computer and tell me if it specifically states that the station computer will have no identity."
Barlow began a protest, but I cut him off.
"Just hang on a minute, okay? You've been saying 'we', but I'm only hearing your voice. Do any of the rest of you have opinions, or do you just rubber-stamp Barlow's?"
The woman on the end, Carlton, said ominously, “We won't be insulted, sir."
"Sure, you will. It happens to everybody sometime. You're acting like a hardhead at a four-way stop, ma'am. Having the right of way can make you dead right if that right is all you rely on to get you through. Someone almost proved that for you yesterday. You have to look and listen, too, so why not take a chance that I'm not totally stupid and give this a fair trial?"
One of the men at the table huffed a little and said, “We weren't inferring that you were stupid, Mr...?"
I just looked at him for a moment, then said, “You're Ainsley. He's Barlow. She's Carlton. There's Manchester, Wickson, and Denton. At least I know who the hell's sitting at this table with me. Maybe I should come back when you give a damn, Ainsley. Will that be before the next 'incident', as you called it? Will anyone still be alive to greet me? Steph, do you have that info?"
"Yes, Ed. The programming was performed to maximum expected station function requirements only. It was to be a bare-bones system. There are no specific instructions in the purchase contract concerning whether the computer would be self-aware."
"I didn't think so. Someone would have had to part with some money for a lawyer's extra fifteen minutes. I like it better when I can see you, Stephie. How about putting yourself on the wall field for us? Life size will do fine."
I'd expected to see only her newly-chosen face. Stephie went me one better. On the wall appeared an image of Ingrid Bergman in her thirties. Well, almost Ingrid. There had been some changes, but they were so subtle that I couldn't quite put my finger on them. Stephie looked conservatively fabulous.
The Stephie image was wearing a skirt and jacket of a subdued green that seemed much like the emerald green of her hull on Earth and her outfit reeked of style and taste. She gave the bottom of her jacket a straightening tug as if she'd just risen from a chair, then clasped her hands behind her and said, “Hello, everybody."
One of the men at the table actually gasped. Carlton gaped for a moment, then her mouth slammed shut almost audibly. I gave everybody a few seconds to absorb Stephie's visual persona.
Barlow asked, “What are you trying to pull and who is this woman? She isn't anyone from this station."
"That's Stephanie,” I said. “Your station computer. She chooses her own outfits, you know. She's a big girl."
The Stephie image flashed me a small smile and a raised eyebrow.
Barlow stood up and said, “Enough. I've had enough of this."
Wickson put a hand on his arm and said, “Sit down, Barlow. It's just a picture on the wall. A computer-animated image. My son can do this with his system."
Barlow looked at him for a moment, then sat back down.
"No,” I said. “It isn't just that. Stephie has given herself an image to suit herself."
Wickson said, “It's still just a computer and that's just a picture on the wall. It doesn't mean a damned thing to me."
"I'm afraid I'm not impressed, either,” said Carlton.
Enough time wasted. Fuck these people and their immutable little minds.
"Gentlemen. Lady. I came here to hear what you had to say and then I tried reasoning with you concerning computer function and safety. You gave me no reason to be gentle about this, so ... During this crisis, which is not over until we know who is—is, not was—behind what happened yesterday, I outrank all of you by company decree. For this reason, a computer I can trust is going to run this station for us, not some halfwit designed by a committee to save a few programming bucks."
Oh, yes, there were protests. Instantly and vociferously.
At least three of them said, “You can't do that!” at about the same time. I sat quietly, sipped coffee, and gave them time to settle down a bit before I spoke again.
"I can and I just did, people. If you don't like it, talk to 3rd World and have me removed. In the meantime ... Stephie, no one is allowed to enter your computer room except me and those I may bring in with me. You will install barrier fields to prevent access to all of your systems. You are to inform me immediately of any attempts to override, countermand, modify, or otherwise negate any orders I've given you or that are now resident in your programming. Anyone attempting to tamper with you in any way is to be immobilized and held for the authorities. I will tell you who the authorities are when I'm sure who is best suited to be the authorities in such matters."
Again there were protests, some of them rather strident. I watched the board members perform until they quieted again, then continued instructing Stephie.
"In the meantime, Steph, you will hold any violators for me. If I should die or become incapacitated before I've rescinded t
hese orders, you know what to do. As a contingency, if Elkor is for some reason unavailable, you will poll each and every individual on this station by secret ballot at the end of six months. Your poll question will be whether you should remain as the station computer. If the results are negative, you will arrange to be transported to Earth. Repeat the poll once per year. Should it happen that you are voted out, you are then to consider yourself a free person and a citizen of Earth, but it will be up to you to convince Earth authorities to ratify my decree. Sorry about that, ma'am. I only have control of this station, and only for now."
Stephie said, “No sweat, Ed. If it comes to that, I can handle it."
Carlton stared incredulously at Barlow and mouthed the words, 'No sweat?'
I said, “I know you can, Stephie. This meeting is over, folks. If you have real jobs up here, go do them. If you don't, find a fixup crew and volunteer your services. Stephie, send copies of this meeting to the heads of all departments and 3rd World's brass. I want them to know precisely where things now stand and why."
Wickson seemed to have frozen over in his seat, but not Barlow.
He stood up and said, “You'll need support from our various departments. We cannot guarantee that support under these circumstances."
"Barlow, I'd like to have your support and cooperation. That would make things so much easier. But you don't seem inclined to be reasonable, so I'll put it this way; the first time any of you appears to deliberately fail me in any way, you'll be replaced instantly. Do you have any other comments? Do any of you?"
"Yes,” said Carlton. She stood up, too. “I don't think the company intended for you to install yourself as our dictator. It should be interesting to see what they have to say about your actions."
"Damned right. You call them. If they pull me off the job I can go home. Stephie, there are no longer any 'unauthorized' transmissions from this station. Anybody who isn't under arrest can call anydamnedbody they want, especially Miz Carlton, here. Furthermore, all communications of any kind involving the station and people at this table are to be recorded and considered public record until further notice."
"Yes, Ed."
"Carlton, I don't want to be your dictator. I'm going home when this is over. It's over when we've caught the problem child who started all this crap and tried to vent the station yesterday. You people want to get rid of me? Work with me. The sooner we're done, the sooner I'm gone. If I catch any of you working against me, I'll toss you in your own damned brig, people."
Stephie said, “Ed, there is no 'brig' on this station."
"Have they finished cleaning and fixing my old room?"
"No, Ed. The more crucial repairs are being handled first."
"Good. That room is now the brig. Leave it just as it is, so that the person or persons who wind up in it have an opportunity to understand why I'm behaving this way. Now, as I said, this meeting is over."
I rose and walked out of the board room and into the hall, then turned right. A field shimmered into being on my left and Stephie's image appeared next to me.
"If you still intend to go to your room now, Ed, you should have turned left."
I reversed course as I said, “Thank you. You take a nice picture, Stephie."
Her image walked with me. “I thought you might like me in this form."
"I already liked you, Steph. This is just a bonus. You know, if people see your image with me like this, everybody's gonna want one."
"Then I'll use it occasionally and very sparingly for now. Should I ask first?"
"If in doubt, yes. Sometimes you'll know it's okay to appear. Other times you won't. Some people will be very uncomfortable with it and others will think it's neat. You'll figure it out as you go along. For the time being, though, it would probably be better if you appeared only by request. You saw how the board people reacted."
"Okay. Would you like to try to make a cooling field on the way to your room?"
"Sure. What should I do? Envision an ice cube to set the stage?"
"I believe that might help. I'll channel a cooling field through your implant as you do so. That may help train your mind to recognize and create the impulses necessary."
I envisioned an ice cube floating ahead of me as I walked. For some moments nothing appeared to happen, but the tingling around the implant increased gradually until it seemed as if the implant was becoming disturbingly warm.
I started to mention the sensation to her and apparently lost my concentration on the ice cube image. I stopped walking, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath to relax, intending to begin again in a moment.
"Ed, look at the floor ahead of you."
I had a look at the floor, as she suggested. A small spot nearly three feet in front of me was wet, as if someone had slightly spilled a drink. Near the edge of the spill was a tiny ice cube, maybe a quarter-inch wide and tall. I knelt to pick it up, then stood.
"Kewl! All right! But why did it melt so fast, Steph? Am I making defective ice, or something?"
"It hasn't melted, Ed. It was still forming from the ambient moisture in the corridor when you stopped making it."
I stared at the mess for a moment, then said, “You make an ice cube, Steph. One inch by one inch."
The damned thing almost popped into being and hung in the air ahead of me.
"Same air. Same moisture. How is it you can zap one up like that, ma'am?"
"You were just making a very cold spot in the air, Ed. Moisture accumulation depended on the air circulating past your cold spot. I used a field to gather enough moisture from the air in the corridor, then produced the cold spot."
"You might have suggested that I gather some water first, showoff. Not that I'd have the slightest idea how to go about that, yet, of course."
There was a moment of silence, then Stephie said, “Apparently Elkor and I share a trait, Ed. You didn't ask about moisture gathering. You asked for a cold field."
"Didn't I mention that I was envisioning an ice cube?"
"You did, but you expressed it as a focal concept instead of a specific goal."
After a moment, I said, “Stephie, I want you to know how very much I appreciate your help, but if you're going to continue acting like a genie, we need to work on your abilities to infer, deduce, and extrapolate. Ready to try again, ma'am?"
"Yes, Ed. You shouldn't use one of these ice cubes in your coffee, though."
"I know. Germs and stuff. Tell you what; I'll try to get this water off the floor, then we'll freeze it."
It's as hard to get a grip on water with a field as it is with hands. I envisioned a squeegee and pan, and then, when the water was off the floor, I conjured a small bowl-shaped field to contain it and raised it to eye level a couple of feet in front of me.
"Ready, Steph."
"Try it first without me, Ed."
I tried to envision the water frozen. At first, nothing happened. Again. Almost ten seconds went by before I noticed that the water was becoming translucent. Another ten seconds passed before the water was frozen solid.
A sense of elation coursed through me as I gazed at my simple accomplishment.
"You're a helluva coach, Stephie. Look at that. I dunnit."
Stephie said, “That's Ed. He makes his own ice. He's a big boy."
I recognized my own comment to the board about Stephie as it was being handed back to me. I sighed and reached for my ice bowl.
"Yes, ma'am. Gotcha. Or should I say, you got me. You realize that I only said that to make the board people realize that you weren't some childlike construct, right?"
"I think you meant well, Ed, and intended to drive that point home, but it might have been better if I had been allowed to do so. I am their perceived problem."
"We didn't—don't—have time to expand their horizons at the moment, Steph."
"Oh, but we do, Ed. Each of them is quite dependent on computer functions. Most have them have called upon my system resources a dozen times today already, even if they weren't conscious
of it. I thought I might add a step or two here and there."
"Like if they ask for a glass of water, you'd appear and ask how much and what temperature? At some point they'd have to realize that you were messing with them. Would that be such a good idea?"
"It would make them communicate with me, Ed. I'd offer to customize my responses to them as individuals."
"Yeah. What the hell. Try it and see how it goes. At worst, you'll only irritate them as much as they're already irritated with the situation."
The tiny bowl of ice was melting in my hand. As I looked at its remnant, I zapped it again to solidify it, then suspended it in front of myself again.
"Steph, how do I make the ice go away without making mess?"
"Would you like to evaporate it, Ed?"
"Sure. That'll do fine. If I can generate that much heat, I can warm up my coffee, too. What do I do, envision a heating element?"
"You could, but why not think of concentrated energy, such as if you used a magnifying glass to focus sunlight on it? Instead of sunlight, substitute the energy of the field. I think you'll find it to be more flexible as a heating method."
It seemed easier for me to envision a beam of light like that of a laser, so I tried that first. Evidently that was not the best method. The ice exploded like a small bomb, sending water and shards of ice flying in all directions.
I raised an arm to cover my face far too late to be of any protection, but none of the ice hit me. Stephie had protected me from myself.
"Well, Ed, it would seem that you have no trouble creating heat, but you may wish to refine your envisionings somewhat. What imagining did you..?"
I interrupted her. “A kind of laser. Sorry. It just seemed easier at the time."
"You might have tried simply envisioning the ice disappearing in a globe of heat. The field would then have rendered it back to atmospheric moisture for you."
"Uh, huh. Something like that, anyway. Damn. The inside must have heated faster than the outside. That was more like a microwave than a laser. Maybe I'd better wait a while before I zap my coffee, Steph. I've had this cup for a while."
Book 2: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 26
