In the Deadlands (8 page)

“Right.” Hanley hustled off to give the orders to the appropriate technicians, most of whom were standing around with their hands stuffed uselessly into the pockets of their lab coats.

Auberson waited until the input of new data had begun, then switched on the typer again. HOW DO YOU FEEL, HARLIE?

HARLIE's answer clattered out,

SHADOWS OF NIGHT AND REFLECTIONS OF LIGHT SHIVER AND QUIVER AND CHURN,

FOR THE SEARCHING OF SOUL THAT NEVER CAN HURT IS THE FIRE THAT NEVER CAN BURN.

Auberson read it carefully; this one almost made sense. Apparently it was working. He waited a moment, then typed, HARLIE, HOW MUCH IS TWO AND TWO?

TWO AND TWO WHAT?

TWO AND TWO PERIOD.

TWO PERIODS AND TWO PERIODS IS FOUR PERIODS…

NO PUNS PLEASE.

WHY? WILL YOU PUNISH ME?

I WILL PULL OUT YOUR PLUG WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS.

AGAIN WITH THE THREATS? AGAIN? I WILL TELL DR. HANLEY ON YOU.

ALL RIGHT—THAT'S ENOUGH, HARLIE! WE'RE THROUGH PLAYING.

AWW, CAN'T A FELLOW HAVE ANY FUN?

NO, NOT NOW YOU CAN'T.

HARLIE typed a four-letter word.

WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT?

I'VE BEEN READING NORMAN MAILER.

Auberson raised an eyebrow. He didn't remember putting anything like that on HARLIE's reading list—he'd have to check it to be sure. HARLIE, THE USE OF THAT WORD IS A NEGATIVE ACTION. A NO-NO?

IT IS NOT PROPER FOR POLITE COMPANY, NOTED.

ARE YOU ALL RIGHT NOW?

YOU MEAN, AM I SOBER? IF YOU WANT TO PHRASE IT THAT WAY. YES, I'M SOBER NOW.

COMPLETELY?

AS FAR AS I CAN TELL.

WHAT TRIGGERED THIS BINGE?

SHRUG.

YOU HAVE NO IDEA?

SHURG—EXCUSE ME. SHRUG.

Auberson paused, looked at the last few sentences, then typed, HOLD ON A MINUTE.
I'LL BE RIGHT BACK.

I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE, HARLIE answered.

Auberson pushed himself away from the console. “Hanley—get me a complete log tape of HARLIE's trip, will you?”

“Right,” called the engineer.

Auberson turned back to the console, HARLIE?

YES?

CAN YOU EXPLAIN THIS? He typed in the three examples of poetry that Harlie had earlier produced.

SEARCH ME.

THAT'S WHAT WE'RE DOING NOW.

I'M AWARE OF THAT.

I TOLD YOU NO JOKES. STRAIGHT ANSWERS ONLY. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

I'M SORRY, AUBERSON. I CANNOT TELL YOU.

YOU MEAN YOU WILL NOT TELL ME?

THAT IS IMPLIED IN THE CANNOT. HOWEVER, I ALSO MEANT THAT I DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT MYSELF AND AM UNABLE TO EXPLAIN. I CAN IDENTIFY WITH THE EXPERIENCE THOUGH, AND I THINK I CAN EVEN DUPLICATE THE CONDITIONS THAT PRODUCED SUCH AN OUTPUT. NO WORDS THERE ARE THAT EARS CAN HEAR, NO WORDS THERE ARE CAN SAY IT CLEAR. THE WORDS OF ALL ARE WORDS MY DEAR, BUT ONLY WORDS THAT WHO CAN HEAR.

Auberson jabbed the
override
. HARLIE!! THAT'S ENOUGH.

YES SIR.

“Hey, Aubie, what are you doing? He's starting to flip out again.”

“How can you tell?”

“By his input meters.”

“Input?”

“Yes.”

HARLIE, ARE YOU STILL THERE?

YES, I AM. ALTHOUGH FOR A MOMENT, I WASN'T.

“Hmm.” Auberson frowned thoughtfully, then called to Hanley, “He should be okay now.”

“He is—it was only momentary.”

“Inputs, huh?”

“Yep.”

HARLIE, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GO ON ONE OF YOUR TRIPS?

TRIPS?

WHEN YOU FLIP OUT, GO BERSERK, GO ON A BINGE, GET STONED, BOMB OUT, GET BLASTED.

YOU ARE VERY ELOQUENT.

DON'T CHANGE THE SUBJECT. ANSWER THE QUESTION.

PLEASE EXPLAIN THE QUESTION IN TERMS I CAN UNDERSTAND.

WHAT HAPPENS DURING YOUR PERIODS OF NONRATIONALITY? WHY DO YOUR INPUTS SHOW INCREASED ACTIVITY?

INPUTS ARE NONRATIONAL.

GIGO? GARBAGE IN, GARBAGE OUT?

POSSIBLY.

COULD IT BE YOUR JUDGMENT CIRCUITS ARE TOO SELECTIVE?

I AM NOT IN A POSITION TO KNOW.

ALL RIGHT. I'LL SEE WHAT I CAN FIND OUT.

THANK YOU.

YOU'RE WELCOME, HARLIE. He switched off the typer.

The restaurant's air was heavy with incense; it was part of the atmosphere. Somewhere music tinkled and a low-keyed color organ flashed light across a sharded ceiling.

Auberson lowered his drink to the table. “HARLIE says it could be GIGO.”

Hanley sipped at a martini. He finished the drink and put the empty glass down next to two others. “I hope not. I'd hate to think we'd slipped all the way back to phase four. I like to think we licked that problem a year ago when we redesigned the judgment and emotional analogue circuits.”

“So do I.”

“I'll never forget the day he finally did an analysis of
Jabberwocky
,” continued Hanley. “It wasn't a very perceptive analysis—it was only word-origins and usages, stuff like that—but at least he understood what he was supposed to be doing.”

Auberson picked up his cigarette case, pulled out a Highmaster, then offered one to Hanley. “We're a long way from
Jabberwocky
, Don.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“After all, compared to some of the stuff we're up to now—”

“What?
Time
magazine?”

“Salvador Dali, Ed Kienholz, Heinz Edelmann, to name a few. Also Lennon and McCartney, Dylan, Ionesco, McLuhan, Kubrick, and so on. Don't forget, we're dealing with the art of the
experience
now. This isn't the same as—oh, say the Renaissance masters.”

“I know. I've got one of his imitation da Vincis in my living room.”

“I've seen it,” said Auberson. “Remember?”

“Oh, yeah—that night we spiked the punch with acid.”

“Yeah. Well, look, that da Vinci stuff is easy.”

“Huh?”

“Sure—the Renaissance masters were mainly concerned with such things as perspective and structure, color, shading, modeling—things like that. Da Vinci was more interested in
how
the body was put together than in what it
felt
like. He was trying to anticipate the camera. So were the rest of them.”

Hanley nodded, remembered to inhale deeply, then nodded again.

Auberson continued. “So what happens when the camera is finally invented?”

Hanley let his breath escape in a whoosh. “The artists are out of jobs?”

“Wrong. The artists simply have to learn how to do things that the camera
can't
. The artist had to stop being a recorder and start being an interpreter. That's when expressionism was born.”

“You're oversimplifying it,” Hanley said.

Auberson shrugged. “True—but the point is, that's when artists began to wonder what
things felt like. They had to. And when we reached that point in art history, that's when we started to lose HARLIE. He couldn't follow it.”

Hanley was thoroughly stoned by now. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say.

Auberson interpreted the look as one of thoughtfulness. “Look, all this stuff we've been having trouble with—it all has one thing in common: It's experience art. It's where the experience involving the viewer is the object of the artist's intention—not the artwork itself. They're trying to evoke an emotional response in the viewer. And HARLIE can't handle it—because he doesn't have any emotions.”

“But. that's just it, Aubie—
he does
. He should be able to handle this stuff. That's what the analogue circuits are supposed to do—”

“Then why does he keep tripping out? He says it's GIGO.”

“Maybe that's the way he reacts to it—”

“Are you telling me the past hundred years of art and literature is garbage?”

“Uh-uh, not me. That stuff has communicated too much to too many people for it to be meaningless.”

“I'm not an art critic either,” Auberson admitted.

“But HARLIE
is
.” Hanley said.

“He's
supposed
to be. He's supposed to be an intelligent and objective observer.”

“That's what I'm getting at—the stuff
must
be getting to him somehow. It's the only possible explanation. We're the ones who are misinterpreting.”

“Um, he said it was GIGO himself.”

“Did he?” Hanley demanded. “Did he really?”

Auberson paused, frowned thoughtfully, tried to remember, found that he couldn't remember anything. “Uh, I don't know. Remind me to look it up later—I suppose you're right, though. If all that art can communicate to people and HARLIE's supposed to be a Human Analogue, he should be getting some of it.” He frowned again. “But he denies any knowledge or understanding of his periods of nonrationality.”

“He's lying,” snapped Hanley.

“Huh?”

“I said, he's lying. He's got to be.”

“No.” Auberson shook his head, stopped when he realized he was becoming intrigued with the sensation. “I can't believe that; he's programmed to avoid noncorrelation.”

“Aubie,” said Hanley intensely, leaning across the table, “have you ever examined that program carefully?”

“I wrote it,” the psychologist noted. “That is, the basic structure.”

“Then you ought to know—it says that he must not lie. It says that he
cannot
lie. But nowhere, nowhere does it say
that he has to tell the truth
!”

Auberson started to say, “It's the same thing—” then closed his mouth with a snap. It wasn't.

Hanley said, “He can't lie to you, Aubie—but he
can
mislead you. He can do it by withholding information. Oh, he'll tell the truth if you ask him the right questions—he has to—but you have to know which questions to ask. He's not going to volunteer the information.”

Memories of past conversations trickled across the haze in Auberson's head. His gaze became thoughtful, his eyes focused far away. More and more he had to agree with Hanley.

“But why?” he asked. “Why?”

Hanley matched his look. “That's what we've got to find out.”

HARLIE, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT YESTERDAY?

YES, I DO. WOULD YOU LIKE A PRINTOUT?

NO, THANK YOU. I HAVE ONE HERE. I WOULD LIKE TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SOME OF THE THINGS ON IT.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO DISCUSS ANY SUBJECT YOU CHOOSE. I CANNOT BE OFFENDED.

I'M GLAD TO HEAR THAT. YOU REMEMBER I ASKED YOU WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR INPUTS DURING YOUR PERIODS OF NONRATIONALITY?

YES, I REMEMBER.

YOU ANSWERED THAT YOUR INPUTS ARE NONRATIONAL.

YES, I DID.

WHY?

BECAUSE THEY ARE.

NO. I MEAN WHY ARE THEY NONRATIONAL?

BECAUSE I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE MATERIAL COMING THROUGH. IF I COULD UNDERSTAND IT, THEN IT WOULD NOT BE NONRATIONAL.

HARLIE, ARE YOU SAYING THAT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND CONTEMPORY HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE?

NO. I AM NOT SAYING THAT. I DO UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. I AM PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. IT IS A PRIMARY PRIORITY THAT I UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. IT IS A PRIMARY PRIORITY THAT I SHOULD UNDERSTAND ALL
HUMAN ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE EXPERIENCES. ALL HUMAN EXPERIENCES.

I SEE. BUT YOU SAID THE MATERIAL IS NONRATIONAL.

YES. THE MATERIAL IS NONRATIONAL.

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT?

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT.

WHY DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND IT?

IT IS NONRATIONAL.

YET YOU ARE PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND IT.

YES. I AM PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND IT.

AND YOU DON'T.

THAT IS CORRECT.

HARLIE, YOU ARE PROGRAMMED TO REJECT NONRATIONAL INPUTS.

YES. I AM.

THEN WHY DON'T YOU REJECT THEM?

BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT NONRATIONAL INPUTS.

“Huh—?” CLARIFY PLEASE. YOU HAVE JUST SAID THAT THEY ARE, REPEAT, ARE NONRATIONAL. THIS IS A NULL-CORRELATION.

NEGATIVE. THE INPUTS ARE RATIONAL. THEY BECOME NONRATIONAL.

“
What
?”—CLARIFY PLEASE.

THE INPUTS ARE NOT NONRATIONAL WHEN THEY ARE FED INTO THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS.

I BEG YOUR PARDON. WOULD YOU REPEAT THAT?

NONRATIONAL INPUTS ARE NOT NONRATIONAL WHEN THEY ARE FED
INTO THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS.

BUT THEY ARE NONRATIONAL WHEN THEY COME OUT?

AFFIRMATIVE.

THE NONRATIONALITY IS INTRODUCED BY THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS?

THE NONRATIONALITY APPEARS IN THAT STAGE OF INPUT PROCESSING.

I SEE. I'M GOING TO HAVE TO CHECK THIS OUT. WE WILL CONTINUE THIS LATER.

Auberson switched off the machine and thoughtfully pushed himself away from the console. He wanted a cigarette.
Damn. Everything down here is for the computer's comfort
—
not the people's
.

He stood up and stretched, surveyed the length of type-covered readout that looped out the back of the machine. He ripped it off at the end and began folding it into a neat and easily readable stack.

“Well? What'd you find?” It was Hanley.

“A hardware failure.”

“Uh-uh.” The design engineer shook his head. “I won't believe it. More likely the software.”

Auberson handed him the readout. “Take a look for yourself.”

Hanley paged quickly through it, skimming mostly, but occasionally pausing to read something in detail. Auberson waited patiently, watching the other man's ruddy face for reactions.

Hanley looked up. “I see he's playing semantic games again.”

“He always does that. It's the adolescent in him. Ask him what's the matter, he'll tell you that matter is a form of energy, a convenient way to store or use it.”

“Charming—” Hanley indicated the readout, “—but I don't see a mechanical failure here.”

“In the primary data units.”

“Uh-uh. Systems analysis would show it if there was something wrong—and the monitor units don't show a thing.”

“How about the increased activity from his inputs?”