When HARLIE Was One (6 page)

Handley paused, fork in the air—considering the thought. “It's an interesting correlation,” he said finally.

“Don, don't hide behind jargon. This is more than a ‘correlation.' All this stuff that we've been having trouble with has one thing in common: it's experiential. It's where the experience of the viewer is the object of the artist's intention, not simply the artwork itself. They're trying to evoke an emotional response in the viewer and—”

“—and HARLIE can't handle it,” Handley guessed quickly, “—because he doesn't have the equivalent experiential context. So what? He's not alive, so he can't understand life. I don't see that it's a problem, Aubie. This whole area was just an experiment anyway. Let's just call it a dead-end and back off.”

“I think it's too late for that, Don. I think we've triggered something. I know you're going to jump all over me for even suggesting this, but I can't escape the feeling that something is waking up.”

Handley put his fork down and looked unhappy. “Aubie, we've had this conversation before. We treat HARLIE as if he's alive. We talk about him as if he's a real person—but you and I both know that he's only the
simulation
of a being. Not a real being.”

“Yes and no. Yes, we've had this conversation before. Yes, HARLIE is supposed to be a simulation of life. Yes, to all that. But—no, maybe that's become a false assumption. Maybe it was true yesterday. Maybe it isn't true today. We keep having problems and calling them failures. Maybe they're not failures. Maybe they're problems because we don't know how to recognize our own success.”

“Huh?”

“I think the stuff is getting to him—somehow. I think he's found a way, or he's in the process of inventing a way, to experience this work. I think he's getting the material okay, but we're not understanding what he's sending back.”

“I see what you're saying, but I don't agree. He knows what language he has to use if he wants to be understood.''

Auberson shrugged. “Maybe he's trying to invent a new language—one which includes the new concepts. Maybe this is something we're not going to understand if we don't learn the language. I don't know. Do you see the problem? How do we test it? We're operating in a whole new domain.”

Handley considered it for a long moment. His dinner lay forgotten before him. “Aubie, all your points are interesting. Maybe they're even valid areas for experimentation—except, we don't have the experience or the equipment or the perceptions to test what you're suggesting: that HARLIE has invented, or is still inventing, new experiences, new emotions. If they're beyond us, then
we
don't have anything to relate them to—and we'll get them as garbage. The point is that we can't tell if he's actually experiencing something appropriate—or if he's just insane. And that's the real issue. He has to work in
our
world; we don't have to work in his.”

“You're right.” Auberson agreed. “The sanity issue is the question. Unfortunately, the only one qualified to judge is the one whose sanity is in question. You got any ideas?”

Handley shook his head. “You know, I could have opened up a nice little software store in San Jose and my biggest problem would have been how many copies to order of
Alien Stompers From Jupiter
.”

“You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.”

“No, I didn't.” Handley retreated into his beer again. He said sadly, “I think I preferred the implications of failure to this. This isn't—quantifiable. We've built the first real artificial intelligence in the world; he's either insane or brilliant and we can't tell the difference.”

“That pretty well sums it up, doesn't it?”

“We could always ask him,” Handley said glumly.

“Actually. . . I've been thinking about that all day. If HARLIE
has
invented a new emotion or a new experience, then he will not be complete—or should I say ‘rational,' at least not by our standards—until he has communicated that experience. And that means that if we do ask him, then we have to be receptive. We have to be willing to experience it too—however or whatever it is.” He added, “It's a pretty scary idea to me.”

“I can't conceive of a new emotion, Aubie, or a new experience, any more than I can conceive of a new color. I don't think anyone can.”

“Right. If you could imagine it, then it wouldn't be beyond your experience, would it? That's what's scary—the idea that there are experiences beyond what you know. If you
could
experience them, it would certainly shift your perceptions, wouldn't it?”

Handley shook his head again, this time more in confusion than denial.

“On the other hand . . .” continued Auberson, “if he's a clever enough paranoid, he could still produce the same effect, because he'll be able to convince you that you are experiencing something, and you'll never know the difference. Did you see the invisible gorilla at the table in the corner?”

Handley didn't turn around to look. “No. I did not see the invisible gorilla.”

“See, that proves he's there.”

“I see your point.”

“No, you don't. It's invisible too.”

“Don't do that, Aubie—”

“We used to play head games like this all the time in school. They're best when you're stoned. That's when they're most real. It's all about reality, isn't it? If you can get enough people to see the invisible gorilla, then it really is there, isn't it?”

“Only until somebody realizes that he's not wearing any clothes—no, stop. This is making my head hurt.”

“It's something R. D. Laing once said, Don. If you have just one person you can talk to, then you're not really crazy.”

“Yeah, I've heard that one too. Either you're not really crazy, or you have two crazy people sitting and talking to each other.”

“That's my concern,” Auberson agreed. “That's what I meant when I said we don't really have a way to test the theory. At best, this could still be a very dangerous line of research—for the researcher. It would be like signing up for one of those trainings. This is not something you get to sit through and observe. Just by being there, you're a participant.”

“All this, just from asking one question?”

“It's not the question that's dangerous. It's the possibilities in the answers.” Auberson moved his beer glass around on the table, leaving a wet trail of condensation. He forced himself to let go of the glass, and looked across at Handley. “Do you remember when I came aboard this project, what I said?”

Handley frowned, trying to remember. “You said something about a feeling . . .”

“Mm-hm—a feeling of standing at the edge of a precipice, wondering if I jump off if I'm going to fly or fall. Well—I think this is the moment of truth, the moment where I catch the air in my wings or plummet to the rocks below. And I don't have a choice anymore, because I want to know the truth too much to turn back. I don't even know how to turn back or stop. I
have
to go ahead and ask him the question.”

“Mm . . .” Handley didn't respond immediately. He looked apprehensive. “Aubie, if you're right about even the smallest part of this—then you're right about the whole thing. And
everything
that implies. It's what you said before. If he's a clever enough paranoid . . .”

“Yes, I know. That's what I'm afraid of.”

Auberson stood up and stretched. He turned slowly, surveying the other consoles in the room—and his eyes met Handley's.

“Were you watching that?”

Handley nodded.

“And . . . ?”

“No comment.”

Auberson raised an eyebrow.

Handley shrugged, shook his head. “You first.”

“Three possibilities come to mind. That is, three
human
possibilities.”

“And how many
in
human possibilities?”

“All of them. Let's take a walk. . . .”

The corridor outside was empty. Auberson leaned against a wall and turned to face Handley. Handley folded his arms across his chest and asked, “So?”

“So.”

The rumpled man nodded. “Uh-huh. I know exactly what you mean.”

“No—it's just . . . I have too many ideas. I don't know where to begin.”

Auberson turned and pointed at the door. “Look at his name: ‘Human Analog Replication'—especially the
human analog
part. There have to be human analogs for what he's doing.”

“There's a second part to that name, Aubie. ‘Lethetic Intelligence Engine.'”

“I know. Lethesis is the study of language-created paradigms. I've seen Minsky's notes too. ‘The language paradigm creates its own internal reality—which cannot be abandoned without abandoning the language as well.'” Auberson added, “
Therefore
, HARLIE can neither be experiencing or expressing anything that is not already a part of the language concept-set. . . .”

“Right.”

“Wrong—what if he's breaking out of the paradigm? What if what he's doing is somehow a way to abandon the concept-set we've given him?”

“Mm,” said Handley. “So we're still stuck with last night's question. Aren't we?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. Abruptly, he looked up. “You said something about three human possibilities . . .”