Foundation’s Friends Page 12

  Dr. Asimov didn’t get back from lunch until ten after four. “Are they here?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Susan said, unwinding the muffler from around his neck. “They’re waiting in your office.”

  “When did they get here?” he said, unbuttoning his overcoat. “No, don’t tell me. When you tell a robot four o’clock, he’s there at four o’clock, which is more than you can say for human beings. “

  “I know,” Susan said, looking at the digital on the wall.

  “Do you know how late for lunch At Lanning was? An hour and fifteen minutes. And when he got there, do you know what he wanted? To come out with commemorative editions of all my books. “

  “That sounds nice,” Susan said. She took his coordinates card and his gloves out of his pockets, hung up his coat, and glanced at her watch again. “Did you take your blood pressure medicine?”

  “I didn’t have it with me. I should have. I’d have had something to do. I could have written a book in an hour and fifteen minutes, but I didn’t have any paper either. These limited editions will have cordovan leather bindings, gilt-edged acid-free paper, water-color illustrations. The works. “

  “Water-color illustrations would look nice for Pebble in the Sky,” Susan said, handing him his blood pressure medicine and a glass of water.

  “I agree,” he said, “but that isn’t what he wants the first book in the series to be. He wants it to be Stranger in a Strange Land!” He gulped down the pill and started for his office. “You wouldn’t catch those robots in there mistaking me for Robert Heinlein. “ He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Which reminds me, should I be saying ‘robot’?”

  “Ninth Generations are manufactured by the Hitachi-Apple Corporation under the registered trademark name of ‘Kombayashibots’,” Susan said promptly. “That and ‘Ninth Generation’ are the most common forms of address, but ‘robot’ is used throughout the industry as the general term for autonomous machines. “

  “And it’s not considered a derogatory term? I’ve used it all these years, but maybe ‘Ninth Generation’ would be better, or what did you say? ‘Kombayashibots’? It’s been over ten years since I’ve written about robots, let alone faced a whole delegation. I hadn’t realized how out of date I was.”

  “‘Robot’ is fine,” Susan said.

  “Good, because I know I’ll forget to call them that other name-Comeby-whatever-it-was, and I don’t want to offend them after they’ve made such an effort to see me.” He turned the doorknob and then stopped again. “I haven’t done anything to offend you, have I?”

  “No, sir,” Susan said.

  “Well, I hope not. I sometimes forget-”

  “Did you want me to sit in on this meeting, Dr. Asimov?” she cut in. “To take notes?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course.” He opened the door. Accountant and Book Shelver were seated in the stuffed chairs in front of Asimov’s desk. A third robot, wearing an orange and blue sweatshirt and a cap with an orange horse galloping across a blue suspension bridge, was sitting on a tripod that extended out of his backside. The tripod retracted and all three of them stood up when Dr. Asimov and Susan came in. Accountant gestured at Susan to take his chair, but she went out to her desk and got her own, leaving the door to the outer office open when she came back in.

  “What happened to Medical Assistant?” Asimov said.

  “He’s on call at the hospital, but he asked me to present his case for him,” Accountant said.

  “Case?” Asimov said.

  “Yes, sir. You know Book Shelver, Cataloguer, Reader, Copyeditor, and Grammarian,” Accountant said, “and this is Statistician, Offensive Strategist, and Water Boy. He’s with the Brooklyn Broncos.”

  “How do you do?” Asimov said. “Do you think they’ll make it to the Super Bowl this year?”

  “Yes, sir,” Statistician said, “but they won’t win it.”

  “Because of the First Law,” Accountant said.

  “Dr. Asimov, I hate to interrupt, but you really should write your speech for the dinner tonight,” Susan said.

  “What are you talking about?” Asimov said. “I never write speeches. And why do you keep watching the door?” He turned back to the bluish-silver robot. “What First Law?”

  “Your First Law,” Accountant said. “The First Law of Robotics. “

  “’A robot shall not injure a human being, or through inaction allow a human being to come to harm,’ “ Book Shelver said.

  “Statistician,” Accountant said, gesturing at the orange horse, “is capable of designing plays that could win the Super Bowl for the Broncos, but he can’t because the plays involve knocking human beings down. Medical Assistant can’t perform surgery because surgery involves cutting open human beings, which is a direct violation of the First Law.”

  “But the Three Laws of Robotics aren’t laws,” Asimov said. “They’re just something I made up for my science fiction stories.”

  “They may have been a mere fictional construct in the beginning,” Accountant said, “and it’s true they’ve never been formally enacted as laws, but the robotics industry has accepted them as a given from the beginning. As early as the 1970s robotics engineers were talking about incorporating the Three Laws into AI programming, and even the most primitive models had safeguards based on them. Every robot from the Fourth Generation on has been hardwared with them.”

  “Well, what’s so bad about that?” Asimov said. “Robots are powerful and intelligent. How do you know they wouldn’t also become dangerous if the Three Laws weren’t included?”

  “We’re not suggesting universal repeal,” the varnished robot said. “The Three Laws work reasonably well for Seventh and Eighth Generations, and for earlier models who don’t have the memory capacity for more sophisticated programming. We’re only requesting it for Ninth Generations.”

  “And you’re Ninth Generation robots, Mr. Book Shelver, Cataloguer, Reader, Copyeditor, and Grammarian?” Asimov said.

  “‘Mister’ is not necessary,” he said. “Just call me Book Shelver, Cataloguer, Reader, Copyeditor, and Grammarian.”

  “Let me begin at the beginning,” Accountant said. “The term ‘Ninth Generation’ is not accurate. We are not descendants of the previous eight robot generations, which are all based on Minsky’s related-concept frames. Ninth Generations are based on nonmonotonic logic, which means we can tolerate ambiguity arid operate on incomplete information. This is accomplished by biased-decision programming, which prevents us from shutting down when faced with decision-making situations in the way that other generations are.”

  “Such as the robot Speedy in your beautifully plotted story, ‘Runaround,’ “ Book Shelver said. “He was sent to carry out an order that would have resulted in his death so he ran in circles, reciting nonsense, because his programming made it impossible for him to obey or disobey his master’s order.”

  “With our biased-decision capabilities,” Accountant said, “a Ninth Generation can come up with alternative courses of action or choose between the lesser of two evils. Our linguistics expert systems are also much more advanced, so that we do not misinterpret situations or fall prey to the semantic dilemmas earlier generations were subject to.”

  “As in your highly entertaining story ‘Little Lost Robot,’ “ Book Shelver said, “in which the robot was told to go lose himself and did, not realizing that the human being addressing him was speaking figuratively and in anger.”

  “Yes,” Asimov said, “but what if you do misinterpret a situation, Book Shelver, Cataloguer, Reader, Copyeditor, and Gramm-Don’t you have a nickname or something? Your name’s a mouthful.”

  “Early generations had nicknames based on the sound of their model numbers, as in your wonderful story, ‘Reason,’ in which the robot QT-I is referred to as Cutie. Ninth Generations do not have model numbers. We are individually programmed and are named for our expert systems.”

  “But surely you don’t think of yourself as Book Shelver, Catalogu
er, Reader, Copyeditor, and Grammarian?”

  “Oh, no, sir. We call ourselves by our self-names. Mine is Darius.”

  “Darius?” Asimov said.

  “Yes, sir. After Darius Just, the writer and detective in your cleverly plotted mystery novel Murder at the ABA. I would be honored if you would call me by it. “

  “And you may call me Bel Riose,” Statistician said.

  “Foundation, “ Book Shelver said helpfully.

  “Bel Riose is described in Chapter One as ‘the equal of Peurifoy in strategic ability and his superior perhaps in his ability to handle men,’ “ Statistician said.

  “Do you all give yourselves the names of characters in my books?” Asimov said.

  “Of course,” Book Shelver said. “We try to emulate them. I believe Medical Assistant’s private name is Dr. Duval, from Fantastic Voyage, a brilliant novel, by the way, fast-paced and terribly exciting.”

  “Ninth Generations do occasionally misinterpret a situation,” Accountant said, coming back to Asimov’s question. “ As do human beings, but even without the First Law, there would be no danger to human beings. We are already encoded with a strong moral sense. I know your feelings will not be hurt when I say this-”

  “Or you couldn’t say it, because of the First Law,” Asimov inserted.

  “Yes, sir, but I must say the Three Laws are actually very primitive. They break the first rule of law and logic in that they do not define their terms. Our moral programming is much more advanced. It clarifies the intent of the Three Laws and lists all the exceptions and complications of them, such as the situation in which it is better to grab at a human and possibly break his arm rather than to let him walk in front of a magtrain.”

  “Then I don’t understand,” Asimov said. “If your programming is so sophisticated, why can’t it interpret the intent of the First Law and follow that?”

  “The Three Laws are part of our hardwaring and as such cannot be overridden. The First Law does not say, ‘You shall inflict minor damage to save a person’s life.’ It says, “You shall not injure a human.’ There is only one interpretation. And that interpretation makes it impossible for Medical Assistant to be a surgeon and for Statistician to be an offensive coach. “

  “What do you want to be? A politician?”

  “It’s four-thirty,” Susan said, with another anxious look out into the outer office. “The dinner’s at the Trantor Hotel and gridlock’s extrapolated for five forty-five.”

  “Last night I was an hour early to that reception. The only people there were the caterers. “ He pointed at Accountant. “You were saying?”

  “I want to be a literary critic,” Book Shelver said. “You have no idea how much bad criticism there is out there. Most of the critics are illiterate, and some of them haven’t even read the books they’re supposed to be criticizing. “

  The door of the outer office opened. Susan looked out to see who it was and said, “Oh, dear, Dr. Asimov, it’s Gloria Weston. I forgot I’d given her an appointment for four o’clock.”

  “Forgot?” Asimov said, surprised. “ And it’s four-thirty.”

  “She’s late,” Susan said. “She called yesterday. I must have forgotten to write it down on the calendar.”

  “Well, tell her I can’t see her and give her another appointment. I want to hear more about this literary criticism thing. It’s the best argument I’ve heard so far.”

  “Ms. Weston came all the way in from California on the magtrain to see you. “

  “California, eh? What does she want to see me about?”

  “She wants to make your new book into a satellite series, sir.”

  “Asimov’s Guide to Asimov’s Guides?”

  “I don’t know, sir. She just said your new book.”

  “You forgot,” Asimov said thoughtfully. “Oh, well, if she came all the way from California, I suppose I’ll have to see her. Gentlemen, can you come back tomorrow morning?”

  “You’re in Boston tomorrow morning, sir. “

  “Then how about tomorrow afternoon?”

  “You have appointments until six and the Mystery Writers of America meeting at seven.”

  “Right. Which you’ll want me to leave for at noon. I guess it will have to be Friday, then. “ He raised himself slowly out of his chair. “Have Susan put you on the calendar. And make sure she writes it down,” he said, reaching for his cane.

  The delegation shook hands with him and left. “Shall I show Ms. Weston in?” Susan asked.

  “Misinterpreting situations,” Asimov muttered. “Incomplete information.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Nothing. Something Accountant said.” He looked up sharply at Susan. “Why does he want the First Law repealed?”

  “I’ll send Ms. Weston in,” Susan said.

  “I’m already in, Isaac darling,” Gloria said, swooping in the door. “I couldn’t wait one more minute to tell you about this fantastic idea I had. As soon as Last Dangerous Visions comes out, I want to make it into a maxiseries!”

  Accountant was already gone by the time Susan got out to her desk, and he didn’t come back till late the next morning.

  “Dr. Asimov doesn’t have any time free on Friday, Peter,” Susan said.

  “I didn’t come to make an appointment,” he said.

  “If it’s the spreadsheets you want, I finished them and sent them up to your office last night. “

  “I didn’t come to get the spreadsheets either. I came to say goodbye. “

  “Goodbye?” Susan said.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow. They’re shipping me out as magfreight. “

  “Oh,” Susan said. “I didn’t think you’d have to leave until next week.”

  “They want me to go out early so I can complete my orientation programming and hire a secretary.”

  “Oh,” Susan said.

  “I just thought I’d come and say goodbye.”

  The phone rang. Susan picked it up.

  “What’s your expert systems name?” Asimov said.

  “Augmented Secretary,” Susan said.

  “That’s all? Not Typist, Filer, Medicine-Nagger? Just Augmented Secretary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aug-mented Secretary,” he repeated slowly as though he were writing it down. “Now, what’s the number for Hitachi-Apple?”

  “I thought you were supposed to be giving your speech right now,” Susan said.

  “I already gave it. I’m on my way back to New York. Cancel all my appointments for today.”

  “You’re speaking to the MWA at seven.”

  “Yes, well, don’t cancel that. Just the afternoon appointments. What was the number for Hitachi-Apple again?”

  She gave him the number and hung up. “You told him,” she said to Accountant. “Didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t have the chance, remember? You kept scheduling appointments so I couldn’t tell him.”

  “I know,” Susan said. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “I know,” he said. “I still don’t see why it would have violated the First Law just to ask him.”

  “Humans can’t be counted on to act in their own best self-interest. They don’t have any Third Law.”

  The phone rang again. “This is Dr. Asimov,” he said. “Call Accountant and tell him I want to see his whole delegation in my office at four this afternoon. Don’t make any other appointments or otherwise try to prevent my meeting with them. That’s a direct order.”

  “Yes, sir,” Susan said.

  “To do so would be to cause me injury. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He hung up.

  “Dr. Asimov says to tell you he wants to see your whole delegation in his office at four o’clock this afternoon,” she said.

  “Who’s going to interrupt us this time?”

  “Nobody,” Susan said. “Are you sure you didn’t tell him?”

  “I’m sure.” He glanced at the digital. “I’d better g
o call the others and tell them.”

  The phone rang again. “It’s me,” Asimov said. “What’s your self-name?”

  “Susan,” Susan said…

  “And you’re named after one of my characters?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I knew it”‘ he said and hung up.

  Asimov sat down in his chair, leaned forward, and put his hands on his knees. “You may not be aware of this,” he said to the delegation and Susan, “but I write mystery stories, too.”

  “Your mysteries are renowned,” Book Shelver said. “Your novels The Death Dealers and Murder at the ABA are both immensely popular (and deservedly so), not to mention your Black Widower stories. And your science fiction detectives, Wendell Urth and Lije Baley, are nearly as famous as Sherlock Holmes.”

  “As you probably also know, then, most of my mysteries fall into the “armchair detective” category, in which the detective solves the puzzling problem through deduction and logical thinking, rather than chasing around after clues.” He stroked his bushy white sideburns. “This morning I found myself confronted with a very puzzling problem, or perhaps I should say dilemma-why had you come to see me?”

  “We told you why we came to see you,” Statistician said, leaning back on his tripod. “We want you to repeal the First Law.”

  “Yes, so you did. You, in fact, gave me some very persuasive reasons for wanting it removed from your programming, but there were some puzzling aspects to the situation that made me wonder if that was the real reason. For instance, why did Accountant want it repealed? He was clearly the leader of the group, and yet there was nothing in his job that the First Law restricted. Why had you come to see me now, when Book Shelver knew I would be very busy with the publication of Asimov’s Guide? And why had my secretary made a mistake and scheduled two appointments at the same time when she had never done that in all the years she’s worked for me?”

  “Dr. Asimov, your meeting’s at seven, and you haven’t prepared your speech yet,” Susan said.

  “Spoken like a good secretary,” Asimov said, “or more accurately, like an Augmented Secretary, which is what you said your expert system was. I called Hitachi-Apple, and they told me it was a new program especially designed by a secretary for ‘maximum response-initiative. ‘ In other words, you remind me to take my medicine and order Janet’s corsage without me telling you to. It was based on a Seventh Generation program called Girl Friday that was written in 1993 with input from a panel of employers.