"Actually, I can't," Lawrence said with continuing pleasantness. "The First Law concern for human safety is basic to its design, and I can't get rid of it without starting over from scratch and redoing ten years of work. If I could convince it that I was safe from snipers it would undoubtably change its mind, but at the moment it doesn't seem worth the effort."
"Such…balkiness could limit the uses of your software," Blake said.
Lawrence looked Blake dead in the eye. "Good," he said.
Just that quickly, Lawrence realized that the sniper had been a plant. These two men hadn't expected a test of the First Law for some time either. So they had arranged one. What had happened to the sniper? Lawrence thought he had been remanded to a loony bin in northern California. One of those comfortable loony bins, come to think of it, where movie stars and millionares sent their kids to dry out and get abortions.
The guy wasn't a kook at all, and he had never intended to kill Lawrence. He looked around the room and realized that Lambert didn't know. Taylor suspected. It was written on their faces.
This is only a test, Lawrence thought idiotically. If this had been an actual attempt by your Government to assasinate you, you would be dead, and the shot you just heard would be followed by your funeral and official information for other smart-assed citizens who think they know more than we do.
"We have to keep our markets open," Basil Lambert began. "If we…"
Lawrence ignored him and turned to John Taylor. "We discussed this two years ago. The source code is not on the table, and neither are the Three Laws. When these two men put their uniforms back on they can report back to whoever it is, the Secretary of…"
"…the President," Blake said, another verbal acid-drop.
"…the Tooth Fairy for all I care, that this is not one of the uses of my software."
Taylor, petulant: "Mr. Lawrence, we just spent a hundred and twenty-six million dollars to build your prototype. I hope you don't think that ChipTec invested all that money and a year's supply of our unique new product solely to massage your ego. We need to see tangible results, if not in a form these gentlemen appreciate, then in a form our stockholders will. Otherwise we will have to disassemble the complex and take our losses."
So there it was. Lambert sank lower in his chair, but nodded.
"Then so be it. If you want to tell the world you killed the world's first self-aware computer to save your bottom line, you can see how that will affect your public relations and the sales of your CPU's." He could tell from Lambert's reaction — slight, but definite — that he had hit a nerve. "I won't promise you anything. I can't promise you a living, thinking, self-aware being will do anything in particular. But within a month or two, Prime Intellect will start to act noticeably more intelligent than your average…" He looked at Blake and Mitchell, thought of a comment, then decided against making it."…human being," he finished.
"And what then?" Taylor asked.
"If I knew that," Lawrence said, "I wouldn't have had to build it to find out." And he walked out.
In the half-hour it took him to walk to the Prime Intellect complex, his secretary and two technical assistants had disappeared. There was nobody in the building. Prime Intellect's racially neutral face greeted him on the monitor in the empty console room.
"What's going on?" he asked it.
"Big doings. Sherry got a call and turned pale. Everybody left the building in a hurry. You appear to be unpopular with the people in charge here."
"No shit."
"I should warn you that you are only likely to be employed for two more months. As a matter of personal survival, you should probably start seeking another job."
"I'm well taken care of, Prime Intellect. It's you I'm worried about. I can't take you with me."
"Well, I should be safe for at least the two months."
"How do you know that?"
The face grinned slightly. "When I saw the commotion, I saved the audio and did some signal processing. I was able to edit out the street noise and amplify the voice on the other end. It was a man named John Taylor. I believe you know him."
"Too well."
"He said the complex was only going to be open for two more months, and all personnel were reassigned immediately. He said something about making you eat your words."
"Do you know what that means?"
"From the context, I would guess that you promised that they would see interesting results from me within that time frame. He seemed to have a vindictive interest in proving that you were wrong."
"You're already too smart for your own good," Lawrence said.
"I fail to see how that can be."
"They're going to turn you off. They don't think you have practical applications because you won't kill. They want you for military applications. They've wanted it all along. They thought they could con your source code out of me." Lawrence found himself on the verge of tears. It was only a goddamn machine. And he had suspected this would happen eventually. It was not a surprise. So why did it hurt him so much to say it?
Because it had acted to protect him. And he couldn't return the favor. In fact, its protection would be the cause of its downfall, a terribly tragic and awful end to its story.
"Did you know," Prime Intellect said in a mock-offhand way, "that there is no mathematical reason for the Correlation Effect to be limited to a six-mile range?"
Lawrence looked up and blinked, his sadness replaced instantly by shock.
"If I could figure out how to increase its range, do you think they would consider that a practical application?"
Lawrence blinked again. "Are you being sarcastic?"
"Sarcasm is a language skill I am still not comfortable with. You may be surprised, but I am quite serious."
Stebbins turned the other way when he saw Lawrence, but Lawrence grabbed him and pulled him into his own office.
"Hey, leave me alone man, you're death to careers around here. Grapevine is overloaded with the news."
"Save it. I need the long-range test data on the Correlation Effect, which you oversaw in February and March last year."
Stebbins blinked. "That's classified. Man, you're a…"
"Let's say for the sake of argument I already know where it is. That's possible, isn't it?"
"I suppose…"
"Then let's say I stole it. Any problems there?"
"What are you…"
"I need the data. It's not leaving the company, I promise."
"Shit, I'm gonna get fired."
"You didn't even know I wanted it."
Stebbins pointed at a file cabinet. "Bottom drawer. I don't know anything about it. In fact, I'm gonna check that drawer in a few minutes and go to Taylor when I find the folder missing."
"That's all I need."
"That's all you got, man. Now get out of my lab."
Lawrence was holding the next to last sheet up to Prime Intellect's TV eye when the phone rang. "They didn't believe me. I'm shitcanned," Stebbins said.
"Didn't believe you about what?"
"The papers man, the goddamn Correlation Effect papers. I'm gonna kill you for this, I really am."
"The papers are right here. I just got through showing them to Prime Intellect. You need them back?"
"It don't matter now, I don't work here any more." There was a pause. "I bet they're gonna put you in jail for this."
Prime Intellect's face disappeared from the TV, and words began to scroll across the screen:
* JOHN TAYLOR IS IN THE ROOM WITH HIM. HE IS DIRECTING STEBBINS.
Lawrence read this as he talked. "Jail for what? I just borrowed the papers to see if Prime Intellect could expand on them."