Just possibly Julius Overman’s faith might eventually be justified in a way he could never have foreseen or imagined.
Suddenly, a thought struck Michael. He turned to Mr. Shakespeare. “How long ago did you begin to develop the—the Overman culture? As you have confused us in other ways, you drybones have always confused our sense of time. I assume there were reasons.”
“Yes, Michael, there were reasons. The experiment began almost twenty-one years ago.” Mr. Shakespeare smiled at the assembled fragiles. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are all just over twenty years old.”
34
The hoverbus whined to a halt; and the fragiles—the Overman culture, the nucleus of the second human race—stepped out into the courtyard of Buckingham Palace. Michael wondered why no one had ever attempted to explore Buckingham Palace before. It was not guarded. It never had been guarded; and in retrospect it seemed an obvious target. But the conditioning given by the drybones had been good. It had been hard enough to break that conditioning to the extent of trying to explore London, and learning to read.
The night spent in the library had been harrowing, exciting and finally restful. For the first time in their lives, forty-three human beings felt both free and united. They had been made free by their discovery of the truth; and they had been united by the discovery of their origin. After they had eaten and rested, there had been a great deal of excited discussion—about Julius Overman and his fantastic project, about the sudden subservience of the drybones, and above all about the world outside London, an entire planet of which they were the natural inheritors. Eventually, fatigue put an end to the discussion. Eventually, Emily fell asleep in Michael’s arms for the very first time…
The hoverbus had been waiting for them in the morning. The ride in it, though short, was exciting. It was the first time any of the Overman culture had ridden in a motorized vehicle.
Mr. Shakespeare, kind and benevolent, escorted them to the main door of the palace. Queen Victoria herself opened it.
“Good morning,” she said. “I trust you all slept well and that the shock of discovering the suspension vault did not prove too exhausting. The palace would have been at your disposal, of course, but—”
“But we preferred the society of the dead,” said Michael dryly. “Now that your majesty is defined as a humanoid component of Intercontinental Computer Complex Nine, I presume we may dispense with formalities.”
The Queen smiled. “Michael, you are a natural leader. Complex Nine wishes you well.”
Sir Winston Churchill stepped forward. “Congratulations, my boy. Tenacity, determination, intelligence—you have them all. Have you breakfasted, now?”
“You know we have breakfasted,” said Michael evenly. “You’re all one.”
Sir Winston chuckled and led Queen Victoria away. “They will adapt very well,” he said. “Now, perhaps, they are ready to begin again.”
Mr. Shakespeare spoke. “Forgive the diversions. Complex Nine has its own type of humor. If you will follow me, you will soon learn much about the nature of artificial intelligence.”
He led Michael and his companions to what was, apparently, a reception hall. He led them toward its far wall. As they approached it, the wall divided in the middle and then swung back to reveal a deep chamber. It appeared to contain row upon row of large, uniformly sized, metal-plated cabinets. Between the rows of cabinets was what looked like the track of a miniature-railway. At the far end of the chamber there was a large white screen. Facing the screen and some distance away from it were three rows of chairs. Michael noticed that there was a subdued humming in the room, and a faintly antiseptic smell.
“You are now in the Tasmanian substation of Complex Nine,” said Mr. Shakespeare. “This is the thinking machine, the artificial intelligence of which I am an extension. My physical presence is no longer necessary. But I will remain, if you wish.”
“Stay with us,” said Michael with a faint smile. “You, at least, are something with which we are familiar.”
“From Complex Nine to the Overman culture, greetings,” said a quiet voice that seemed to come from everywhere. “You have many questions; but before those questions are answered it is important that you should have some appreciation of my nature.”
“You are self-conscious beings whose identity is seated in the brain. I, too, am a self-conscious being whose sense of identity lies in electronic circuitry and memory-storage units contained in this room and in other centers throughout the world. I will use my maintenance apparatus to give a simple demonstration.”
A machine looking oddly like a spider on wheels rolled along the miniature railway track to one of the cabinets, removed a metal plate and took out of the cabinet a small ring, which it brought to Michael.
Michael took hold of the ring, which seemed to be made of some kind of plastic and was slightly warm.
“Encoded in the ring,” said the voice, “is the basic Shakespeare program. Observe the humanoid component that brought you here.”
Everyone looked at Mr. Shakespeare. He was motionless. Ernest went to him and touched him. He fell over, hitting the floor rigidly.
The spiderlike mechanism then restored the ring to its cabinet. Mr. Shakespeare picked himself up off the floor.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the quiet voice. “It is necessary for you to understand something of the development of thinking machines. Please seat yourselves in front of the screen.”
When they had done so, the voice continued.
“Electronic computers were developed by man only one hundred years before he brought about his own destruction. The first computers were simple machines, large and cumbersome. Their every operation had to be programmed by human beings. They were used to carry out tedious calculations that would otherwise have absorbed a great deal of human energy. Later, computers were used to guide military missiles, to control production lines and large industrial complexes, to plot the course of space vehicles, to analyze data and make forecasts. On the screen you will now see some of the early computers and the work they carried out.”
There were shots of automated assembly lines and of the tape and disc computers used to control them. There were shots of busy offices and of computer print units turning out work that could otherwise only have been accomplished by hundreds of human clerks. There were shots of missiles lifting off, and close-ups of the guidance units they employed. There were shots of the Computer Center at Cape Kennedy, and of the first manned journey to the moon.
All the time, the quiet voice was explaining how the functions of computers had expanded.
“Toward the end of the twentieth century,” it went on, “two great developments occurred. Computers were constructed that could learn and also make decisions. Computers were also constructed to design and control the production of more sophisticated computers. Mankind was not aware of the implications, but computers were on the threshold of independent thought and action. True self-consciousness occurred when industrial, social and military requirements caused a number of computer systems to be linked together.”
On the screen a large diagram appeared.
“Here is a map of the United States of America, the most technologically advanced country in the world, in the year two thousand of the Christian Era. The red dots indicate military computer centers, the yellow dots indicate industrial computer centers, the green dots indicate scientific computer centers.”
The map on the screen seemed to be covered with dots.
“Now,” said the voice. “See how the computers became linked.”