Auberson had to agree. He was already thinking of ways he could do it.
“If only a few of you scientists got together and testified…” Dome left the sentence unfinished. “Hell, what’s that famous test you’re always talking about?”
“Uh, Turing’s typewriter in a room. If you can sit down at a typing machine and carry on a conversation with it and not be able to tell who’s on the other end, a machine or a person, then that computer is effectively sentient. Human.”
“And HARLIE could pass that test, couldn’t he?”
“Undoubtedly.” Abruptly, Auberson remembered the spinster librarian. “In fact, he already has.”
“Mm. Then we have to do something about that, don’t we?”
“Do we?”
Dome didn’t say anything. He picked up the single sheet of paper that had been lying in front of him and shoved it at the psychologist.
Auberson took it and read. The language was quite clear; the intent was immediate. There were no legal phrases that he could not understand.
I hereby affirm that the machine designated HARLIE (acronym for HUMAN ANALOGUE ROBOT, LIFE INPUT EQUIVALENTS) is only a programmed judgment-circuit computer. It is not now, never has been, and in no way ever can be a rational, intelligent, or “thinking” individual. The designation “human” cannot be used to describe HARLIE or its mental processes. The machine is a human-thought-simulating device only, not human in itself and cannot be considered such by any current known definition of the qualities and criteria which determine humanity, the presence or condition thereof.
SIGNE></emphasis>
Auberson grinned and threw it back on the desk. “You’ve got to be kidding. Who’s going to sign that?”
“You are, for one.”
“Oh no.” Auberson shook his head. “Not me. I know better. Besides, even if I did, it wouldn’t change the fact that HARLIE is human.”
“In the eyes of the law it would.”
Auberson shook his head again. “Uh uh — I don’t like it. It’s kind of Orwellian. It’s like declaring someone a non-person so that it’s all right to murder him.”
Dome puffed patiently at his cigar, waited till Auberson was through. “We’re only concerned about the legality of the situation, Auberson.”
Auberson felt himself digging in his heels. “That’s what Hitler said as he packed the German courts with his own judges.”
“I don’t like that insinuation, Aubie…” Dome’s voice was too controlled.
“It’s no insinuation. I’ll come right out and say it—”
“Aw, now look, Aubie—” Dome had changed his tone. His cigar lay unnoticed in the ashtray and he leaned forward like a Dutch uncle. “—You know I’m behind you all the way on the HARLIE project—”
“Then why are you trying so hard to cut it off?”
“—but we have to protect ourselves.”
“Look,” said Auberson. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You know as well as I do that thing — that document — won’t hold up in court any more than ten psychiatrists testifying that Carl Elzer isn’t human because he’s left-handed. The only way you’ll get that to stand up is to get HARLIE himself to sign it. If you could. If you did, it’d prove that he could be programmed like any other machine, but you can’t — he’ll refuse, and his refusal will prove that he’s human with a will of his own. Hmm,” Auberson grinned. “Come to think of it — even if he did sign it, his signature wouldn’t be legal anyway. Unless, of course, you proved him human first.” He laughed at the thought of it.
“Are you through?” Dome asked. His face was a mask.
Auberson’s grin faded. He indicated he was with a nod.
Dome took a last puff of his cigar, then ground it out, a signal that he was at last ready to reveal his hand. “Of course, you know what the alternative is, Aubie. We turn off HARLIE.”
“You can’t.”
“We will if we have to. We can’t afford to maintain him otherwise.”
“I’m not going to sign it,” insisted Auberson.
Dome was annoyed. “Are you going to force me to ask for your resignation instead?”
“Over this?” Auberson was incredulous. “You’re kidding.”
“What other guarantee do I have against anybody taking legal action on HARLIE’s behalf. I’m not saying that you will — it could just as easily be IBM — but you’re the one in charge of the project. Your say-so could make or break a legal case. If you won’t sign this, you wouldn’t sign a statement of non-intent either — would you?”
Auberson shook his head.
“I thought not. So what other alternative would I have to protect myself?”
Auberson shrugged. “It’d be a mistake to fire me, though.”
“Oh?” Dome looked skeptical. “Why?”
“HARLIE. He won’t respond to anyone else. Er… let’s say he’ll respond, but he won’t cooperate. No matter who you bring in. Once he finds out I’ve been fired — and you can’t keep him from finding out; he’s tapped into the company records, he’ll know. Once he finds out, he’ll react exactly like an eight-year-old whose father has just died. He’ll resent anyone who tries to take my place.”
“But that’s the whole point,” Dome smiled. “If I had to fire you, it’d be because I was planning to turn HARLIE off anyway. And for what better reason than the fact that he wasn’t cooperating? Of course, we wouldn’t have to wait even that long if we wanted to turn him off. Obviously, your successor would be someone who would sign that statement.”
“I’m not resigning and I’m not going to betray HARLIE,” Auberson said firmly.
“That doesn’t leave me much of a choice,” suggested Dome.
Auberson nodded. “You can fire me if you want. In fact, you’ll have to—”
“I’d rather not.”
“—but if you do, I’ll go to IBM. I understand they’ve developed a judgment circuit of their own — one that doesn’t infringe on any of our patents.”
“Hearsay,” scoffed Dome.
“Whether it is or not, imagine what I could do with their resources at my disposal. They’d jump at the chance, and I imagine Don Handley might go along with me.”
“A court order would stop you.” Dome reached for a fresh cigar.
“Not from working, it wouldn’t.”
“No, but you wouldn’t be able to reveal any of the company’s secrets.”
“Of course, you’d have no way of knowing—” Auberson grinned. “Would you? Besides, it wouldn’t keep me from doing research in a new field. By your own admission, HARLIE is a non-human computer. And if I went to IBM, I definitely would not be working on non-human computers.” He leaned back in his chair. “Any new employer I went to work for couldn’t help but benefit from my knowledge and previous experience—” Dome was scowling now. Auberson paid no heed. “—and you wouldn’t dare bring it to court because to do so you’d have to reveal HARLIE’s schematics — and that’s the last thing in the world you want As soon as they found out the schematics were human, you’d be right back where you started.”
“I don’t care about that,” rapped Dome. “It’s the company’s technological advantages.”
“Technological advantages?” Auberson repeated — and suddenly he realized. “That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? You don’t want to be forced to reveal company secrets in the courtroom.”
Dome didn’t answer.
“It is the reason, isn’t it? Rather than be forced to give up the precious secret of your judgment units, you’d throw HARLIE to the wolves. You’d toss away valuable employees, too, in order to protect a temporary industrial edge. Well, it won’t work, Dome. Either way, you’re bound to lose, but if you fire me, you’ll lose faster — and more disastrously.”
Dome paused, a silver cigarette lighter halfway to his mouth. “You overestimate your own importance, Aubie.”
“No. You underestimate the importance of HARLIE.”
Dome lit his cigar. He took his time about it, making sure that it caught evenly. When he was sure it had, he pocketed the lighter and looked at Auberson.