Did that mean that smart machines needed something that could stand in for pleasure before they could become self-conscious? Or did I have to break out of that whole way of thinking before I could begin to understand what machine consciousness amounted to? Perhaps machine emotion had to be mapped upon an entirely different spectrum, without the underlying binary distinction of pleasure/plus versus pain/minus. Was that imaginable? And if not, might the fault be in the power of my imagination rather than in the actuality of the situation?
Theyre very fond of games, Alice had said, and theyre very fond of stories too. What kind of stories did machines tell one another? What kinds of endings would those stories have? What kinds of emotional buttons would the stories press? What would pass for machine comedy, machine tragedy, machine irony? How different might those stories be from Christine Caines favorite VE tapes? And if we were now caught up in one such story, how could we possibly navigate our way safely through it? How could we find our way to something that would qualify as a happy ending, not just for ourselves but for the architects of the tale: the entities that had finally become sick and tired of being mere bit players in the unfolding biography of our species, and wanted to find out how we might best be fitted into the mechanography of theirs?
I wondered
whether I might be a little too paranoid for my own good. Perhaps, I thought, self-conscious machines would be entirely disposed to be generous to humans who were, after all, their creators, their gods. I couldnt hold on long to that kind of optimism, though. Who would know better than the smart machines the true extent of human dependency upon machinery? Who could respect a god who was utterly helpless without the objects of his creation? Was it not more likely that the smart machines would take the view that their ancestors had created ours that everything we now thought of as human behavior was actually the product of technology and that they were therefore the ones entitled to consider themselves gods. If it came to a contest as to who was more nearly omnipotent and omniscient, the machines would win hands down. As to omnibenevolence, we might have to content ourselves with the hope that they might win that one by an even greater margin
There came a point when I wished that I could get back to the blithe irrationality of dream logic, the blind tyranny of mere imagery. The problem, seen as a problem, was too difficult for sensible analysis.
So I finally got up, even though it was still dark. I used the facilities, and went in search of nourishment.
Thirty
Recriminations
The lights in the outer room were still on. Alice was already there, sitting at the table in the room outside the cell. She didnt seem at all surprised to see me. In fact, she seemed to be waiting for me or at least for someone.
Theyre not pleased, she said. They think I gave the game away. I suppose theyre right.
Do you want some breakfast? I asked.
Ill get it, she replied, rising to her feet. Ive had plenty of time to practice.
I sat down while she sorted out a couple of bowls of porridgelike manna and warmed them up. She passed one to me and sat down again, in a self-consciously awkward fashion.
If shed been blonde, she could have passed for Goldilocks, but I wasnt sure which of the three bears I was supposed to be. I had never been able to see the educative point of that particular nursery tale unless it was to instruct children in the glaringly obvious principle that although theres a happy medium between every set of extremes, it isnt always the wisest policy to go for it.
How do you feel? she inquired, between mouthfuls.
Fine, I assured her.
Im sorry the foods so basic, she said. We didnt have an opportunity to lay in our own supplies we had to take what we were given.
Its good enough, I assured her. Take my tip never eat the food on Excelsior. Its not fit for animals. So what happened? They think you gave the game away, so now youre in prison with us? Wheres your mysterious companion?
Its even less comfortable where Ive been sleeping than it is in here, she said. They wanted to keep us apart in case I said too much but I said too much anyway. Its not going to make Eidos negotiations any easier, but I cant say that Im sorry. You had to be told eventually. Everybody has to be told. The diehards will have to admit that, in the end.
So you are number nine, I said. What do they have mapped out for us, exactly? Are we supposed to make a case for humankinds continued existence?
Its not a joke, she countered. Someone has to make the case, no matter how obvious it may seem to you.
But the real question is how negotiations are to be conducted between the machines and the various posthuman species, I guessed. If the ultrasmart mechanical minds are going to come out of hiding, they need ambassadors, spokespersons, apologists. They need Mortimer Gray, and Adam Zimmermanand Michael Lowenthal, if they can get him. Horne too, and Davida and you, of course. I cant quite see where I fit in, butI suppose its occurred to you that this whole kidnap business was a bad mistake? Entirely the wrong way to go about things.