Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

He put aside the laser projector; but the show was not yet finished. Another man took the stage and performed baffling feats of magic. Jasperodus watched closely. He could discern faster movements than could the human eye and he was able to see that many of the tricks depended on legerdemain or on misdirecting the attention of the audience. Others, mainly those using cards or apparently demonstrating mind-reading, made use of devious mathematical calculations or ingenious psychology, at both of which the conjurer was clearly an expert. Jasperodus was able to see through the operation of these also; but others mystified even him.

Afterwards the four leaders of the troupe, including the expositor and the conjuror, sat before him relating unusual tales and propounding riddles. Jasperodus had secretly looked forward to this part of the proceedings. These people spent their lives travelling the world, and their knowledge covered a vast range of subjects. The troupe could cater for all tastes: not only could it perform plays, exotic foreign music, displays of dancing, acrobatics, conjuring and buffoonery; it could also debate philosophy with remarkable erudition. Jasperodus needed some stimulating conversation now that Padua, otherwise his only outlet, had become churlish and unfriendly towards him.

After listening for a while he expressed a wish to be posed a riddle or two.

A jolly-faced oldster, his face more wrinkled than the others and fringed by a fluffy white beard, obliged him. ‘Which are more numerous, the living or the dead?’

Jasperodus thought for a moment. ‘The living, for the dead don’t exist.’

‘Correct! Now apply yourself to this ancient conundrum. A judge once sentenced a man to death, informing him that he was to be garotted sometime between the following Monday and Friday, but that up until the moment he was taken from his cell he would not know on which day. That night the condemned man reasoned thus: “I cannot be garotted on Friday, which is the last day, for in that case I would be forewarned of it the instant Thursday midnight had passed, which is against the judge’s ruling. But if Friday is eliminated I cannot be garotted on Thursday either – because I would likewise be forewarned of it the instant Wednesday midnight had passed. By the same argument Wednesday, Tuesday and Monday are each eliminated in turn. I am saved! I cannot be executed.” And so he rested easy. But when Tuesday arrived he was taken from his cell and garotted, unforeseen as the judge had promised. Explain.’

Jasperodus explored the intricacies of the tale and found himself in a paradox. After some abortive attempts to solve it he shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘Pah! It is a play on words merely. The judge lied. He imposed a condition that cannot be carried out in reality, which is something any fool can do. He should have exempted the last day from his promise and then there would be no paradox.’

‘My opinion exactly!’ Shoulders jiggling, the oldster chuckled in amusement. ‘But you would be surprised how many philosophers have taken his words at face value and erected imposing systems of logic on them.’ He gave a crafty laugh, looking sidewise at his colleagues. ‘A ruler with an intellect for a change!’

The remark emboldened Jasperodus. ‘You are all men of discernment,’ he said, adopting an imperious pose. ‘Consider, then, my achievements. I have made myself king of this land and all men here do my bidding. I can out-think most and have determination enough for ten. Do you not think that this gives me equal status with men? That I am, in effect, a man?’

He was answered by a trouper with a lean rubbery face the colour of red brick. ‘By no means. You are a machine for all that. How did you gain your kingdom?’

‘Why, by trickery and deceit!’ Jasperodus said proudly. ‘Is that not the way of men?’

‘The way of most men, just so. By your own admission you add weight to my case. With you, all is imitation.’

‘You have no moral sense,’ chortled the white-bearded oldster.

The fourth member of the team, a man somewhat younger than the others, spoke up. ‘Your question is dealt with by the Riddle of the Sphinx, said by many to predate all recorded history.’

Jasperodus darted him a quick look. ‘Tell it.’

‘The riddle runs: What can a man do that is neither thinking, feeling, sensing nor action? The answer is that he can be conscious that he does any of those things. Here we have the vital difference between a man and any construct. Your Majesty can think, have emotions, perceive – in the machine sense – and perform effective action. But there can be no awareness behind these functions, and if you aver that there is then you have formed an erroneous conclusion.’

‘So my good friend Padua tells me,’ Jasperodus said huffily, disappointed that he had received no praise. ‘And yet I do indeed hold to this error, at no small cost to my peace of mind. Tell me, do you not fear that I will punish you for your ill-considered remarks?’