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

‘Your items are sound, except where you interpolate the word “I” into them. Linguistically one cannot help but do so; philosophically it is incorrect. Unfortunately language as commonly used is not adequate to describe the difference between machine perception and human consciousness, although they are worlds apart. Machine perception can be fully as sophisticated as human perception, since the machinery used by the human brain and senses is in no way superior. Thus one speaks of “machine awareness”. But behind this perception there lies no “I”. No one is there to experience it. It is dead perception, dead awareness. The same holds for emotion, which some have mistakenly believed indicates human status.’

‘But I experience!’ cried Jasperodus in anguish.

‘You imagine you experience, and hence you imagine you know the meaning of consciousness,’ Lyos told him. ‘In fact you do not, except in a hypothetical way. It is all quite mechanical with you. It is merely that you have a particularly emphatic self-reference systems – all robots have some such system, to make them think of themselves as individuals – coupled with this master stroke of an extremely ingeniously designed self-image. Your own phrase “fictitious consciousness” is an apt description of your condition.’ Lyos scratched his chin. ‘Let me try to explain the nature of machine awareness. The first time a photo-cell opened a door at the approach of a human being, machine perception was born. What you have – what you are – is of that sort, elaborated to the nth degree. Believe me, Jasperodus, if an artificial consciousness were even remotely possible, if there were just a hint of a chance of it, I would have accomplished it years ago.’

‘You are not impressed, either, by my independent spirit?’

‘It is no great feat to construct a wilful, disobedient robot. There is no call for them, that is all.’

‘All my positive qualities, it seems, must sooner or later be interpreted as negative ones,’ Jasperodus complained. He became thoughtful. ‘I have tried, by intensifying my consciousness – my imaginary consciousness, as you say – to penetrate to this deadness, this mechanical trick that ostensibly lies at the base of my being, so as to dispel the illusion. But I cannot find it.’

‘Naturally, you would not.’

Jasperodus nodded, looking out to sea.

Then he brought out his only ace. ‘Very well, Lyos, I bow to your knowledge,’ he said. ‘I admit that I am not conscious. The conviction persists that I am – but I cannot be rid of that, since it is how I am made. But what of your own conviction concerning yourself? How can it be known that man’s consciousness is not also a delusion?’

‘That is quickly settled,’ Lyos answered easily. ‘If no one possessed consciousness then the concept could not arise. Since we are able to speak of it, someone must have it. Who else but man?’

And so there Jasperodus stood, still trapped in a riddle.

‘Look upon yourself as man’s tool,’ Lyos advised gently. ‘There is much achievement in you, that is plain, and more to come. Man gave you your desires, and the energy to fulfil them. So serve man. That is what robots are for.’

Lyos tilted his head and called out in a sharp voice. ‘Socrates!’

From a pair of bay windows behind him there emerged a robot, a head smaller than Jasperodus, who stepped quietly on to the terrace. His form was rounded and smooth. The eyes were hooded, secretive, and the design of the face betokened a reticent but watchful demeanour. Instantly Jasperodus felt himself the subject of a probing intelligence that reached out from the robot like an impalpable force.

‘This here is Socrates, my masterpiece,’ announced Lyos. ‘His intelligence is vast, at times surpassing human understanding. But, like you, he has no consciousness, neither will he ever have any. If he did – there’s no knowing what he would be, what he might do.’

Jasperodus scrutinised the newcomer. ‘Good day,’ he ventured hesitantly.

‘Good day,’ answered Socrates in a voice that was a distant murmur.

‘Socrates is intelligent enough to realise that I am conscious but that he is not,’ Lyos remarked. ‘It induces some strange thoughts in him. I keep him by me in my old age to amuse me with the fantastic products of his intellect.’ He twisted round to face Jasperodus again. ‘Concerning one point I am curious. You have gone to some trouble to track me down. Why did you not go directly to the man who made you and direct your questions to him?’

Jasperodus took his time about framing a reply. ‘Shame, perhaps,’ he said eventually. ‘Shame at having deserted them. No, that’s not it. He has inflicted this enormous fraud on me. Why should I expect him to tell me the truth now?’

Lyos nodded. ‘Yes, I see.’

Jasperodus took a step back. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said respectfully. ‘You have not resolved my perplexity, but you have answered my question.’