Dark Benediction

A dynamotor purred softly in the policeman’s cylindrical body. Then Mitch heard the faint twittering of computer code as the cop’s radio spoke to Central. There was a silence lasting several seconds. Then an answer twittered back. Still the cop said nothing. But he extracted a summons form from a pad, inserted it in a slot in his chassis, and made chomping sounds like a small typesetter. When he pulled the ticket out again, it was neatly printed with a summons for Willie Jesser to appear before Traffic Court on July 29, 1989. The charge was jaywalking.

Mitch accepted it with bewilderment. “I believe I have a right to ask for an explanation,” he muttered.

The cop nodded crisply. “Central Service units are required to furnish explanations of decisions when such explanations are demanded.”

“Then why did Central regard my identification as sufficient?”

“Pause for translation of Central’s message,” said the cop. He stood for a moment, making burring and clicking sounds. Then: “Referring to arrest of Willie Jesser by unit Six-Baker. Do not book for investigation. Previous investigations have revealed no identification papers dated later than May 1987 in the possession of any human pedestrian. Data based on one hundred sample cases. Tentative generalization by Central Service: It has become impossible for humans to produce satisfactory identification. Therefore, ‘satisfactory identification’ is temporarily redefined, pending instruction from authorized human legislative agency.”

Mitch nodded thoughtfully. The decision indicated that Central was still capable of “learning,” of gathering data and making generalizations about it. But the difficulty was still apparent. She was allowed to act on such generalizations only in certain very minor matters. Although she might very well realize the situation in the city, she could do nothing about it without authority from an authorized agency. That agency was a department of the city government, currently nonexistent.

The cop croaked a courteous, “Good day, sir!” and skated smoothly back to his intersection.

Mitch stared at his summons for a moment. The date was still four days away. If he weren’t out of the city by then, he might find himself in the lockup, since he had no money to pay a fine. Reassured now that his borrowed identity gave him a certain

amount of safety, he began walking along the sidewalks instead of using the alleys. Still, he knew that Central was observing him through a thousand eyes. Counters on every corner were set to record the passage of pedestrian traffic and to relay the information to Central, thus helping to avoid congestion. But Mitch was the pedestrian traffic. And the counters clocked his passage. Since the data were available to the logic units, Central might make some unpleasant deductions about his presence in the city.

Brazenness, he decided, was probably the safest course to steer. He stopped at the next intersection and called to another mechanical cop, requesting directions to City Hall.

But the cop paused before answering, paused to speak with Central, and Mitch suddenly regretted his question. The cop came skating slowly to the curb.

“Six blocks west and four blocks north, sir,” croaked the cop. “Central requests the following information, which you may refuse to furnish if you so desire: As a resident of the city, how is it that you do not know the way to City Hall, Mr. Jesser?”

Mitch whitened and stuttered nervously, “Why, I’ve been gone three years. I…I had forgotten.”

The cop relayed the information, then nodded. “Central thanks you. Data have been recorded.”

“Wait,” Mitch muttered. “Is there a direct contact with Central in City Hall?”

“Affirmative.”

“I want to speak to Central. May I use it?”

The computer code twittered briefly. “Negative. You are not listed among the city’s authorized computer personnel. Central suggests you use the Public Information Unit, also in City Hall, ground floor rotunda.”

Grumbling to himself, Mitch wandered away. The P.I.U. was better than nothing, but if he had access to the direct service contact, perhaps to some extent he could have altered Central’s rigid behavior pattern. The P.I.U. however would be well guarded.

A few minutes later he was standing in the center of the main lobby of the City Hall. The great building had suffered some damage during an air raid, and one wing was charred by fire. But the rest of it was still alive with the rattle of machinery. A headless servo-secretary came rolling past him, carrying a trayful of pink envelopes. Delinquent utility bills, he guessed.

Central would keep sending them out, but of course human authority would be needed to suspend service to the delinquent customers. The servo-secretary deposited the envelopes in a mailbox by the door, then rolled quickly back to its office.