The Rod of Light (Soul of the Robot)

While speaking Gargan stepped to a piece of furniture resembling a tall secretaire. Opening one of several small drawers, he took out two volumes.

One was pocket-sized, bound in soft leather which was worn and tattered, and was complete with an orange page marker ribbon. The other was larger and flatter, with metallic covers whose sheen was like that of the artificial flowers.

When Gargan mentioned Count Viss, Jasperodus had felt a vague foreboding. Now, as the superintelligent robot pressed the leather-bound notebook into his hand, that foreboding rose to a crescendo. He opened the book. The paper pages, yellowing at the edges, were filled with neat, close-packed script in faded ink.

The handwriting was that of his father/maker Jasper Hobartus.

He had never actually seen a sample of Hobartus’ handwriting, but there could be no doubt of it. His own personality had been crystallised from a menu Hobartus had provided, and in which he had included a great deal of himself. Thus Jasperodus had been born with an extensive education, able to read, to write, to handle machine tools … introspection had yielded up these educational files in his mind; it was just like going through a set of records, covered in annotations. Yes, he would know his father’s handwriting all right.

Besides, whose else could it be? And what else was it that Gargan was on the point of telling him …?

Turning the pages, his mind in turmoil, Jasperodus saw that the script was unintelligible, consisting of seemingly random letters and numbers.

‘It is written in code,’ Gargan observed. ‘It was easily deciphered, with one or two uncertainties remaining. The other volume contains the translation.’

This, too, he pressed on Jasperodus. The half dozen or so metal leaves were etched on one side only with a version of symbolic logic script—the human precursor to panlog. It was interspersed, however, with occasional comments and quotations.

‘The book speaks of the author’s accidental discovery of a great secret,’ Gargan went on, his tone serious. ‘He says that consciousness, rather like electricity, can be conducted from one vessel to another—provided the receiving vessel has the requisite degree of integrated organisation. It must, in other words, be a properly constituted perceiving brain, or at any rate some structure of comparable complexity. In the course of the notes he gives us some information concerning consciousness itself. He tells us that no individuality appertains to it; it merely makes conscious whatever brain or personality it infuses, like water taking the shape of whatever vessel it is poured into. He finds this an astonishing and self-contradictory quality; it may be so from the human standpoint, but it is entirely logical and indeed necessary.

‘Unfortunately the book contains no more than hints concerning the transference process. We do not even know if the author ever succeeded in accomplishing it. He did, however, satisfy himself as to its practicability, and when you study the notes you will see why. The heading “Malleability” is the section describing the crucial experiment. It has been repeated by us, many times.’

Jasperodus could not make much of the script from so cursory a reading. ‘And what of the author? What happened to him?’

‘Some effort was made to track him down, without success. He could not be expected still to be alive.’

Gargan pointed a finger at the page Jasperodus was examining. ‘The colloquial remarks are comments by the author to himself, rather than additional data. Here is one: Great heat. Melting. It bears no obvious relation to the main text; we do not know what it refers to. Further on are quotations from ancient texts. Its father is the sun. The wind has borne it in its body. Its nurse is the earth. He believes he is rediscovering the truth of arcane formulae from before the technical age. He has assumed that these passages attempt to define the relationship between consciousness and matter. The terminology is not inconsistent with that used by the mage. And here, underlined: Separate earth from fire, carefully and with great prudence. He takes this to be an instruction to draw consciousness from out of matter—a too-hasty interpretation, I would say, of what is more probably a reference to some mental discipline.

‘It is evident that the author’s discovery was as astounding and unexpected to him as the news of it was to us. Finding the book was a revelation. We had simply never imagined that consciousness could be so treated.’

There was a silence before Jasperodus spoke again. Dully, he said: ‘Then it can be done after all. Robots can be made conscious.’