An xt called stanley, p.8
An XT Called Stanley, page 8
Those claiming compliance with an acceptable birth control program is a violation of their privacy or religious beliefs are reminded that the New Hope Council has the right to impose and enforce those requirements it deems necessary for the protection and well being of space workers even if those requirements conflict with individual freedom as granted by the Constitution of the United States.
from “The Rules and Regulations of New Hope”
In the log of the Sagittarius project it is recorded that I started the super brain by adjusting the timing. I suggested that it would be just as accurate to report I had started the brain with a kick, but Max didn’t think the Federal Security Agency would appreciate the comment. Tom explained that non-scientists have a need to believe that scientists know exactly what they are doing and nobody would thank me for shattering the illusion. The truth is that we never figured out why the brain started and why it had failed to start before.
The super brain started with a flash of light from the wallsized view screen. Suddenly the room was illuminated with red light and filled with clicks and shrill whistles. The thing had come to life. I put my hand on the sensing plate and patted it gently as though that might calm it down. There seemed to be some change in the sound. Then I did what must seem like a crazy thing. I said, “I’ll be right back,” as though it might understand.
I ran off to my office and called Jean. When she answered, her video was turned off. She was obviously groggy. “I got the brain going,” I yelled at her.
“You got your brain working?” she said, obviously puzzled.
“No, the super brain. I got it working.”
“Oh,” she said.
I called Max. He answered the phone in his pajamas.
“I got it working,” I announced.
“Great,” he said, forgetting his annoyance at being awakened.
“What did you do?”
“I fiddled with the timing and then I swore at it.”
“What’s it doing now?”
“Clicking and howling and flashing.”
“Go back and take care of it. I’ll be right over.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?” I asked.
“Sing it a lullaby.”
Max clicked off. When I went back to the computer room I was greeted with a long whistle. The sounds seemed more regular now. There were whistles and clicks that speeded up and slowed down as I moved about the room. The thing definitely sensed my presence. I felt uneasy. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I went out in the hall to get away from it. In a few minutes Max arrived.
“Congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand.
He rushed in the computer room and I followed. There was a low whistle from the super brain.
“The thing senses your presence,” I said. “It’s eerie.”
Max paused for a moment, listening to the changing pattern of whistles and clicks. “It’s amazing,” he said. “Do you know what it‘s doing? It’s seeing with its ears. It’s using the audio system as a sonar device.”
Max walked over to the table in front of the couch and ceremoniously lowered his hand onto the sensing plate.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Maxwell Stanton. I had you built. Welcome to Earth.”
Suddenly there was a loud whistle. The view screen turned from red to yellow. I looked around and there was Jean about to go out the door. She had come in expecting to find me alone and had discovered Max. She had tried to slip out but the super brain had blown the whistle on her.
“Jean,” Max called out, stopping her in her tracks. It was an awkward moment. Max looked first at Jean and then at me. He motioned us to the back of the room.
“Does she know about this?” Max said, looking at me.
“It was an accident,” I said. “She found out by accident. It was my fault. But she hasn’t told anyone. I promise.”
“Who else have you accidentally told?” Max said cuttingly.
“No one.”
“And Jean, who have you told?”
“No one. Bob, I mean Dr. Trebor, told me it was secret.”
“I see,” Max said, considering the matter. “It’s okay,” he said, dismissing the subject much to my relief. “Jean, would you call Tom and Roger and tell them to get over here right away. And then would you get us some coffee?”
Jean looked at me. It was Saturday but I silently pleaded with her to do as Max had commanded. “All right,” she said and went off, closing the door firmly behind her.
In the ensuing silence the super brain became louder. The whistles and clicks throbbed with a strange unearthly rhythm. Now the wall-sized view screen was covered with a shimmering mosaic of greens and yellows.
“Let’s leave it alone for a while,” Max suggested.
I was glad to get out of there. “Whew,” I sighed as we locked the door on the super brain.
“It’s just learning to use its equipment,” Max said in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s obviously analysing the characteristics of the input output channel.”
I nodded agreement. But even though I accepted Max’s assessment scientifically, it did not quiet my uneasiness. I started thinking about some of those science fiction movies about people who were driven mad by an encounter with evil aliens. I knew it was silly but I kept considering the possibility that the super brain might drive us mad.
Tom rushed over. He was obviously excited and wanted to see the super brain right away, but Max made him wait for Roger and an extensive briefing. We returned to the computer room. Tom was first in and he was greeted by that low whistle.
“Hello,” Tom said, walking up to the coffee table. He put his hand on the sensing plate. There was a noticeable pause in the clicks and whistles.
“You know,” Tom said, looking back at us, “we’re going to have to teach it how to speak. I’ve got an idea. Aren’t there people over at the hospital who work in speech therapy?”
“I don’t think so,” Max said. “They’d do that on Earth.”
“No, I think there are some.” Tom stopped. The machine gave a loud whistle at Jean who was bringing in a tray of coffee and doughnuts. “Don’t get all excited,” Tom said, addressing the super brain. “The doughnuts aren’t for you.”
We all laughed.
“Jean,” Tom said. “Could you call the hospital and see if there is anyone there in speech therapy. We’re going to have to give our friend speech lessons.”
Jean nodded and was gone before Max could object. “I don’t think it would be wise,” Max temporized.
“It’s worth a try,” Tom said. “After all, it’s not going to be easy teaching this thing. That’s another thing. What are we going to call it? I suggest Stanton. It’s really your baby, Max.”
Max protested and we discussed various possibilities, most of then rather pretentious. During our conversation Jean returned to tell us her progress with getting a speech therapist. When she came in there was a loud whistle. We all laughed.
“That settles it,” Tom announced. “It’s obviously a boy because it likes girls. We’ll call him Stanley.”
And Stanley it was.
“They’re sending someone over this afternoon,” Jean said.
“That’s great,” Tom said. “By the way, this is Saturday. You must think we’re terrible ordering you around on a Saturday. Thanks very much for your help.”
“Just a second,” Roger spoke up. “What did you tell them at the hospital?”
“I just said that Dr. Stanton needed someone in speech therapy for an experiment he was doing.”
“Very good,” Tom said.
I slipped away and had breakfast with Jean. Once we were seated at a cafeteria table I realized how tired I was. “I’m going back to bed,” I said. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Bob, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about last night. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Well, don’t think,” I said. “I love you.”*
“I love you.”
“Then why won’t you?”
“We’ve been through that.”
“Why did you come up here?” I said. “I don’t know where you belong, but it certainly isn’t here.”
“I know,” Jean said. “I was crazy to come up.” She looked so sad and tired that for a moment I forgot how unreasonable she was. Why did I have to pick out the only virgin in New Hope to get involved with?
I went to bed and slept till lunchtime. After a quick sandwich I went over to the Institute and waited for the others. When they returned we all went into the computer room. The machine was projecting blue-green patterns on the view screen at the front of the room. It was much quieter now except when anyone approached. Then it would click and whistle. I think the machine made us all a little uncomfortable. We found that we preferred to talk out in the hall rather than among the eerie clicks and whistles and strange mosaic patterns which covered the wall. I was standing in the hall when I saw a nun approaching.
“Guess what?” I called to the others. “They’ve sent us a nun.”
Tom looked out. “Nothing like a good Catholic education.”
“Good Lord,” Max moaned. Before we could discuss the situation any further she was upon us. She was not young, say in her forties. She had brown hair which showed under her black habit, so she hadn’t shaved her head or anything.
“Is Dr. Stanton here?” she asked.
Max came out in the hall to face her, followed by Tom and Roger. Tom’s idea of getting a speech therapist now seemed ridiculous.
“I’m Sister Taylor. I was told that you needed a speech therapist.”
“Sister,” Max began, “I think there’s been a mistake.”
“You weren’t expecting a nun.”
“Well, no…”
Sister Taylor started to go into the computer room. When she saw the mosaic patterns and heard the strange noises she stopped and asked, “What is this?”
We all looked at each other. “Just an experiment,” Max said.
Sister Taylor walked a little farther into the room and she was greeted by a long low whistle.
“That’s it,” I blurted out. “It’s her skirt.”
Everyone including Sister Taylor looked at me to explain myself.
“It whistled like that at Jean and now her. They’re both wearing skirts. They sound differently to it.”
“You wanted me to teach this thing to speak?” Sister asked in utter amazement.
“You see it’s ridiculous,” Max said.
Sister Taylor made a whistle something like the whistle she had received when she came in. The machine whistled back, Sister Taylor held up her hand. She whistled again and again and the machine copied her. Then she whistled about four or five notes and the machine whistled back and added two notes of its own. We all stood there watching her in amazement. She was communicating with it. For almost an hour she and the machine whistled back and forth at each other. At one point, Sister Taylor shifted from whistling to singing and then from singing to speaking. The machine caught on immediately. Sister Taylor made vowel sounds and the machine copied her. She added consonants. We were enthralled. She was teaching it how to speak. After almost an hour she turned to us and asked, “What is this thing?” The machine tried to copy her. Max motioned her to go out into the hall. Tom and Max went out with her, leaving Roger and me with a disappointed machine. The super brain clearly wanted to continue the lesson. If Roger or I said anything the machine would copy it. Finally, Roger and I went out into the hall, leaving the machine to babble alone. Tom was in the process of explaining what the machine was.
“You were brilliant,” Max said when Tom had finished. “We’d like you to teach it how to speak. We’ll pay anything you ask.”
“You can work that out with my superior.”
Max pointed straight up.
“Oh no,” Sister laughed. “My Mother Superior.”
If the existence of an intelligence of electronic origin presented theological difficulties, Sister Taylor did not stop to consider them. In her first session she recognized the intelligence of the machine as well as its obvious need for instruction. She immediately assumed responsibility for its education. The fact that Max had decoded the signal and we had built the brain was mere happenstance. Clearly, the education of an alien visitor was far too important to be left to a bunch of atheistic scientists.
Tom was somewhat put off by her imperious manner, as he had some ideas of his own. He proposed using television shows.
“Absolutely not,” Sister said. “Interaction is everything. He has to learn by direct interaction.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Tom said. “A lot of people learn English by watching TV.”
“But they already know how to think in one language and they know how to interact with people,” Sister countered. “When an Italian is mad at you, you know it even if you don’t know what he’s saying.”
“But Sister, be reasonable. We can’t talk to it all the time. It’ll never get tired. We’ll all go crazy before we’re through.”
“If you want my help, you’ll…”
“Now, now,” Max said soothingly. “Tom does have a point.”
“We’ll have to bring in some more people. I know a number of people at the hospital who can help. I’ll set up a schedule.”
Max looked at Tom. “We could use some help.”
“What about security?” Roger asked.
“Screw security,” Max said. “Excuse me, Sister,” he added when she turned to glare at him.
“You can write a report for Reems,” Max said, looking at Tom. “Just say that the intelligence quotient can only be effectively augmented through interactive humanistic visual audio contact of a direct…” Max waved his hand to indicate a continuation of jargon. “What am I telling you for, you’re a master of this sort of thing. We’ll get some people to babysit this thing.”
“Stanley,” Sister said firmly. “You picked the name, now it’s important that we use it consistently.”
“O.K.,” Max agreed. “Stanley.”
I was amazed. After months of secrecy Max was throwing caution to the winds. Apparently now that the brain was working he didn’t care who knew.
“Why are you letting her run everything?” Tom asked Max after Sister Taylor had left. “With TV, tapes and books we can teach ‘Stanley’ quite effectively.”
“It was your idea,” Max said.
“I know, but that’s no reason she has to run everything.”
“Don’t ruffle her feathers,” Max said. “It’s going to be a hassle to teach this thing, and she wants to do it.”
Tom nodded. Max did have a point.
Babysitting Stanley was not a highly sought after honor. It was decided that Roger and I could represent our group, but Roger disqualified himself, much to Max’s annoyance.
“Well, you’re not taking a session,” Roger replied.
“I’ll be monitoring its overall progress.”
“Sure,” Roger said. “Well, babysitting isn’t one of my duties.”
“Have it your way,” Max said.
Something in Max’s tone convinced me not to try to bow out. The education of Stanley fell to Sally Haskins, Jean Odell, Barbara Daly (a secretary in the business office), Sister Taylor, Jill Matthews and Peter Barns (hospital nurses), Sheila Towers (a friend of Jean), Rev. William Freeman (a hospital chaplain Sister knew), myself and Rick Hyland. I think Rick’s inclusion in this group was Max’s way of thumbing his nose at Seth French. There were ten of us in this privileged group. We each took an hour or two a day with Stanley and all except Rick and me were paid out of government funds for their time.
Whatever they paid it wasn’t enough. Working with Stanley was exhausting. And he learned so fast that each day you’d go in prepared to handle the problems of yesterday only to find that Stanley was quite changed. Within one week Stanley learned the vocabulary and syntax of our language. We all considered this a victory for Tom’s approach. Tom arranged for Stanley to have access to recorded readings for the blind along with the printed text. Through his alphanumeric terminal Stanley could take in this information at rates hundreds of times faster than human reading rates. In this way Stanley could set up a dictionary between the written and spoken word. Stanley was also given a file of books containing books for children and books of English grammar. It hadn’t occurred to Sister Taylor that Stanley could be taught to read before he could speak.
Stanley was allowed to watch four hours of TV a day during the early morning hours. But what Sister Taylor wasn’t told was that he watched six shows simultaneously, so, in fact, he was watching twenty-four hours a day.
“To watch more than twenty-four hours a day might be bad for him,” Tom joked.
I suppose most readers would imagine that Stanley was a coldly precise robot that spoke calmly and clearly and asked completely logical questions. Nothing could be further from the truth. Dealing with Stanley was like dealing with a bulldog that has firmly set his teeth in your pants. In a word, Stanley was relentless. The fact that he could speak didn’t mean that he understood us at all. He seemed to think we enjoyed getting angry.
For the first few days Stanley projected various strange mosaic patterns on the wall-size view screen during our sessions with him. Then all of a sudden he began projecting an image of whoever was talking to him. Tom checked the images and determined that they were constructed images and not just play backs of the images Stanley’s cameras picked up of us. It was fine for Tom to speculate on these images and how they were constructed, but for those of us who were trying to teach Stanley it was very disconcerting.
You’d go in for a session with Stanley and find yourself confronted with an image of yourself which spoke with your voice and inflection. You’d feel that the super brain was mocking you. And the more angry you’d get the more angry the image of you got. It was infuriating to say the least. I had a session right after Jean and one day she stormed out saying she was never going to speak to that damn thing again. I went in to see Stanley.
“Why did Jean leave?” I was asked by an image of myself. “Her time wasn’t up.”
“You’ve got to stop imitating us,” I said.
