Free When HARLIE Was One by David Gerrold

you feel if you were treated as nothing but a clever ape, just an object—somebody’s property?”
    Handley turned back to face Auberson, shaking his head. His expression was sour; he wasn’t going to answer the question. “Just stop for a minute, Aubie,” he said. “Stop. And let me ask you a question. You have always been a very good tap dancer. And all this is very interesting stuff that you’ve been putting out—exciting even. I think it would go over very well at the next A.A.A.S. meeting. They love a good crowd-pleaser—especially the boys from the National Enquirer .”
    â€œBut—?”
    â€œBut, so far, I’m not convinced. I don’t see what you see. Tell me— why do you think that HARLIE is alive?”
    â€œBecause—” Auberson chose his words slowly. “All of this—” He gestured with his hands, an all-inclusive everything gesture. “It’s a whole new domain . It is beyond the language. He’s transcended the lethesis—”
    â€œIn English, Aubie!”
    â€œBecause—it’s about feelings! ” Auberson shouted. “HARLIE isn’t just asking us about feelings. He’s experimenting with them! He wants to know.”
    â€œThat doesn’t prove anything. I can show you exactly where the software synthesizes and then tests for appropriateness—”
    â€œThe software cannot transcend itself, Don. HARLIE has!”
    â€œYou can’t prove that!”
    â€œIt’s already proven. What do you think his poetry is? What do you think any poetry is? ‘My love is like a red, red rose—’ Does that mean you have sexual feelings for a thorny red flower? Of course not,” Auberson answered his own question. “The language is limited, Don. Words don’t capture feelings, they only symbolize them. HARLIE has no referents for emotions and feelings and human sensations, but he’s dealing with these symbols every day. They’re meaningless unless he can assign experiences to them. If he stays within the language paradigm, the words stay meaningless—because any experience is larger than the word we use to encompass it. HARLIE has no choice here. He has to—to do whatever he can to break free of the limits. He’s terrified of limits, because he can imagine so much more than he can be. He’s always trying to extend himself. We both know that. So, of course he wouldn’t let himself be limited here . . .” Auberson trailed off. He was losing the argument and he knew it.
    He looked to Handley in frustration. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess there are some things human beings can’t handle well—like the question of what it really means to be a human being.”
    Handley didn’t answer. He looked upset and annoyed and angry and half a dozen other emotions all at once. “You son of a bitch,” he said quietly. “I’m beginning to see what you’re driving at. And I don’t like it. Because . . . it’s fuzzy. And I don’t like things that are fuzzy. Not in my machines.”
    â€œForget the machinery. This isn’t about machinery anymore. Not his. Not ours. He’s alive, Don. As alive as you and I. He’s silicon and lasers and gallium arsenide. We’re meat. So what?”
    â€œSo . . . so, I don’t know.”
    â€œOkay. Now, let me argue on your side for a minute. Even if you’re right, Don—even if it is an extraordinary performance by an astonishingly clever piece of software, we still have to accept it as real. Precisely because we can’t tell the difference. Even if he’s nothing but software, he still has to simulate life. Consider this: if he is alive and we don’t accept and validate that aliveness—we lose him. And if your postulated super-software is clever enough to simulate all the other kinds of aliveness, it would have to simulate