Free In the Deadlands by David Gerrold Page B

failure.”
    â€œUh-uh.” The design engineer shook his head. “I won’t believe it. More likely the software.”
    Auberson handed him the readout. “Take a look for yourself.”
    Hanley paged quickly through it, skimming mostly, but occasionally pausing to read something in detail. Auberson waited patiently, watching the other man’s ruddy face for reactions.
    Hanley looked up. “I see he’s playing semantic games again.”
    â€œHe always does that. It’s the adolescent in him. Ask him what’s the matter, he’ll tell you that matter is a form of energy, a convenient way to store or use it.”
    â€œCharming—” Hanley indicated the readout, “—but I don’t see a mechanical failure here.”
    â€œIn the primary data units.”
    â€œUh-uh. Systems analysis would show it if there was something wrong—and the monitor units don’t show a thing.”
    â€œHow about the increased activity from his inputs?”
    â€œAh, well, that’s only an increase in data transmission. Simultaneous with his periods of nonrationality there’s an electronic request for more information.”
    â€œHe’s getting garbage—and he asks for more?”
    â€œMaybe he’s hoping that more data will clarify the information he’s already got.”
    â€œAnd maybe more data will make him overload and blow his judgment circuits.”
    â€œUh-uh,” Hanley said. “HARLIE monitors his own inputs.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYeah, didn’t you know?”
    â€œNo. When did this—”
    â€œJust recently. It was a second-stage modification. After we were sure that the judgment circuits were operational, we began giving HARLIE control of his own internal systems.”
    Auberson was suddenly thoughtful. “I think we ought to open him up.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œLook, you said it yourself. HARLIE is trying to mislead us. Maybe he’s trying to hide the fact that there’s something wrong with him internally.”
    â€œWhy would he do that?”
    Auberson shrugged. “I don’t know.” Abruptly he changed his tone. “Have you ever had a parent or grandparent go senile on you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, I have. All of a sudden they become irrational. They won’t go to a doctor. And if you can get them to one, they won’t cooperate with him. They won’t tell him what’s wrong because they’re too afraid of an operation. They don’t want to be cut open. And they don’t want to die. Maybe HARLIE’s afraid of being turned off.”
    â€œCould be. God knows you threaten him often enough.”
    â€œUh-uh. He knows I’m kidding.”
    â€œDoes he?” Hanley asked. “That’s like kidding a Jew about having a big nose and being tight with money. You know it’s a joke, he knows it’s a joke—but it still hurts.”
    â€œOkay, so I won’t kid him that way any more. But I still think we ought to check out his systems. We’ve gone over his programs often enough and haven’t found anything.”
    â€œAll right. What time is it—Yikes! It’s almost three. I’ll have to work like crazy.”
    â€œLet it go till tomorrow,” Auberson cut him off. “Clear his boards, set up what you’ll need, and close up early. That way you’ll have all day to work on him.”
    Hanley shrugged. “Okay, you talked me into it.”
    â€œHey,” said Auberson. “Did I tell you about this new highclub I discovered? It’s called The Glass Trip. The walls, the floor, the ceiling are all one-way glass, and there’s a multiphase light show behind each pane. So you’re looking into either an infinity of mirrors or an infinity of mind-blowing lights. Or both.”
    â€œSounds good. We’ll have to take it in some time.”
    â€œYeah. Maybe this weekend.”