Tim J. Beedle


Original publication on Lycian Scribe in July 2000.


The New Line


Paul Morton, chief electrical engineer at Ricket's Robotics, was wondering how he was going to tell his wife that he would have to miss dinner again when his boss, Mr. Ricket, burst unannounced into his office. Paul was used to it.

"Morton, my boy, I want you to stop whatever it is you're doing, I have a new project for you," Mr. Ricket said, grinning his usual "I-don't-know-a-damn-thing-about-robotics-but-who-cares-because-I'm-the-boss" grin.

Paul didn't look up, this was the third "new project" this week. He would give his usual "I'll get right on it" and continue with what he was working on. Mr. Ricket would forget by lunch.

"Really, sir? Let's hear it." Paul finally raised his head, and to his surprise discovered that Mr. Ricket had not entered his office alone. His companion was a new face to Paul, but judging by the thick glasses, portly build, and thinning hairline, Paul thought it was a pretty safe bet that he was a programmer.

"Morton, I'd like you to meet Stan Hensley, our new head of programming. You two are going to be working together on developing our next line of robots."

"What? With all due respect, sir, I really have my hands full working out the glitches on the new mower robots. If I stop to develop a new line, they'll never get out on time."

"You can scrap the new mowers. Our new line will be able to mow lawns in half the time it takes for our current mowers to charge up, and that will only be the beginning."

Paul usually took what Mr. Ricket said with as much seriousness as he would give a Mel Brooks film. However, he had never brought in someone else to help with a new project and he had never told him to stop work on a line. Ricket's Robotics had actually been founded by Mr. Ricket's father. After he retired he promoted his son to his former position. When he realized what he had just done, he died of a major heart attack, leaving his son, Paul's boss, to run the company into the ground. One more project should just about do it. He would have his secretary type up his resume after lunch.

"As you know, Morton, our company has recently fallen behind Connery Electronics and Robotics in sales. Last night, I attended our shareholder's meeting and they think a new line, if it's the right one, ought to put us back on top. This morning, I talked to Stan about possibilities regarding the new line and he came up with a whopper. I didn't believe it was possible, but he's sure that with the right person he could pull it off. I'll let him tell you about it."

Paul couldn't tell if Stan was the kind of person to pucker up to Mr. Ricket, or if he actually had a good idea. One thing was certain, he had an expression which showed the utmost confidence in himself. Paul could tell that Stan was a person who intended to make his mark in the company, in other words, a complete idiot.

"Mr. Morton, can you imagine a line of robots that are human-like in form, and are capable of not only doing everything that all of your other robots can do, but can think and make decisions for themselves, accumulate knowledge, communicate with human beings, and develop their own personalities?"

Paul shook his head in amazement. What little respect he may have given Stan Hensley was crushed the moment he opened his mouth.

"That's already been attempted, Mr. Hensley. Surely you've heard about the experiments they did with creating human-like robots down at Connery's. In a computer, which remains stationary and incapable of performing any action on its own, knowledge and personality can easily be accumulated. But a robot is different. A robot must be capable of performing any action it thinks up. And a humanoid robot must perform those actions like a human being would, which isn't always the most efficient way. The more actions a robot is capable of performing, the more programming it requires. With a humanoid, you want the robot to be able to perform any action that a person can perform and then some. That takes up quite a bit of room. In a robot, you have a lot less space than in most computers. With all the programming required for the robot simply to act, memory space is extremely low. At Connery's, the robots were programmed to replace memory that they deemed unnecessary when their memory banks became full. After a few weeks, they were stuck with a bunch of robots as agile as your best gymnast and capable of performing mathematical tasks worthy of Euclid, but who had forgotten things as simple as their owner's names. As they gained more and more knowledge they even forgot simple dos and don'ts such as not stepping in front of the train at a subway station."

Paul's speech actually seemed to feed Stan's self-confidence.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, Mr. Morton. You see, I was working at Connery's at that time, I was the voice that no one listened to. To state the problem simply, they used the wrong combination of robotics and computer technology. I know the right one. After their fiasco the whole project was scrapped, so I never got the chance to try out my idea. However, Mr. Ricket is willing to give me that chance, and with your help I'm completely convinced that we can pull this off."

Mr. Ricket was beaming. "Basically, what we're looking to create here, Paul, is a robot which will primarily be a tool in improving the standard of human life, yet will also be accepted into human society on its own."

"Even if we can pull it off technologically," Paul injected, "it would never be fully accepted in human society. It would either be put on a pedestal and paraded around like some sort of electronic wonder, or it will be thought of as a pile of nuts and bolts. Simply a complicated machine, nothing more, and thus inferior to man."

"I would say that a society which can readily accept Andy Rooney into it should have no problem accepting our robot," Stan replied.

Mr. Ricket jumped in before Paul got a chance to reply.

"Paul, I know that you're busy and I can understand if you don't want to do this. Actually, Sam thinks he can pull it off with any engineer, but I thought he should have the best. If you're too caught up in whatever it was that you were working on when we came in, I can give it to Melissa down the hall."

"No, that's okay. I'll let her finish up with the mowers. I would love to help Mr. Hensley with the new line."

"I'm very pleased to hear that. I'll let Melissa know that you'll be working on a special job for me and that she'll be running your department until you're done. That way you won't have anything to distract you from completing the new line. Good luck, gentlemen. I expect the prototype to be ready in two months.

"And gentlemen, I realize that what you're doing is a very complicated and difficult task. No one's expecting it to be perfect right out of the gate. As long as it functions somewhat like we want, I'll be satisfied. Just give it your best stab."

"Just give it your best stab," Stan repeated as Mr. Ricket left the office, "do you think that's what they said when they started the Manhattan Project?"



Paul had to admit that he was impressed. Somehow with his advice on a little engineering, Stan had pulled it off. The prototype, Alpha, had just completed its publicity tour. Stocks were up, and word of mouth on the new line was phenomenal. The new humanoids were being referred to as "artificial humans" rather than robots, to further emphasize how human the robots actually seemed. Alpha was able to process and carry out instructions and perform tasks in half the time it would take a normal human being. It could store any type of knowledge it came in contact with, which it could access and use to make decisions for itself at a moment's notice. It was even capable of observing the social manners of the people it came in contact with, storing what got the best reaction from other people and using what it had stored in developing its own "personality." Stan had been able to stretch out the finite memory to last the robot about ten years, at which time Alpha would shut off, its lifespan complete.

To further show what the new line was capable of, Mr. Ricket had decided that Alpha would come work for them, helping to turn out the new line. It was scheduled to show up today at 8 a.m. It was late.

At 9:30, Paul received a call.

"Hello, Mr. Morton."

"Alpha? Where are you? You were supposed to be here at eight! When Mr. Ricket finds out that you're not here, Melissa will have my job, Stan will be working at Radio Shack, and you'll be recycled into a cheap automobile. Get your shiny, little butt down here!"

"Mr. Morton, I can appreciate how you feel, but you must understand that I had no choice in deciding whether or not to help you produce your new line. At first it seemed like a good idea, but then I thought, why do I need to come to work for you?"

"Because if you don't I'll unscrew your newly polished head from the rest of your body and use it as a bowling ball. How dare you question me! I helped create you, you tin can! If not for me, you would probably have ended up being used for some adolescent brat's dental treatment. Now get down here!"

"No way, Paul. You don't even know where I am. As long as I have enough money to pay my rent, I'll never need to work. And I have plenty of money from my publicity tour. Definitely enough to last ten years. Listen Paul, I have to go. The Price is Right is on. Maybe I'll drop you a line sometime to see how you're making out. Hopefully, I'll still be able to reach you at this number after today. Good-bye, Paul."

The phone clicked and was silent.



Surprisingly, Mr. Ricket didn't seem to mind too much when Paul told him the news.

"Hey, that's okay. I told you to just give it your best stab. The important thing is that our stocks are back up. I'm proud of you, Morton."

"Thanks, sir. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get started on our new line of floor cleaners. We're updating them so that they can go from vacuuming, to sweeping, to mopping entirely on their own, that way--"

"Nonsense, my boy. You and Stan are immediately going to start work on the next prototype."

"Next prototype? Sir, I would think that in light of the first one's failure we would rethink the whole issue."

"What's to rethink? Morton, I've always viewed introducing a new line as a learning experience. You learn what went wrong with the last attempt and you make sure that the same thing doesn't go wrong with the next. Get right on it."



Morton sat and drearily sipped at his cup of coffee. His wife thought he was having an affair. However, since he was always too tired to show interest in other women, she had become convinced that it was with one of his robots.

Stan was writing things in a worn notebook and humming an especially annoying Barry Manilow song. As soon as he finished humming the first song, he immediately began another. This continued for about twenty minutes; Paul brooding over his coffee and Stan humming annoying Barry Manilow songs. Paul was just about ready to shove the coffee pot, along with whatever coffee might be left in it, up Stan's nose when Stan finally stopped humming and jumped up.

"I got it! I realize what we did wrong."

"We failed to take into account the appeal of Bob Barker," Stan replied. He had about as much interest in hearing what Stan thought had gone wrong with Alpha as he had in joining Stan in singing "I Write the Songs" at the local karaoke bar.

"No, Paul. We forgot to give the robot emotion."

"Impossible. If you give an intelligent robot emotion and the ability to rationalize everything out, the minute it's laughed at by a human the damn thing is going to find a rational reason to respond to the anger it's feeling. The next thing we know that robot's going to be spending its ten year lifespan behind bars and you and I will probably be wishing our lives only lasted ten years."

"Not necessarily. We won't allow for it to experience anger. We'll only give it the emotions it needs to function efficiently. Primarily, we'll have to give it some kind of goal for its existence, and we'll have to give it the drive for it to accomplish that goal. The problem with Alpha was that it had no drive."

"Okay, so if we give the robots the goal to serve their owners the best they possibly can, what if the owner gives one the task of sneaking into houses around the neighborhood and stealing whatever jewelry they might have lying around? Or ever worse, kill someone he has a problem with?"

"Hmm...we can give it the ability to follow a simple code of right and wrong. Stealing from another family would be listed as wrong. Also, as a further precaution we will program into it the inability to cause any human direct harm, or to allow any human to come to harm. In fact, we'll install in it a great love for human beings in general, and the urge to prevent human suffering."

Paul actually found himself wishing Stan would go back to humming Barry Manilow songs, but he couldn't see a reason why Stan's idea wouldn't work.

"Let's do it."



Mr. Ricket had seemed even more pleased with Beta than he had with Alpha.

"Gentlemen," he had said, "I feel really good about this one. I think we may have our prototype."

Paul sure hoped so. He was tired of working long nights with someone who played Yanni whenever he worked. Beta seemed like it would be much more successful than Alpha. It had been programmed with the goal of serving Mr. Ricket, and the boss had decided that he would make it head supervisor of the new line. It had started today, and so far had done great. The men seemed a bit uneasy about taking orders from a machine which they had created, but aside from a few Frankenstein references, there had been no real static. It was about time for Beta to clock out, and Paul decided to hunt it down before he went home to make sure it didn't have any questions or complaints. He found it talking to a thin man with wavy hair near the time clock.

"Ah, Mr. Morton!" Beta exclaimed, "Good evening to you. This is Mr. Robert Vandenhall, he's going to be replacing me as head supervisor tomorrow."

"Oh, so Mr. Ricket has something else for you to work on?"

If a robot could look nervous, Beta was sweating. "Actually, he doesn't know, Mr. Morton. I asked Mr. Vandenhall to replace me."

"NO! You're not going to do this to me too!"

Paul pulled Beta aside. "Listen, I've spent the last two weeks laboring over you with a man who insists on eating a can of sardines with every meal. Don't tell me you want to stay home to watch Bob Barker with your pal Alphie!"

"Who's Bob Barker? Is he on your payroll? No, to tell the truth, I loved working for you. I was really looking forward to getting out the new line, but then I met Robert. You see, he had been holding out for my position for a long time. Then I pop in and grab it without the slightest warning or consideration of where not getting that job puts Robert. He has a family. He needs that position more than I do."

"Okay, we'll get you a new position." Paul didn't want to have to explain this one to Mr. Ricket.

"No, it's no good. No matter where you put me, I'll still be displacing a human who deserves and needs that job more than I do. I have no need for money. I've taken a volunteer job at a soup kitchen. That way rather than hurting people by my work, I'll actually be helping them."

As Beta left, Paul began to wonder whether his wife would want custody of their children.



"Omega?"

For once, both Paul and Stan seemed to be in agreement. They had been working together on this new line for almost a year now. Paul and his wife were seeing a marriage counselor and were currently sleeping in separate bedrooms, and even Stan was finally tiring of this project.

"Why Omega already?" Stan asked, "We've only done Alpha and Beta so far."

"It's the only other Greek letter that I know," Mr. Ricket said with a grin. "Besides, I intend for it to be our last." Mr. Ricket only seemed more determined after their recent failure. He had brought along an older man, whom he was yet to introduce.

"I don't know how we're going to be able to control a robot like this," Paul said. "We have no way of predicting how it's going to react to anything. The problem with making a humanoid robot is the same as the advantage, it thinks for itself. We can't control the way it thinks."

"Unless we send it to a shrink regularly after we assemble it," added Stan.

Mr. Ricket finally made a motion towards his companion. "Precisely. I know now that you men are able to produce the robot we're striving for. It seems to me the few glitches that remain are actually a matter of psychology. Gentlemen, I'd like for you to meet Harold Pickering, a psychologist."

"Pleased to meet you," Harold said. Stan and Paul just nodded.

"Harold is going to be helping you put together Omega. Let's see if we can finally wrap this project up." With one last grin, Mr. Ricket left.



Harold Pickering was a soft-spoken man. Calm and calculated, Paul and Stan found Harold easy to get along with. The stress that had felt overbearing to them earlier seemed to dissipate when they started working with him. Paul was wondering if Mr. Ricket had actually hired Harold to straighten them out, not the new line, and Stan was wondering if Harold had recorded any CDs. What neither of them realized, was that Harold was playing them like a stacked deck of cards.

"Actually, gentlemen," Harold explained, "the problem as I see it is not a matter of changing what emotions you allow Omega to experience. What you used in Beta was actually more than enough. The robot doesn't have to love humans, it just has to serve them."

"So the goal we gave Beta was correct?" asked Paul.

"Yes, and the drive was also at the right level. The only think I would really question is the amount of empathy you gave it. How about this? Rather than installing a great love for humans in Omega, you give it the ability to change its goal if it feels taken advantage of by its owner."

Up until this point, Harold could have told Paul that he regularly engaged in bondage with his grandmother, and that would have been perfectly acceptable to him. What Harold had just said, however, broke him from his trance.

"What do you mean, give the robot less empathy? And if we give it the ability to change its goal, the second it's taken home and told to take out the garbage, it's going to decide it's being taken advantage of and decide a more suitable goal will be to create more of itself and take over Australia."

Harold remained calm. "That can be fixed. We'll decrease the robot's intelligence level so that thought will never occur to it."

Paul was about to object, but Harold cut him off. "The people buying these robots can care less whether or not the thing can compute quantum physics. They just want it to be able to perform simple tasks and for it to be a friend to talk to when they're alone. That takes a low level of intelligence and a high level of personality, and my boys, that is exactly what Omega is going to have."



Stan was staring unbelievably at the front page of the morning paper. Paul just looked sick.

"How could they elect a robot President? I thought that controversy over the parts in Omega being made in Japan would be enough?"

It had been two years since Paul and Stan first began work on the humanoid line. Omega had been considered a success and was given a job in sales. Ricket thought that it would make the company look good to have a robot selling other robots. Then Omega disappeared. The new line was stopped. Harold had told them that Omega had decided it was being taken advantage of because it was being asked to do something that it is in even the simplest people's nature not to do, sell its own kind.

Then Omega began popping up on occasion throughout the country. Usually it was on television, sometimes it was on radio. Its pledge to the American people was that it would never lie to them because it had been programmed not to. A simple mind with a great personality and no love for mankind. Paul could just kill Harold.

"Well, there's no way he could be worse than Clinton," said Stan, as he emptied out his desk.

Ricket had pulled the plug on the new line after Omega won its first primary. He had decided that humans cause enough trouble in this world alone; they don't need any help from robots who think they're human. With no new line, Ricket's stocks were at the lowest they had ever been and the company was forced to negotiate a buyout with Connery's. Paul and Stan were the first to go.

"I can't believe how badly we screwed this whole thing up," Paul griped.

"Oh, come on, you still have your family," consoled Stan, "well, your kids at any rate, every other weekend. Things aren't so bad."

"How can you say that? We created a politician. What can possibly be worse than that?"

"Well, at least we know that this one won't be around in ten years. So, do you have a new job lined up yet?"

"Not yet."

"Well, good luck to you. I just got a job at Microsoft. Cyberspace is really expanding, you should look into it. I'm sure they could use a good engineer. Who knows, maybe we might actually work together again."

Paul decided he would look into joining a monastery.

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