'Why the R at the end of his version number?'
Griffith gave her a significant look. 'Reprogrammed,' he said, almost whispering. 'But look, I explained to Mr. Gray that these Eights are notoriously dirty creatures. They're into everything. And the same type of mud — volcanic mud — that you find down in the swamp is what you get right out in the yard.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Mr. Gray asked this morning that I inspect the robots for any traces of mud. We found some on Auguste.'
Laura turned to the computer monitor. 'Why was Auguste reprogrammed?'
Griffith shook his head. 'We couldn't coax him out of his shell. Behavior patterns never even began to approach normal. He was also way behind in motor skills. Two months into basic and he could barely walk across the room. I really thought… There were some tense times until we got those restraints on him, let me tell you. And he busted one of the chair's arms right before we got started. It's after the experience with Auguste that we went to titanium brackets.'
Laura understood, now. The robots resisted reprogramming.
They fought when they were sent to the chair. But why? 'How do they know they're going to be reprogrammed? How do they know it's not just another simulation?'
Griffith shrugged. 'They just do. They sense something's wrong, I suppose. We have to get the juveniles — the Model Eights who're just out of the advanced course — to put them in the chair. Maybe they tell them, I don't know.'
'Why do you call him 'Auguste'—and the French pronunciation? That seems a bit odd when the others are named Hightop and Bouncy and things like that.'
'Auguste is an odd robot.' He looked up at her. 'But that doesn't mean out of control! The reprogramming took on him. We didn't have to decharge him — to 'start from scratch,' as you put it — like we did with one of the others.'
'So Auguste was a slow learner, and Hightop got his foot caught in the rocks and lost power,' Laura said. Griffith confirmed her summary with a nod. 'And you reprogrammed them, but didn't have to start all over.' Again he nodded. 'What about the robot you did have to start from scratch?'
'Her behavior was… erratic. Totally erratic. One day, we let her out of the chair after some simulations and she came out swinging. Never did get her calmed down. We ultimately decharged her completely. She's one of the two infants currently.'
'By decharging do you wipe out all traces of previous programming?'
Griffith nodded. 'Almost all the connections in the robots' mini-nets are virtual — software instructions about how to route packets of data. They've got very few fiber-optic connections — only something like two to the twenty-second power of combination possibilities.'
'And that hardwiring remains after decharging?' Griffith nodded.
Laura tried the math in her head, but gave up. 'How much is two to the twenty-second power?'
'A little over four million,' Griffith said.
Laura was stunned. 'So four million connections remained in place when you decharged that robot?'
Another nod from Griffith. 'So, you see, it's practically a clean slate. Hardwiring usually represents only the most unvarying of connections. Things like basic motor skills.'
'Wait a minute! What about traumas? Didn't you say the trauma of the slaughter rooms gets seared into their memory? Isn't it possible traumatic experiences are also part of their unvarying, hardwired memories?' Griffith looked stricken and didn't respond.
'And what is it now?'
He hesitated, moistening his mouth before he spoke. 'A she,' he replied. 'But look, we rig it so the odds of a robot coming up a given gender are roughly fifty-fifty. Plus, like I said, giving them a gender is just a little game we play. It has no scientific significance.'
'And the two robots you didn't decharge — Hightop and Auguste — how many connections did they retain from before their reprogramming?'
Griffith frowned. 'Maybe… sixty-four trillion, a hundred and twenty-eight trillion, something in that order.'
'And you call that reprogramming?'
'Laura, that's only a small fraction of their nets' connections.'
'But they remember!' Laura said, incredulous that such an obvious fact had been overlooked. 'Maybe it's like a dream to them, or they don't know why they react the way they do to a given situation, or they think they've been somewhere they've never been before. Have you ever taken Hightop back to where he was trapped in those rocks for hours and hours?' Griffith shook his head slowly, staring at Auguste in his cage. 'I bet you anything that Hightop would have a powerful reaction to seeing that place, even if he doesn't know why. They remember, Dr. Griffith, and that means they remember what you did to them. Hightop was reprogrammed after an accident, but Auguste was reprogrammed in that chair execution-style, and he fought it. Was he at all violent before the reprogramming, or was he just a slow learner?'
The visibly upset man drew a deep breath. 'Auguste wasn't violent before.'
Laura lowered her voice. 'But now he's your prime suspect, isn't he?'
Griffith quickly looked up at her. He knew about the murder in the jungle. 'I'd like to go visit Auguste, please,' Laura said.
After a moment's hesitation, Griffith nodded and motioned for her to follow. The French soldier trailed them with his finger on the trigger of the machine pistol.
'He's in here,' Griffith said as he stooped to peer into the dark hole of the retinal identifier. They had walked a long way down the corridors of Griffith's underground ghost town. The Model Eight facilities were enormous, and their vast size made the absence of people even more conspicuous. The high ceilings and doorways made it clear the place was designed for beings much larger than humans.
She felt like a visitor there — an alien.
The lock on the door in front of Griffith clicked open. The soldier raised his ugly black weapon and went in first. Griffith followed. Laura entered last.
The giant robot sat idle on the floor in the far corner of the room.
Its pose was strikingly human, and Laura couldn't tell whether she was more amazed at just how like a human the robot appeared, or at its size. The soldier kept his gun raised and leveled on the robot.
'You don't have to do that,' Griffith said, waving his hand at the tense man, motioning for him to lower his gun. The soldier paid no attention. He never took his eyes or his gun off the robot.
Griffith frowned comically at Laura in mockery of the man's paranoia. He then walked over to the robot — his and the seated robot's heads on roughly the same level. 'Auguste! How are you?'
It was only then that the Model Eight looked up. Laura knew that it must have sensed them enter, but it hadn't bothered to turn their way.
She stared at the robot and walked up behind Griffith.
'Auguste,' she whispered to the man, looking at the robot's pose — at his head on his fist and his elbow on his knee. 'Auguste Rodin, the sculptor?'
'He always sat like that — with his hand on his chin. I don't know who first noticed the similarities to the sculpture — to The Thinker.' Griffith leaned over to get closer to the robot. 'How are you?' he said, smiling. 'Are you ready to get up?' He motioned up, up, with his hand, and like a circus elephant the robot labored to his feet.
The soldier backed away, keeping his gun raised. It was clear who he thought the enemy was.
The robot stood impassively before Griffith — towering over him. 'Come on and get a closer look,' Griffith said, motioning her toward the ten-foot-tall machine. She took a step, looking the massive robot up and down — as frightened of their notorious clumsiness as of their uncertain potential for violence. Auguste, however, seemed to have no problem with his balance. 'Come on,' Griffith said, waving her even closer. Griffith stood half turned away from the robot, and in her mind's eye she imagined the caged robot seizing its unsuspecting captor from behind. But the robot just stood there… still.
