“You’ve found the cause of the collapse?” Christian asked eagerly.
“Uh-huh,” replied Gimmick. “The nanotech studied crystal structures atom by atom, and then the big brain set up a model and ran it. It turns out this particular mineral combination is unusually vulnerable to thermal stress. Oh, not much, or the crag wouldn’t have stood so long. But gigayears of heat and cold, heat and cold chewed on it. Solar wind and cosmic rays didn’t help. Flaws developed and grew till any substantial shock would bring everything tumbling down. Sooner or later, a good-sized meteorite would have hit nearby.”
Christian frowned. “We gave it no such push.”
“Sure, our seismic probe was gentle. But the resonant frequencies were enough. Construction or a spacecraft landing in the neighborhood would have done the same.”
“How great a problem will this be?”
“We’ll have to find out. Probably not very. The rock doesn’t appear to be a common sort. In any case, the planners will be forewarned.”
“I daresay the business was worth what it cost, then. But we’re earning our pay!”
Did the voice quiver, ever so faintly? “When can we start surveying again?”
“Don’t know. I’ve looked into the matter, and it isn’t practical to modify any robot on the planet for you. If making a new body and shipping it from Earth will take too long, I’ll negotiate early termination of our contract and let another team succeed us. I don’t want to sit idled for months, above all on Mercury.” Christian glanced at Willem Schuyten. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Nothing wrong with the company here.”
The older man smiled wryly. “Aside from a lack of live women. I don’t especially care for virtuals.”
“And the rest of the universe waiting,” Christian said, more softly still.
The cyberneticist gave him a look that went deep. For a moment the room lay silent. It was Christian’s quarters. At present, one wall screen held a view of Saturn in space, jewel-exquisite. In another, dry snow drifted across a flank of Everest, white beneath lordly blue. A third, smaller, displayed a portrait of his Ellen, which he seldom animated anymore, and a fourth had the likeness of their son, which he often did. His guitar leaned against a desk cluttered with figurines and the equipment for creating them. A bottle and two tumblers stood companionably on the table between the men.
Christian stirred. “Well,” he said toward the intercom, “I’ll let you know as soon as I do myself. Meanwhile, if you’ve nothing to keep you amused, I expect you’ll turn yourself off. Adios.”
“Until then,” responded the voice, and ceased.
“Escape from boredom,” Christian muttered. “I envy you that.”
“Do you really?” asked Willem almost as low.
Christian paused before he replied. “I suppose not. Envy wouldn’t make sense, would it?”
“Not envy of a machine. But you spoke with Gimmick the way one speaks with a friend.”
Christian shrugged. “Habit. Haven’t you ever talked or sworn at a machine?”
“I said ‘spoke with,’ not ‘spoke at.’ It never struck me before—I never was exposed to it so directly—how you two converse. How eerily lifelike Gimmick sounded. How much like you.”
“I shouldn’t think you’d be surprised. You’re the expert on AI.”
“It’s an enormous field, and enlarging exponentially. I had no experience with your sort of team until I came to Mercury. And of course my work here has been with the main system,” helping it direct the manifold activities on a world full of unknowns.
“But I mean, it’s so obvious. Gimmick’s not a thing I steer like a boat or put on and take off like a glove. He can operate by himself. He makes judgments and acts on them. He learns. Naturally he’d learn—pick up traits—from me.”
“And you from him,” Willem said slowly.
Christian’s hand, reaching for his drink, dropped to the table and doubled into a fist. “I never thought I’d hear that out of your mouth,” he snapped. “‘Dehumanization,’ ‘emotional deprivation,’ all the Organicist quack-quackery infesting Earth.”
Willem raised his own palm. “Peace, I pray. I certainly do know better. No offense intended. My apologies.”
Christian relaxed somewhat. “I’m sorry. Overreaction, stupid of me.” He gave the other a rueful smile. “After that go-around at the scarp, I guess my nerves haven’t yet stopped jangling.”
“Very understandable. But I do want to make a point, and then … lead up to something that’s been more and more on my mind.”
Christian lifted the tumbler, sipped, and leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead, do.”
“You’ve given Gimmick a name, jocular, but doesn’t that in itself show a feeling? And you persistently refer to Gimmick not as ‘it’ but ‘he.’“
“Sure. Why not? I’ve owned a couple of boats on Earth, named them, and called them ‘she.’“
“But you said it yourself, Gimmick is not a passive piece of machinery. Within … his … limits, to all intents and purposes, he thinks. In linkage with you, he becomes … an aspect, a facet of a human being.”
“No,” Christian said quietly. “In linkage, together, we’re more than human.”
“In sensory range, in capabilities, yes. Which is bound to affect you. But you are the man. Yours are the instincts, drives, fears and hopes, joys and sorrows, everything that four billion years of evolution on Earth has made. Do you imagine contact with that would not affect him?”
Again Christian gathered his thoughts before he answered. “Of course it has. During the time we’ve worked as a team, and that’s been a spell now, I’ve noticed. And not been surprised.” He tossed off a dram. “That’s part of why I get so angry at those snotheads. Robotization of humans? How about humanization of robots?”
“Within their limits, as you put it,” Willem said carefully.
Christian nodded. “Agreed. I don’t pretend Gimmick is the
