Split Infinity Read Online Free PDF Page A

was still averted, her gaze downcast. “Are you, a robot, really being emotional?”
    “I’m programmed to be!”
    True. He moved around to look at her face. She turned it away again. He put his hand to her chin to lift it.
    “Get away from me!” she cried.
    That was some programming! “Look, Sheen. I apologize. I—“
    “Don’t apologize to a robot! Only an idiot would converse with a machine.”
    “Correct,” he agreed. “I acted stupidly, and now I want to make what amends are possible.”
    He tried again to see her face, and again she hid it.   “Damn it, look at me!” he exclaimed. His emotion was high, flashing almost without warning into embarrassment, sorrow, or anger.
    “I am here to serve; I must obey,” she said, turning her eyes to him. They were bright, and her cheeks were moist. Humanoid robots could cry, of course; they could do almost anything people could do. This one had been programmed to react this way when hurt or affronted. He knew that, yet was oddly moved. She did indeed subtly resemble one he had loved. The accuracy with which she had been fashioned was a commentary on the appalling power available to the Citizens of this planet. Even the most private, subtle knowledge could be drawn from the computer registries at any time.
    “You are here to guard me, not to serve me. Sheen.”
    “I can only guard you if I stay with you. Now that you know what I am—“
    “Why are you being so negative? I have not sent you away.”
    “I was made to please you, to want to please you. So I can better serve my directive. Now I can not.”
    “Why not?”
    “Why do you tease me? Do you think that programmed feelings are less binding than flesh ones? That the electrochemistry of the inanimate is less valid than that of the animate? That my illusion of consciousness is any less potent than your illusion of self-determination?
    I exist for one purpose, and you have prevented me from accomplishing it, and now I have no reason for existence. Why couldn’t you have accepted me as I seemed to be? I would have become perfect at it, with experience. Then it would have been real.”
    “You have not answered my question.”
    “You have not answered mine!”
    Stile did a rapid internal shifting of gears. This was the most femalish robot he had encountered! “Very well. Sheen. I answer your questions. Why do I tease you? Answer: I am not teasing you—but if I did, it would not be to hurt you. Do I think that your programmed feelings are less valid than my mortal ones?   Answer: No, I must conclude that a feeling is a feeling, whatever its origin. Some of my own feelings are short-sighted, unreasonable and unworthy; they govern me just the same. Is your illusion of consciousness less valid than my illusion of free will? Answer: No. If you think you are conscious, you must be conscious, be-cause that’s what consciousness is. The feedback of self-awareness. I don’t have much illusion about my free will. I am a serf, governed by the will of my employer. I have no doubt I am governed by a multitude of other things I seldom even notice, such as the force of gravity and my own genetic code and the dictates of society.   Most of my freedom exists in my mind—which is where your consciousness does, too. Why couldn’t I accept you as you seemed to be? Because I am a skilled Gamesman, not the best that ever was, but probably destined for recognition as one of the best of my generation. I succeed not by virtue of my midget body but by virtue of my mind. By questioning, by comprehending my own nature and that of all others I encounter.   When I detect an anomaly, I must discover its reason.
    You are attractive, you are nice, you are the kind of girl I have held in my mind as the ideal, even to your size, for it would be too obvious for me to have a woman smaller than I am, and I don’t like being obvious in this connection. You came to me for what seemed insufficient reason, you did not laugh as you should