Why, yes, of course she would. So we toddled off to the new ship while
Midguard kept up a steady line of patter.
"We think we have all the computer errors out of this one, Miss
Ravenhurst. A matter of new controls and safety devices. We feel that
the trouble with the first six machines was that they were designed to
be operated by voice orders by any qualified human operator. The
trouble is that they had no way of telling just who was qualified. The
brains are perfectly capable of distinguishing one individual from
another, but they can't tell whether a given individual is a space
pilot or a janitor. In fact--"
I marked the salient points in his speech. The MG-YR-7 would be
strictly a one-man ship. It had a built-in dog attitude--friendly
toward all humans, but loyal only to its master. Of course, it was
likely that the ship would outlast its master, so its loyalties could
be changed, but only by the use of special switching keys.
The robotics boys still weren't sure why the first six had gone
insane, but they were fairly certain that the primary cause was the
matter of too many masters. The brilliant biophysicist, Asenion, who
promulgated the Three Laws of Robotics in the last century, had shown
in his writings that they were unattainable ideals--that they only
told what a perfect robot _should_ be, not what a robot actually was.
[Illustration]
The First Law, for instance, would forbid a robot to harm a human
being, either by action or inaction. But, as Asenion showed, a robot
could be faced with a situation which allowed for only two possible
decisions, both of which required that a human being be harmed. In
such a case, the robot goes insane.
I found myself speculating what sort of situation, what sort of
Asenion paradox, had confronted those first six ships. And whether it
had been by accident or design. Not that the McGuire robots had been
built in strict accord with the Laws of Robotics; that was impossible
on the face of it. But no matter how a perfectly logical machine is
built, the human mind can figure out a way to goof it up because the
human mind is capable of transcending logic.
* * * * *
The McGuire ship was a little beauty. A nice, sleek, needle, capable
of atmospheric as well as spatial navigation, with a mirror-polished,
beryl-blue surface all over the sixty-five feet of her--or
his?--length.
It was standing upright on the surface of the planetoid, a shining
needle in the shifting sunlight, limned against the star-filled
darkness of space. We looked at it through the transparent viewport,
and then took the flexible tube that led to the air lock of the ship.
The ship was just as beautiful inside as it was outside. Neat,
compact, and efficient. The control room--if such it could be
called--was like no control room I'd ever seen before. Just an
acceleration couch and observation instruments. Midguard explained
that it wasn't necessary to be a pilot to run the ship; any person who
knew a smattering of astronavigation could get to his destination by
simply telling the ship what he wanted to do.
Jack Ravenhurst took in the whole thing with wide-eyed interest.
"Is the brain activated, Mr. Midguard?" she asked.
"Oh, yes. We've been educating him for the past month, pumping
information in as rapidly as he could record it and index it. He's
finished with that stage now; we're just waiting for the selection of
a test pilot for the final shakedown cruise." He was looking warily at
Jack as he spoke, as if he were waiting for something.
Evidently, he knew what was coming. "I'd like to talk to him," Jack
said. "It's so interesting to carry on an intelligent conversation
with a machine."
"I'm afraid that's impossible, Miss Ravenhurst," Midguard said rather
worriedly. "You see, McGuire's primed so that the first man's voice he
hears will be identified as his master. It's what we call the 'chick
reaction'. You know: the first moving thing a newly-hatched bird sees
is regarded as the mother, and, once implanted, that order can't be
rescinded. We can change McGuire's orientation in that respect, but
we'd rather not have to go through that. After the test pilot
establishes contact, you can talk to him all you want."
"When will the test pilot be here?" Jack asked, still as sweet as
sucrodyne.
"Within a few days. It looks as though a man named Nels Bjornsen will
be our choice. You may have heard of him."
"No," she said, "but I'm sure your choice will be correct."
Midguard still felt apologetic. "Well, you know how it is, Miss
Ravenhurst; we can't turn a delicate machine like this over to just
anyone for the first trial. He has to be a man of good judgment and
fast reflexes. He has to know exactly what to say and when to say it,
if you follow me."
"Oh, certainly; certainly." She paused and looked thoughtful. "I
presume you've taken precautions against anyone stealing in here and
taking control of the ship."
Midguard smiled and nodded wisely. "Certainly. Communication with
McGuire can't be established unless and until two keys are used in the
activating panel. I carry one; Colonel Brock has the other. Neither
of us will give his key up to anyone but the accredited test pilot.
And McGuire himself will scream out an alarm if anyone tries to jimmy
the locks. He's his own burglar alarm."
She nodded. "I see." A pause. "Well, Mr. Midguard, I think you've done
a very commendable job. Thank you so much. Is there anything else you
feel I should see?"
"Well--" He was smilingly hesitant. "If there's anything else you want to
see, I'll be glad to show it to you. But you've already seen
our ... ah ... _piece de resistance_, so to speak."
She glanced at her wrist. It had been over four hours since we'd
started. "I am rather tired," Jack said. "And hungry, too. Let's call
it a day and go get something to eat."
"Fine! Fine!" Midguard said. "I'll be honored to be your host, if I
may. We could have a little something at my apartment."