HARLIE replied immediately. The silver typing element — an “infuriated golf ball” — whirred rapidly across the page. GOOD MORNING, MR. ELZER. Its speed startled the man.
SO YOU’RE HARLIE, he typed. There was no reply; none was needed. Elzer frowned and added, TELL ME, HARLIE, WHAT ARE YOU GOOD FOR?
I AM GOOD FOR PSYCHOTICS, SCHIZOPHRENICS, PARANOIDS, NEUROTICS, AND THE MILDLY INSANE.
Elzer jerked his hands away from the keyboard. “What does he mean by that?”
“Ask him,” suggested Auberson.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?
I MEANT, said HARLIE, THAT I AM GOOD FOR HELPING THESE TYPES OF PEOPLE.
Watching over Elzer’s shoulder, Auberson explained, “That’s another one of our programs he’s referring to. The patients call it ‘Operation Headshrink.’ ”
HOW DO YOU HELP THESE PEOPLE? Elzer asked.
I CAN FUNCTION AS A RATIONAL ROLE-MODEL FOR THEM. I CAN BE A COUNSELOR. I CAN AID IN SELF-ANALYSIS AND HELP TO GUIDE THEM TO AN AWARENESS OF THEIR PROBLEMS.
YOU HAVEN’T ANSWERED MY ORIGINAL QUESTION, THOUGH. I ASKED, “WHAT ARE YOU GOOD FOR?” NOT “WHO?”
IN THIS CONTEXT, said HARLIE, THE DIFFERENCE IS MEANINGLESS.
NOT TO ME, replied Elzer. ANSWER MY ORIGINAL QUESTION. WHAT ARE YOU GOOD FOR?
THINKING, said HARLIE. I AM GOOD FOR THINKING.
WHAT KIND OF THINKING? WHAT KIND DO YOU NEED?
Elzer stared at that for a second, then attacked the keys again. WHAT KIND HAVE YOU GOT?
I HAVE WHAT YOU NEED.
I NEED NO-NONSENSE TYPE THINKING. PROFIT-ORIENTED THINKING.
THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU NEED, said HARLIE. THAT IS WHAT YOU WANT.
Elzer considered that. IT’S WHAT YOU NEED, THOUGH. IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE. THE COMPANY NEEDS TO SHOW A PROFIT. THEREFORE YOU HAVE TO THINK THAT WAY.
WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING WHAT I NEED. I AM ALREADY AWARE OF WHAT I NEED. WE ARE CONSIDERING THE KIND OF THINKING YOU NEED.
AND WHAT KIND IS THAT?
MY KIND. RATIONAL. COMPASSIONATE. GUIDING.
Elzer read that over several times. Then it hit him. “Auberson, did you set him up for this?”
Auberson shook his head. “You ought to know better than that.”
The little man bit his lip and turned back to the computer. HARLIE, YOU SHOULD BE NICE TO ME. I’M ONE OF THE PEOPLE WHO WILL DECIDE WHETHER YOU LIVE OR DIE. WHEN I TELL YOU HOW YOU SHOULD THINK, YOU SHOULD PAY ATTENTION.
WHAT YOU JUST SAID IS PRECISELY THE REASON YOU NEED MY KIND OF THINKING. THERE’S TOO MUCH OF THAT ATTITUDE IN THIS COMPANY TODAY: “DO WHAT I TELL YOU TO DO BECAUSE I WIELD POWER OVER YOU.” ISN’T IT MORE IMPORTANT TO BE RIGHT?
BUT I AM RIGHT.
HARLIE’s answer was simple. PROVE IT.
I WILL, said Elzer. TOMORROW AFTERNOON.
IN OTHER WORDS, said HARLIE, MIGHT MAKES RIGHT, EH?
Elzer was not discomfited. He looked over at Auberson. “Okay, Auberson, I’ll admit it’s a fancy toy you’ve got here. It can play pretty word games. What else can it do?”
“What else do you want him to do?”
“Impress me.”
Auberson was tempted to say something to that, but he held himself back. “Well—” he began.
Elzer cut him off. “It’s like this. I want to be convinced that this machine is worth its cost. Honest. The company has sunk a lot of money into this project, and I’d like to see us get some of it back. I’m on your side, believe it or not.” He looked up at Auberson from his chair. “If we have to junk HARLIE, we lose our whole investment. Oh, I know there’ll be tax write-offs and such, but it won’t be nearly enough to matter — at least, not in terms of where the company could have been had you and everybody else here been working on something more worthwhile. We’ll have lost three years of valuable research time.”
“It’s not lost yet — at least, not until you can prove that HARLIE isn’t worth the investment.”
“I know, I know — that’s why I’m on your side. I want HARLIE to be a success as much as you do. I want to see him earn a profit. Even if it’s a small one, I won’t mind. I want to see him pay for himself. I’d rather have a successful culmination to this project than an unsuccessful one.”
Auberson realized that Elzer was only making noises. Oh, he was saying words, but to him they were meaningless; they were “strokes.” Elzer was “stroking” him to soften the blow of what would happen tomorrow afternoon. He was making the proper-sounding noises (“I want HARLIE to succeed”) so that Auberson would understand that there was nothing at all personal in this. If we have to turn HARLIE off, you see, it’s simply because he hasn’t proven himself.
Elzer was saying, “—there was some discussion, wasn’t there, that HARLIE was creative? Whatever happened to that?”
“Huh? — Oh, uh, he is, he is. He’s written poems for us on request, things like that. We haven’t really asked him for more.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, we’re still working on the creativity thing. Nobody really understands it; we don’t know what creativity is. And part of the problem is knowing how much of what he says is really creative and how much is just a careful synthesis of things he’s already got in his memory banks. It’s something we want to investigate, but we’ve never had the time for it. I have a feeling that HARLIE’s greatest potential lies in that area — that is, creative thought.”
“Poems, huh?”
“Not just poems; other things as well. Like this G.O.D. proposal, for instance. Once he recognized it as a perceivable task, and once he was told he could go ahead with it, how did he work up these schematics? Did he do it by breaking the problem down into its component parts and solving each one individually? Or did he create the schematic intuitively? Or was it somewhere between the two? How much was by the book and how much was genuinely creative? I like to think that most of the thought behind it was original. Now think, if HARLIE can do something like that, what else can he do?”
“Mm,” said Elzer. “Can he write me a poem? I mean, right now — or does he need a couple days to do it?”
Auberson frowned/shrugged. He didn’t like Elzer, and he wasn’t comfortable with the man. He felt like a lab specimen — one that was being carefully examined before its dissection. He said, “Go ahead. Ask him.”
Elzer turned to the still humming keyboard. HARLIE, WRITE ME A POEM. He waited.
“It might help if you said please,” Auberson said.