She went on: "A fertilized egg is not aware but a baby is. After Papa Mannie discovered that his computer was self-aware, he noted that this computer, which had been expanded outrageously as more jobs were assigned to it, had reached a point of complication where it had more interconnections in it than has a human brain.
"Papa Mannie made a great theoretical leap: When the number of interconnections in a computer become of the same close order as the number of interconnections in a human brain that computer can wake up and become aware of itself... and probably will. He wasn't sure that it always happened, but he became convinced that it could happen and for that reason: the high number of interconnections.
"Richard, Papa Mannie never went any farther with it. He was not a theoretical scientist; he was a repair technician. But the way his computer was behaving bothered him; he had to try to figure out why it was acting so oddly. This theory resulted. But you need not pay attention to it; Papa Mannie never tested it."
"Hazel, what was this odd behavior?"
"Oh. Mama Wyoh told me that the first thing Manuel noticed was that Mike-the computer, I mean-Mike had acquired a sense of humor."
"Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes. Mama Wyoh told me that, to Mike-or Mi-chelle-or Adam Selene-he used all three names; he was a trinity-to Mike, the entire Luna Revolution, in which thousands died here and hundreds of thousands died on Earth, was a joke. It was just one great big practical joke thought up by a computer with supergenius brain power and a childish sense of humor." Hazel grimaced, then grinned. "Just a great, big, overgrown, lovable kid who should have been kicked."
"You make it sound like a pleasure. Kicking him."
"Do I? Perhaps I should not. After all, a computer could not possibly do right or wrong, or experience good or evil in the human sense; it would have no background for it-no rearing, if you please. Mama Wyoh told me that Mike's human behavior was by imitation-he had endless role models; he read everything, including fiction. But his only real emotion, all his own, was deep loneliness and a great longing for companionship. That's what our revolution was to Mike: companionship ... play ... a game that won him attentionrfrom Prof and Wyoh and especially Mannie. Richard, if a machine can have emotions, that computer loved my Papa Mannie. Well, sir?"
I was tempted to say nonsense or something even less polite. "Hazel, you are demanding bald truth from me-and it will hurt your feelings. It sounds like fiction to me. If not your fiction, then that of your foster mother, Wyoming Knott." I added, "Sweetheart, are we going out to attend to our chores? Or are we going to spend all day talking about a theory on which neither of us has any evidence?"
"I'm dressed and ready to go, dear. Just one little bit more and I'll shut up. You find this story unbelievable."
"Yes, I do." I said it as flatly as possible.
"What part of it is unbelievable?"
"All of it."
'Truly? Or is the sticking point the idea that a computer can be self-aware? If you accept that, does the rest of it become easier to swallow?"
(I tried to be honest. If that nonsense did not make me gag, would the rest be acceptable? Oh, certainly! Like the gold spectacles of Joseph Smith, like the tablets handed down to Moses from the Mount, like the red shift to the big bang- accept the postulate and the rest goes down smoothly.) "Hazel-Gwen, if we assume a self-aware computer with emotions and free will, I would not boggle at anything else-from ghosts to little green men. What was it the Red Queen did? Believe seven impossible things before breakfast."
"The White Queen."
"No, the Red Queen."
"Are you sure, Richard? It was just before-"
"Forget it. Talking chessmen are even harder to swallow than a prankster computer. Sweetheart, the only evidence you offer is a story told you by your foster mother in her old age. That's all. Uh, senile, maybe?"
"No, sir. Dying, but not senile. Cancer. From exposure to a solar storm when she was quite young. So she thought. As may be, it was not senility. She told me this when she knew she was to die... because she thought the story should not be lost completely."
"You see the weakness of the story, dear? One death-bed story. No other data."
"Not quite, Richard."
"Eh?"
"My adoptive father Manuel Davis confirms all of it and then some."
"But- You always spoke of him in the past tense. I think you did. And he would be... how old? Older than you are."
"He was bom in 2040, so he would be a century and a half old now... not impossible for a Loonie. But he's both older and younger than that-for the same reasons I am. Richard, if you talked to Manuel Davis and he confirmed what I've told you, would you believe him?"
"Uh-" I grinned at her. "You might force me to bring to the issue the stalwart common sense of ignorance and prejudice."
"Go along with you! Put on your foot, dear, please. I want to take you out and get you at least one more outfit before we move; your trousers have spots on the stains. I'm not being a good wife."
"Yes, ma'am; right away, ma'am. Where is your Papa Man-nie now?"
"You won't believe this."
"If it doesn't involve right-angled time or lonely computers, I'll believe it."
"I think-I haven't checked lately-I think Papa Mannie is with your Uncle Jock in Iowa."
I stopped with my foot in my hand. "You're right; I don't believe it."
XIX
Rascality has limits; stupidity has not.-
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE 1769-1821
How can you argue with a woman who won't? I expected Gwen to start justifying her preposterous allegation, citing chapter and verse in an attempt to convince me. Instead she answered sadly, "I knew that was all I could expect. 111 just have to wait. Richard, do we have any other stops to make besides Macy's and the main post office before we can go out to the Warden's Complex?"
"I need to set up a new checking account and then transfer my present account down from Golden Rule. My cash in pocket is becoming rather seldom. Anemic."
"But dearest, I've tried to tell you. Money is no problem. She opened her purse, dug out a wad of money, started peeling off hundred-crown notes. "I'm on an expense account, of
course." She held them out. .
"Easy, there!" I said. "Save your pennies, little girl. / undertook to support you. Not the other way around."
I expected a retort involving "macho" or "male chauvinist pig" or at least "community property." Instead she flanked me. "Richard? Your bank account in Golden Rule- Is it a numbered account? If not, under what name?"
"Huh? No. 'Richard Ames,' of course."
"Do you think Mr. Sethos might take an interest?"
"Oh. Our kindly landlord. Honey, I'm glad you're here to do my thinking for me." A track leading straight to me as plain as footprints in snow... for Sethos's goons to follow to collect that reward for my carcass-dead or alive. Of course all bank records are confidential, not alone numbered accounts-but "confidential" means only that it takes money or power to break the rules. And Sethos had both. "Gwen, let's go back and booby-trap his air conditioning again. But this time we'll use prussic acid instead of Limburger."