"One of the men sprang forward and clutched at the figure, but its impetus threw him down on to the floor, where its steel-cased feet laid bare his cheek. The thing evidently did not intend to part with its prize so easily.
"Had any one retained a cool head, the figure, one cannot help thinking, might easily have been stopped. Two or three men acting in concert might have lifted it bodily off the floor, or have jammed it into a corner. But few human heads are capable of remaining cool under excitement. Those who are not present think how stupid must have been those who were; those who are reflect afterwards how simple it would have been to do this, that, or the other, if only they had thought of it at the time.
"The women grew hysterical. The men shouted contradictory directions to one another. Two of them made a bungling rush at the figure, which had the end result of forcing it out of its orbit at the centre of the room, and sending it crashing against the walls and furniture. A stream of blood showed itself down the girl’s white frock, and followed her along the floor. The affair was becoming horrible. The women rushed screaming from the room. The men followed them.
"One sensible suggestion was made: ‘Find Geibel – fetch Geibel.’
"No one had noticed him leave the room, no one knew where he was. A party went in search of him. The others, too unnerved to go back into the ballroom, crowded outside the door and listened. They could hear the steady whir of the wheels upon the polished floor as the thing spun round and round; the dull thud as every now and again it dashed itself and its burden against some opposing object and ricocheted off in a new direction.
"And everlastingly it talked in that thin ghostly voice, repeating over and over the same formula: ‘How charming you look tonight. What a lovely day it has been. Oh, don’t be so cruel. I could go on dancing for ever – with you. Have you had supper?’
"Of course they sought Geibel everywhere but where he was. They looked in every room in the house, then they rushed off in a body to his own place, and spent precious minutes waking up his deaf old housekeeper. At last it occurred to one of the party that Wenzel was missing also, and then the idea of the counting-house across the yard presented itself to them, and there they found him.
"He rose up, very pale, and followed them; and he and old Wenzel forced their way through the crowd of guests gathered outside, and entered the room, and locked the door behind them.
"From within there came the muffled sound of low voices and quick steps, followed by a confused scuffling noise, then silence, then the low voices again.
"After a time the door opened, and those near it pressed forward to enter, but old Wenzel’s broad head and shoulders barred the way.
"I want you – and you, Bekler,’ he said, addressing a couple of the elder men. His voice was calm, but his face was deadly white. ‘The rest of you, please go – get the women away as quickly as you can.’
"From that day old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself to the making of mechanical rabbits, and cats that mewed and washed their faces."
(1893)
SATISFACTION
Nicholas Sheppard
Nicholas Sheppard is an Australian software engineer and academic, currently teaching in Singapore. He has published numerous scientific articles, several rather less serious pieces for a mediaeval re-enactment group, and occasional pieces of fiction in AntipodeanSF.
Susan arrived home to find David unwrapping a large-ish box in the living room. "What’s that?" she asked.
"It’s a utility robot," said David.
"What does it do?"
"It feels."
The thing emerging from the packaging did not seem to have any hands, or tentacles, or other appendages with which it might feel in the sense that Susan had initially supposed. She stood still, peering a little harder at the robot in the hope that she would find some explanation. Then, it occurred to her: "As in, experiences emotion?"
"Yes. It has the best feeling in the world. It’s completely satisfied with life."
"What’s its life?" The thing emerging from the packaging did not seem very lively, either.
"Its life is to feel satisfied." David indicated some writing on the now-discarded box, which Susan supposed to explain this philosophy. By now, she could see that the machine took the form of a vertical silver-grey cylinder, surmounted by a white dome. The dome rose to about the height of David’s shoulders as he sat beside it, and the whole contraption resembled nothing so much as a rubbish bin.
"And this benefits us how?" said Susan.
"With this, our household will contain at least 50% more satisfaction than before!"
"Are you suggesting that you’re unsatisfied?"
"Oh no, not on the whole. Of course it’d be nice not to have to mow the lawn, or chase customers at work, that sort of thing. But this baby is perfectly satisfied with its life, perfectly happy with every aspect of its life." David patted the machine’s dome with apparent affection. The machine, which was not turned on, did not react. "How can more satisfaction be bad?"
When the machine was turned on, a few red and green LEDs glowed at the top of the cylinder, just below the dome. They did not blink. The machine was in just this state when Susan found David kneeling before it the following evening.
"How do you know it’s satisfied?" she asked.
"They’ve done tests. It’s passed the Turing Test, it satisfies Integrated Information Theory, and it aced the Life Satisfaction Survey."
"I see," she said, without conviction. "Does watching it make it more satisfied?"
"It doesn’t need me," David said. "But I think I can learn from it."
"Does it teach?" Susan did not perceive the machine to be doing very much teaching.
"Only by example."
Susan stared a little longer. "You’ve got the LEDs all wrong."
David was before the machine again the following evening, this time sitting cross-legged with his head bowed, resting his chin on his hands. Susan said nothing. On the third night he was trying the lotus position, but on the fourth night he was back to kneeling. The machine had not changed.
"What are you learning?" asked Susan when David rose—a little unsteadily—from his latest sojourn before the machine.
"It’s hard work."
"The kneeling, or the learning?"
"What I need to do."
"What do you need to do?"
"I need to understand the way the machine feels, and take that feeling for myself."
"Is it feeling if you can make yourself do it?"
"Why shouldn’t it be?"
"I just thought that that was the definition of feeling—something that arises within you without conscious explanation. Otherwise it’d be a thought. And, anyway, why should you be able to feel what the machine feels? You’re not the machine."
"I can do it," he insisted, and went to shower.
David did not go to work the following week, preferring to spend more time with the machine. He had brought it into the living room, where he could watch it while seated on the comfortable armchair normally used for watching the extra-large television in the room. The television was off, but the machine was on.
Susan frowned at the arrangement whenever she passed by the living room, but it was not until the third day that she decided to challenge her husband. "You’ll have to go back to work one day," she warned him.
"Do I? The machine can be satisfied without going to work."