Supertoys Trilogy. Brian Aldiss

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СКАЧАТЬ only does he have intelligence, he has a controlled amount of intelligence. We believe people would be afraid of a being with a human brain. Our serving-man has a small computer in his cranium.

      ‘There have been mechanicals on the market with minicomputers for brains – plastic things without life, supertoys – but we have at last found a way to link computer circuitry with synthetic flesh.’

      David sat by the long window of his nursery, wrestling with paper and pencil. Finally, he stopped writing and began to roll the pencil up and down the slope of the desk-lid.

      ‘Teddy!’ he said.

      Teddy lay on the bed against the wall, under a book with moving pictures and a giant plastic soldier. The speech-pattern of his master’s voice activated him and he sat up.

      ‘Teddy, I can’t think what to say!’

      Climbing off the bed, the bear walked stiffly over to cling to the boy’s leg. David lifted him and set him on the desk.

      ‘What have you said so far?’

      ‘I’ve said –’ He picked up his letter and stared hard at it. ‘I’ve said, “Dear Mummy, I hope you’re well just now. I love you.’”

      There was a long silence, until the bear said, ‘That sounds fine. Go downstairs and give it to her.’

      Another long silence.

      ‘It isn’t quite right. She won’t understand.’

      Inside the bear, a small computer worked through its program of possibilities. ‘Why not do it again in crayon?’

      David was staring out of the window. ‘Teddy, you know what I was thinking? How do you tell what are real things from what aren’t real things?’

      The bear shuffled its alternatives. ‘Real things are good.’

      ‘I wonder if time is good. I don’t think Mummy likes time very much. The other day, lots of days ago, she said that time went by her. Is time real, Teddy?’

      ‘Clocks tell the time. Clocks are real. Mummy has clocks so she must like them. She has a clock on her wrist next to her dial.’

      David had started to draw an airliner on the back of his letter. ‘You and I are real, Teddy, aren’t we?’

      The bear’s eyes regarded the boy unflinchingly. ‘You and I are real, David.’ It specialised in comfort.

      Monica walked slowly about the house. It was almost time for the afternoon post to come over the wire. She punched the O.L. number on the dial on her wrist but nothing came through. A few minutes more.

      She could take up her painting. Or she could dial her friends. Or she could wait till Henry came home. Or she could go up and play with David …

      She walked out into the hall and to the bottom of the stairs.

      ‘David!’

      No answer. She called again and a third time.

      ‘Teddy!’ she called, in sharper tones.

      ‘Yes, Mummy!’ After a moment’s pause, Teddy’s head of golden fur appeared at the top of the stairs.

      ‘Is David in his room, Teddy?’

      ‘David went into the garden, Mummy.’

      ‘Come down here, Teddy!’

      She stood impassively, watching the little furry figure as it climbed down from step to step on its stubby limbs. When it reached the bottom, she picked it up and carried it into the living-room. It lay unmoving in her arms, staring up at her. She could feel just the slightest vibration from its motor.

      ‘Stand there, Teddy. I want to talk to you.’ She set him down on a tabletop, and he stood as she requested, arms set forward and open in the eternal gesture of embrace.

      ‘Teddy, did David tell you to tell me he had gone into the garden?’

      The circuits of the bear’s brain were too simple for artifice.

      ‘Yes, Mummy.’

      ‘So you lied to me.’

      ‘Yes, Mummy.’

      ‘Stop calling me Mummy! Why is David avoiding me? He’s not afraid of me, is he?’

      ‘No. He loves you.’

      ‘Why can’t we communicate?’

      ‘Because David’s upstairs.’

      The answer stopped her dead. Why waste time talking to this machine? Why not simply go upstairs and scoop David into her arms and talk to him, as a loving mother should to a loving son? She heard the sheer weight of silence in the house, with a different quality of silence issuing from every room. On the upper landing, something was moving very silently – David, trying to hide away from her …

      He was nearing the end of his speech now. The guests were attentive; so was the Press, lining two walls of the banqueting chamber, recording Henry’s words and occasionally photographing him.

      ‘Our serving-man will be, in many senses, a product of the computer. Without knowledge of the genome, we could never have worked through the sophisticated biochemics that go into synthetic flesh. The serving-man will also be an extension of the computer – for he will contain a computer in his own head, a microminiaturised computer capable of dealing with almost any situation he may encounter in the home. With reservations, of course.’

      Laughter at this; many of those present knew the heated debate that had engulfed the Synthank boardroom before the decision had finally been taken to leave the serving-man neuter under his flawless uniform.

      ‘Amid all the triumphs of our civilisation – yes, and amid the crushing problems of overpopulation too – it is sad to reflect how many millions of people suffer from increasing loneliness and isolation. Our serving-man will be a boon to them; he will always answer, and the most vapid conversation cannot bore him.

      ‘For the future, we plan more models, male and female – some of them without the limitations of this first one, I promise you! – of more advanced design, true bio-electronic beings.

      ‘Not only will they possess their own computers, capable of individual programming: they will be linked to the Ambient, the World Data Network. Thus everyone will be able to enjoy the equivalent of an Einstein in their own homes. Personal isolation will then be banished for ever!’

      He sat down to enthusiastic applause. Even the synthetic serving-man, sitting at the table dressed in an unostentatious suit, applauded with gusto.

      Dragging his satchel, David crept round the side of the house. He climbed on to the ornamental seat under the living-room window and peeped cautiously in.

      His mother stood in the middle of the room. Her face was blank; its lack of expression scared him. He watched fascinated. He did not move; she did not move. Time might have stopped, as it had stopped in the СКАЧАТЬ