Humaniforms could mimic certain human expressions. Moses shook his head. “Everybody does astral triangulation. Even house humaniforms. That’s for standing memories straight from the factory, not those of us with experience. I need something more sophisticated to keep me tuned. The irrational reactions and illogical responses my inquiries have so far inspired provide excellent stimulation for the abstract reasoning portion of my mind.”
What mind? This mechanical has the capacity of a supermarket checker and the analytical ability of cheap transport. It thinks that working closely with a human bestows a certain cachet, when the reality is exactly the opposite. Can you believe this thing? Who says Al’s are incapable of self-delusion? Most of its brainpower goes to work that trackball and those four arms. Not much left for real cogitation.
Come to think of it, that does make it a lot more humanlike. Limbs always get in the way of thought. You know that. I’ll prove it to you, right now. Place your right palm on top of your head. Go on, that’s it. Now put your left hand on your stomach. Cross your right foot over your left ankle. Start making circles with your hands and moving your foot back and forth.
Now at the same time try to imagine how stupid you look. Not easy, is it? I rest my case.
Sucker.
“You need stimulation for the reasoning portion of your mind?” Manz rested a hand on the humaniform’s smooth, rippling flank. “Then come with me. I’ve got an appointment with Gemmel.”
“Himself? That’s interesting. But my presence has not been requested.”
“Not by him; by me. If you’re where I can see you, then I know you’re not getting into trouble.” Manz removed his hand and started around the mechanical. “Let’s go.”
The humaniform looked longingly down the corridor. “I did not have the opportunity to conclude my observations.”
“I said, let’s go. If you ignore a third order, that will convince me that your programming is debased beyond hope of repair, and I’ll turn you in for wiping and reorientation myself.”
“No need for that. I’m coming.” Spinning fluidly on its trackball, the humaniform hummed along in Manz’s wake, the obligatory and traditional body length behind. Meanwhile the Minder drifted along above the human’s left shoulder, uncommenting.
They took a lift four-fifths of the way to the top of the building, exiting into a corridor much wider and more actively decorated than the one they had left, and stopped at a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. The doors were of some hard, beige-hued wood (now probably extinct in the wild, Manz thought) and were thick with abstract carving from top to bottom. Gemmel had bought the doors in Mombasa and had them shipped home. They imparted an eccentric air of age to the otherwise contemporary decor of the lobby.
In the center of the right-hand door was an inscribed plate of artificed gold, set just above a matching grill.
Douglas L. Gemmel
Adjustment Section
Braun-Ives N.A.
Insurance Division
“What do you want?” The door had a voice modeled after that of a mid-twentieth-century film actor. It was rich and commanding without being overbearing.
“Broderick Manz. I have an appointment with his holiness.” He jerked a thumb first at the Minder, then the much larger humaniform. “These are mine.”
“I know who you are,” the door replied. A soft green light flickered over man and machines. “Your devices and your weaponry are registered and passed. You are admitted.” A lock whirred, and the relics of ancient Africa parted.
As they entered, Moses tilted slightly on his trackball to whisper to Manz. “Something ought to be done about these menial devices. They’re too damned uppity. If I was human, I wouldn’t allow it.”
“That’s the way it’s been programmed,” Manz replied. “You know that. Some humans like it that way.”
The outer alcove was deserted except for Gemmel’s Minder. No simple floating sphere, his took the form of an attractive young woman seated behind a desk of her own. Which it was, since she was as much a part of it as the brace of screens fronting one end. She was not mobile like Manz’s humaniform, but she had arms and hair and deep green eyes and assorted other customizable accessories. These Gemmel could adjust according to taste.
When dealing with female executives, for example, he would have the Minder prepare for such company by altering both its exterior and its attitude. He was not ashamed of the expensive and efficient machine. Eleanor Hegel, a member of the Board, was rumored to keep in her office a male-modeled Minder of radical proportions.
It batted elegant artificial lashes at him. “Mr. Gemmel is on outworld hookup in the communication cubicle, sir. He’ll be with you in a moment.”
There was light in those green eyes, Manz thought, but no soul. Even a master glassmaker could only do so much. “Ordering lunch to go, is he?”
Minders were designed to store the maximum amount of practical information possible. This left little room in their memories for interpretive humor.
“At prevailing outworld rates, I would consider that most unlikely, sir.”
“Yeah, you would.” Manz flopped onto a luxurious leather couch and flipped on the entertainment screen mounted in the center of the coffee table. It had manual controls instead of vorec so that visitors could operate it without talking.
“If I might make a suggestion …” the humaniform began.
Manz didn’t look in its direction. “You may not. You may sit there, look efficient, and be silent.”
That’s more like it. If he’d act like that all the time, we might enjoy something like a meeting of minds, albeit one organic and one not. Superfluous words waste time and energy.
At least I’m not Minder to some politician. I suspect even you could sympathize with that.
In a couple of minutes on the couch, Manz scanned about a hundred zines and several vid programs. He settled on the active banter of an antique cartoon updated to tri-dimensionality. A one-eyed sailor carrying a bag had just encountered the disaster his dog had made of his girlfriend’s kitchen. Manz listened indifferently to the dialogue from another time.
“’Ar! Heel, Dan. Aw, Olive. I’ll sack ’im if ’as a move again!”
Gemmel’s female Minder interrupted Manz’s animated reverie. “You may go in now, sir.” She did not extend the same offer to the visitor’s two mechanicals. They would do as their human instructed.
“Thanks.” Manz pushed himself up from the couch, flicked off the viewer, and headed for the door just to the right of the elaborate humaniform minder’s desk. He winked in passing.
“Ought to work on that makeup, babe. Silver’d suit you better than amethyst. Do wonders for your sex life.”
“As you are quite aware, sir, I have no sex life.” Green eyes peered up at him, blank and empty. Manz much preferred the sphere that drifted obediently above his left shoulder, like a buoy off a dangerous coast. It made no pretense to a false humanity.
“Never felt a secret urge to experience alternating current?”
