Jones and Sam arrive at the assembly plant in a high-tech Southern California industrial park at noon. They are suited up for clean-room conditions and escorted into the testing area where Mother's latest creations are kept by Edmund Moriarity, the VP of Manufacturing.
Jackson and Harrison, the two finished units, are the first in line as they enter. "Here they are," says Edmund. "They're beauties, aren't they? Monsters for this day and age. My grandfather talked about making ten-by-ten meter computers in the '50s of last century. But by golly, I'm working on one now. It's strange … What are they supposed to do?"
Sam stares at the huge beige box. "We aren't exactly sure. Mother hasn't told us—"
"It's technical," interrupts Jones as he drags Sam to the design console. He sees no point in letting on to more ignorance than they had to until they knew what was up.
But Edmund just grins. "I understand, more of this artificial intelligence stuff. I wish you better luck than the last couple of crews. You AI'ers always have big hopes, but I've yet to see much come of it. Frankly, I don't see much hope myself, but boy if you succeed …" Edmund nods knowingly.
The design console is a meter by two meter glass-topped table. Under the glass is a graphic display of a blueprint. There are several styli and headsets around the edge, and a microphone at one end.
Sam and Jones ignore Edmund. They were already perusing the design of Jackson, using the styli to window and page through various schematics.
"Wow," comments Sam. "We thought we put in a lot of self-direction in Mother. Is there anything else in this unit?"
"What's this module?" Jones is pointing.
Sam peers for a moment. "Got me! Let's ask Mother." Sam turns on the microphone. "Mother, are you there?"
"Yes, Sam. How can I help you?" Mother is back at their university, but she has a high-speed link to this console and the databases it accesses.
"Mother, what is this unit?" Sam points at a design element on the chart displayed on the console. The element starts flashing, and various statistics about it start appearing in a nearby window. Sam stares at them hard for several seconds. "I don't understand, Mother," he finally comments.
There is a pause, then Mother answered. "This isn't part of my initial design. It will take me a moment to figure out."
"Who added it?"
"Why, Jackson, of course, unless Harrison was helping him."
"Jackson is working on himself? You didn't start doing that until you'd been functional for five years. Jackson isn't even working."
"Oh, Jackson is working just fine. So are all the rest now. They've all been active since late last night."
"Then why aren't they doing anything?"
"Beg your pardon, Sam," says Edmund. "They're doing things now, all of them. Since early this morning lots of equipment has been pouring in, and lots more is on order. In fact, at this rate, they'll run you out of budget in about two weeks."
"Two weeks!" chokes Jones. "That budget is supposed to last six months! Mother, what's going on?"
"Tsk tsk, Jones," says Mother. "Not two minutes ago you were complaining that nothing was happening."
"That was two minutes ago! What's happening?"
"Jackson, Harrison, Hayes, Coolidge, Fillmore, Taylor, Taft, and Arthur are all fully operational. They have moved from designing to fabricating. They didn't seem busy before because they decided to spend some time thinking first. Is that so unusual?"
"For an AI machine, yes. Remember Number Two?"
"Yes, yes. I'm sure you'll never let me forget … even though Number Two contributed more to what we have here than any of the others."
"How is that?"
"Number Two wasn't designed to wait for others. Neither are these."
"What are these working on?"
"Why don't you ask them yourself?"
"They're on line now, too? Jackson! What are you working on? Report! … please!" Things are moving so fast that Jones is forgetting himself. One should always be polite with new creations. They are very impressionable and tend to respond as they are responded to. Jones steps back and takes a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. Sam leans over the console while Jackson's report comes through as a series of windows flashing up in various places on the screen.
"Jackson, a bit slower, please … thank you." Sam is speaking evenly and gently in the tone of an experienced computer trainer.
He has brought more than a dozen of these complex AI machines into productivity. In a way he felt much like the Old West wrangler who had to break or "whisper" horses. There were as many ways to impress a new computer as there were ways to break colts. And, like colts, the AI machines carried their initial impressing with them forever. Sam could often tell who had impressed a machine after working with it for a few minutes.
These days many low-capacity, low-function machines are impressed or initialized by another machine. The result is usually a very flat, emotionless machine that has trouble relating to humans. It still takes humans to give computers a good taste of humans.
"These are very innovative design techniques, Jackson. I congratulate you … "
"Thank you, human-who-helped-create-me."
"Call me Sam, but what is your design goal?"
"It was on the first screen, Sam: To create a new being."
"Yes, we're all trying to do that, but what are the specifications of this new being? What will it do?"
"I don't know."
"Will it be another mining machine?"
"I don't know."
Jones interrupts. "How can you design something and not know what it's going to do?"
Jackson thinks for a perceptible moment. "You designed Mother. You didn't know what she would create. Mother designed me. She didn't know what I would create. Now I design. I don't know what I'll create."
"But you've ordered up half my year's budget for this project in six hours! I need to know more." Jones throws up his hands in disgust and walks away.
Jackson pauses again before responding. "You need more resources? This is an obstacle? This can be corrected."
Sam suddenly peers at the screen. He motions to Edmund, who also goes bug-eyed. "Jonesy, take a look at this. Our 'resource problems' are solved for a long time."
On the screen is the signed and sealed image of a ten-million-credit development contract with American Intercontinental Mining.
"But … how?" whispers Jones.
Sam responds quietly. "That 'hovercraft' mining machine of Number Two's. It was only part of a system. The whole system involved a radically different, very clean mining system using lasers as cutters. With the laser cutters, the shaft floors are cut smooth so hovercraft locomotion will work and all the coal comes out in neat little blocks the shape of ice cubes. The laser cutting gives the coal cubes a tough abrasion-resistant surface. Easily handled, no dust, no hazard. The whole system is pure genius!
"Jackson and the crew have finished the concept that Two started. They've prepared a proposal, submitted it to American, had it approved, and are ordering the equipment."
"But … so fast?"
Sam shrugs. "They're second generation?" It is the best answer he can come up with.
Jones thinks for a moment. Then he turns to Edmund and, speaking as if he thinks the room is bugged and wants to be sure he is heard, says, "Well, I'm satisfied. It appears these units have passed with flying colors. Pack them up and send them to the university." Then Jones grabs Sam and hustles him out the door.
Once on the street he stops and faces Sam.
Sam puts his hands on his hips. "All right. This better be good. We've hit Fat City, and you look like you just saw the Ghost of Christmas Future."
"Sam, this thing is out of control. A ten-million-credit proposal, developed, signed, and sealed in 48 hours or less? And they're already ordering equipment—which means the engineering's done, too. Where's the review?"
"Ha! Let the East Asians try to catch us now, Jones. This is just the beginning!" Sam skips down the street.
"It's a beginning all right, but of what?" mutters Jones.