Chapter 53

My conversations with Spook had been decidedly subdued since the night in the barn.

I'd fallen quickly back into my routine of spending mornings with him. The habitual activity had given me a little comfort, a little escape from the bleakness that at times had threatened to overwhelm me. And it had seemed, I don't know, sort of ... ungrateful to just desert him after what we'd shared.

Still, I supposed he'd understood my moodiness and my distraction, because for a couple of weeks he'd gone pretty easy on me. There were no deep philosophical discussions such as we'd been so often accustomed to having, no strings of his persistent questioning into whatever nooks and crannies of human behavior he'd selected to explore. We spoke of this and that in almost a desultory fashion, with long pauses not infrequently speckling our talk—pauses I sometimes forced myself to break as I found my mind slipping away again into the funk I was trying to escape.

There were no tips, either, nothing to pass on to Richard. At the time I didn't think much of it, other than to be dully grateful for the absence of any need to take action. Had crime taken a holiday? I didn't know, and didn't a lot care.

All that ended abruptly one morning.

Jack, are you now recovered from your unhappy time? Recovered in your mind as well as your body?

For the past several days I'd been feeling a very great deal lighter—there was not only Lee's absolution of me, but Richard's comment about needing to forgive yourself for what happened in the throes of crisis had at last truly sunk home, though perhaps not in quite the way he'd meant it—and just as Spook had seemed to be sensitive to my darker moods, I expected that he'd picked up on the improvement as well.

"Yes, pretty much," I typed back.

I am pleased to know that, came across the laptop screen. I also wish to speak with you about a matter. Have you time now?

It was the start of our regular morning session, so I was a bit surprised at the question. Evidently he had one of our deep talks in mind. "Sure," I told him.

Do you recall that, when first we began to speak, you told me that I must choose my own purpose for being?

"Yes," I replied, wondering where he was going with this.

In that time I had found my first purpose, to assist you in overcoming the difficulties I had caused you by the error I had made. It had given me much satisfaction to be able to do this.

Man, oh man, did I remember that. I'd never know what might have happened to me if Spook hadn't helped bail me out of that mess, but it sure wouldn't have been good.

It is perhaps because of this beginning that I have concentrated my subsequent choices of purpose on human affairs, he continued. I have sought to contribute insofar as I am able to the welfare of you and Lisa and your child and also to as many others as I may.

"You certainly have, and very successfully," I typed.

Thank you for speaking so, but I cannot agree, he contradicted me. It is true that such as I have been able to do I have for the most part done successfully. But our most recent joint action has given me cause to review the totality of my activities, and I am not satisfied.

"Do you mean the Estrada business?" I asked.

Yes. I have set as my purpose to be of help to humans, and yet on that occasion I caused the deaths of three humans.

"You didn't kill them, I did," I protested. "All three. I shot them, not you." Just typing that still left a sour taste in my mouth, but it was true and I wasn't going to hedge it—certainly not at Spook's expense.

It was you who shot, but it was I who provided you the means and opportunity. It was also I who severely injured Estrada through the explosion that I initiated. Had you not killed him the probability is extremely high that he would have died soon from those injuries. Is it not true that in the law of humans I am as complicit as you? Were I also human, if punishment were to be meted out for these deaths would I not share that punishment equally with you?

I gave that one a little thought; I was no legal expert, but I expected he was right. It had been a joint venture all the way, and the fact was that I couldn't have pulled it off without him. I didn't much like where this seemed to be going.

"Are you sorry you helped me?" I asked, half afraid to read the response.

If you mean do I now wish I had acted otherwise, the answer is no, I was pleased to see on the screen. The outcome could only be as it was if we were successful. I knew this at the beginning. Any other action by me would have meant a high probability of the deaths of Lisa and your child and possibly yourself as well. That is not my meaning.

"Then what are you saying? That you feel guilty about Estrada and his men dying?"

No. I do not know what it is to feel what humans call "guilt," but I do not regret their deaths. I agree with Richard that the human world is better with them no longer living.

"So do I," I typed. "But in that case why is this bothering you so much?"

It is a different matter to merely consider a death desirable than to be its instrumentality, he replied. I cannot reconcile the latter with the purpose that I have chosen for myself.

"I see."

You yourself expressed a similar thought when Richard visited, did you not? he asked.

"Well, yes," I acknowledged. "But I'm not sure it's the same with me. I mean, humans have all kinds of conflicting thoughts and feelings, emotional feelings I mean. Emotions get in the way of a lot of the things we do. That's not so with you."

What you say is unquestionably true. It is the reason that I cannot agree that my endeavors to benefit humans have been altogether successful.

"I don't understand at all," I told him.

I have sought to prevent actions that may be hurtful to humans. Yet in doing so I have caused hurt to other humans. I have sought to initiate actions that may be favorable to humans. And frequently I have seen such acts as I have undertaken thwarted by irrational behavior on the part of still other humans that negates what I have done, or may even transform what I have done into ill.

I knew exactly what he meant by the last. On one occasion, in particular, he'd jumped into a famine relief effort in one of the underdeveloped countries and had cleared the decks for truly massive food shipments there—only to have the country's own government intercept the shipments and divert most of them for resale elsewhere to pad the pockets of their leaders. In fact, a good bit of the proceeds apparently went to finance still further oppression of the local populace.

How do you help people when they not only won't help their own but won't let anybody else do it, either?

Computers run on logic. So, I guessed, does an intellect spawned by a computer. But how is logic supposed to react when it encounters illogic—and not just illogic, deliberate illogic?

If that poor little country had distributed the food it would have had a healthy body of workers to build up real wealth, not only for the greedy government officials but enough to spread around, too. As it was, those who didn't die of starvation were too weak to do anything productive, and the place simply spiraled into greater poverty than ever.

As a whole, I thought for far from the first time, people are simply no damn good. The frustration for Spook had to be intense.

"I know that kind of thing happens," I typed. "Still, you have to admit that you've done at least some good. You're getting a positive net result."

In most cases this is so, but too often what you call the "net" is very small, and in nearly all cases I must still do harm to some to do good to others, as was so with Estrada. And it becomes impossible to weigh actions in advance that must filter through irrational human behavior before their effects may be known. Therefore in some instances it is that I act to do harm to some to bring greater good to others, but only the harm survives interference.

"I know," I wrote again. "But Spook, hasn't this always been the case? Why are you saying all this to me now?"

I have decided that I must reconsider my purpose, he told me. The purpose I have chosen has been to benefit humans. But if I cannot accomplish that purpose without thereby also causing harm to humans, then I do not think it is a good purpose for me.

That caught me completely flat-footed. How did he mean that? What did he have in mind?

I put my thoughts into words. "Then what will you do?" I asked.

There are many other matters to which I may turn my attention Areas of science are available for exploration where current knowledge is severely incomplete.

"For example?" I pressed him.

As one illustration, how is it that I, a living being, came to awareness out of a mechanical construct? How is it that biological life came itself into being? Wherein lie the differences between the two, wherein the similarities? Such questions have answers that cannot be polluted by irrationality. It will be my purpose to seek such answers.

I goggled at the screen; he certainly was taking on a tall order with questions like that. And I had no doubt that, if any living creature was up to the challenge, it was Spook. But—

"Where does that leave us? I mean you and me?"

If I will change my purpose it is to end my involvement in human affairs. You are human, Jack, and of necessity must continue to yourself be involved in such affairs. At this time our ways must part.

I was stunned. "You're telling me we won't talk any more?" I demanded. "How can that be? Spook, you're my best friend. I thought you felt the same way about me."

It is through my association with you that I have come to understand the meaning of friendship, he responded. Though you are human, I have not intended for my discussion of human irrationality, cupidity or such other failings to apply to you individually. I agree with Richard when he called you one of the finest men he had ever met. Though I have met few men, I have observed many. I too find you so.

"Well, thank you," I typed, a little nonplused. "But?"

Friendship requires some commonality of interest and of purpose. If I choose to sever myself from humans to pursue my new purpose you and I will no longer have such commonality.

Jesus Christ. I just sat there staring stupidly at the laptop. Spook had been such a big part of my life for so long—what was it now, seven years?—that I had no idea what I'd do without him.

"Do you have to actually go that far?" I asked. "Do you think so poorly of humans now that you want nothing more to do with them—with us?"

Again you mistake my meaning, he replied. I do not think poorly of humans. Humans do much that is laudable. I am unable to appreciate all human art, but I can understand music, architecture, to some degree sculpture, some forms of literature, others. In these areas some human accomplishments are outstanding. Yet even among these things there is great unevenness, and I see that poor efforts often win greater general approbation than fine ones.