Less Than Human (25 page)

As usual, she had no trouble catching the barman’s attention—every pair of eyes at the counter turned to her as she stepped
in. The barman paused in slicing sashimi.

“Irasshei,” he said uncertainly.

“I have a booking in the name of Akita,” she said.

The barman nodded, relieved. “Up the back.”

She squeezed past the stools, past a large fish tank where much of the menu swam, and slipped off her shoes to step up onto
the tatami.

“McGuire-san, over here,” said a deep voice.

A heavyset man in a cheap business suit sat cross-legged at the far table. “You look much the same,” he said, as she knelt
at the table.

“You’ve changed a bit.” She saw a man’s face, rather than a youth’s. Heavy jaw and high cheekbones, flesh starting to sag,
slightly drooping eyes. He was heavier through the body, too. If not for his hot, restless eyes and stubborn mouth, she might
not have recognized him.

“We all grow in different ways.” He raised his voice and called for sake.

The barman’s assistant hurried over with a tray containing small china bottles, tiny cups, hot towels, and some kind of seaweed
pickles.

“You will join me in some sake.” He poured her cup, then poured his own without waiting for her to offer. She noticed with
a start that he was wearing dark gloves.

“Only a little, please.” She wiped her hands on the towel. “I came to talk about work.”

“Of course.” He saw her gaze on the gloves. “An affectation, I’m afraid. We develop them as we grow older.” He raised his
cup. “Kampai. To renewed acquaintances.”

“Kampai.” Eleanor sipped the sake. It was cold and smooth. “Where exactly are you working now?”

“I’m on leave at the moment. Summer holidays. I’m staying with a friend in Okayama.”

She’d been in Okayama on Monday, at Zecom. It was close enough for Akita to get to Osaka easily tonight. She’d had the impression
his teaching job was farther away.

“Akita-kun.” She used the peer-group suffix without conscious thought. He didn’t seem to mind. “I was surprised when you contacted
me after all these years. You haven’t published anything in that time; I thought you’d gone to a different field.”

“You, on the other hand, have been as active as always, McGuire-san, according to the Institute of Engineers database. How
is everyone at Tomita? Did you get funding renewed for your integrated response project?” He shifted uncomfortably in the
gray suit, which looked too tight across the waist and shoulders.

“How did you … No, it doesn’t look like they’ll renew funding.” She felt curiously reluctant to admit that her project might
meet the same fate as his had, so many years ago. “They decided it had too few practical applications in the near future.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, but his eyes lit up.

“But Chief Izumi—you remember him? He suggested I propose a m … more development-based project using my previous research.
I, um, was wondering if you’d be interested in a form of collaboration.” She hadn’t intended blurting out the object of their
meeting so quickly, but there, it was done.

A flash of something like elation crossed his face. “Do you mean collaboration involving the artificial synapses I referred
to in my mails?”

“That’s right. I was thinking, if we could concentrate on getting the neural network connections stable, then we could integrate
them with the robot system at a later stage.”

Akita nodded, but she had the impression he wasn’t really listening.

He drew his hands apart, then brought them together. “I am so glad we have the chance to bring our paths together again. Many
are the paths but all converge on the Way.” The archaic syllables sounded vaguely familiar.

“Ancient Chinese,” he added smugly. “One of the Taoist sages.”

“So you are interested? I can’t tell you what kind of a consultancy fee Tomita will pay you …” She handed him the pages from
her bag. “Here’s an overview of what we’ve been doing.”

The barman’s assistant knelt beside the table and placed before them several dishes: raw tuna and trevally, steamed eel, shellfish
boiled in their shells, and miso soup with tiny clams.

Akita nodded thanks. He took the pages from Eleanor, but barely passed his eyes over them before placing them on the mat beside
him. “I am interested in working with you again, McGuire-san. You have a great talent for the mechanics of research.”

“Thank you … I think.” She took a mouthful of sashimi to cover her confusion.

“But I must say I consider it my duty to wean you from this immature desire to create a humanlike robot.” He touched his chopsticks
on the little ceramic holders shaped like blowfish. “McGuire-san, why do you think we still have waiters to bring us our food?”

Eleanor grimaced sourly. “I know, you don’t think humanoid robots are the way to go, but …”

“Because humans do it better than we can build a machine to.” Akita looked at her, head on one side. He had a fleshy nose,
large for a Japanese, and very dark brown eyes, almost black. The whites were bloodshot, as though he’d been swimming in an
overchlorinated pool. “You have not told me why you want to build your perfect robot.”

“I suppose because nobody has ever done it before,” she said.

Akita smiled, an expressive, un-Japanese smile. It shocked her more than anything he’d said. “The
Guinness Book of Records
is full of things that people do for the first time.”

“I mean, it offers a significant challenge,” she said, scowling.

“Some might say an impossible one.”

“So you’ve gone over to the short-term view as well? That humanoid robots are a waste of time and resources?”

“No. I take an extremely long-term view.” His hands clenched and opened on the tabletop. “I think you want to build a humanoid
robot to get closer to God.”

Eleanor began to have doubts about collaborating with him. “If God built like we do, the world would have fallen to pieces
long ago.”

“I didn’t say play God. By creating a being in humanity’s image, but a being that is perfect and immortal, you honor humanity
and therefore honor its creator.”

“I don’t try and improve on humanity.”

Akita sat up very straight. “If you could, what would you have your robot do—walk?” He waited until Eleanor nodded. “Interact
with humans?” Nod. “Manipulate any material in a normal environment?” Nod. “React to the environment?”

“That’s the aspect of the project I was hoping we could …”

“Please, do not escape into the practical,” interrupted Akita. “I am talking of the great generalities here. I mean you would
like your robot to see, feel, and decide on action, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, but …”

“And is the ultimate use for your robots to be slaves to humanity?”

Ishihara had intimated the same thing. That’s the question, isn’t it? We’re talking self-awareness. A self-aware machine isn’t
going to want to stand in a department store elevator and say “welcome” all day. It won’t be used as a museum guide or novelty
toy.

“By dealing with a machine’s self-awareness,” she said, “we have to face our own self-awareness.”

“Exactly,” said Akita. “And that’s not a goal that the rationalists can or want to comprehend. No wonder they cut your funding.”

He made it sound like a conspiracy.

“Look, I just want to make something that works,” she said.

He smiled at her again, in a way that made her neck hot with discomfort. She ate some eel, annoyed at her reaction. She really
needed Akita’s help; she should try and understand him…

“What do you see as the future direction, then?” she said finally.

“This.” He glanced over at the other customers before stripping the glove from his right hand.

The hand was a prosthetic. No, “prosthetic” was the wrong word. The hand was obviously artificial. No false skin covered the
biometal bones and polymer sinews. They shone bone white and silver and gunmetal gray. As he opened and closed his fist she
could see the intricate tangled balls of microfibers in their mucoid casing.

His eyes watching her reaction, Akita opened the hand wide. From first and second fingers sprang long, flexible tubes that
explored the surface beside his arm. The slim white tongues licked the table and traced the outline of the sake bottle.

Eleanor realized her mouth was open.

Akita chuckled and, with another glance at the counter, retracted the tubes and replaced his glove. “I’ve made some improvements
to my original design. I don’t need it to look like an ordinary hand. That used to frustrate me, you know? How people wanted
their artificial hands to look like everyone else’s. Such a waste of potential.”

Eleanor found her voice. “Did you have an accident? Where did you get it done? Why haven’t we seen reports of this?”

“A friend of mine is a surgeon. He did it because he has an interest in the field. But he is sadly in the minority.” His eyes
shone with the passion she remembered. “You will be interested to know that its function is not solely manipulatory. It incorporates
a direct silicon interface.”

Eleanor caught his excitement. “That’s amazing. You can activate a computer directly?”

“Something like that.”

“It’s not commercially viable though, is it?” She imagined the cost and the social problems associated with implants—lack
of acceptance, medical and insurance complications …

He smiled again. “Ever practical, McGuire-san. At present, no, it is not being developed in a commercial direction. Although
a greatly simplified VR version is possible.”

“What kind of modifications do you need on the hardware?”

He poured them both more sake. “You are welcome to come and see the results of my research anytime you like. I have a working
model with me in Okayama. However, tonight we should consider the problems you are experiencing in your research and how we
may solve them.”

“Kampai,” he added, raising his cup. “To the future.”

“To the future.” This time she clicked their cups together.

* * *

Eleanor’s pleasure at talking to Akita about her research—it wasn’t often she had the chance to discuss it with someone outside
Tomita who actually understood—dissipated soon after she left him. The whole evening seemed slightly out of focus. That hand
of his … an amazing thing. She had so many questions about it that she couldn’t begin to put them in order. She would definitely
go and see what he’d been doing, and soon.

But something about him made her edgy, something personal. Was he attracted to her? He didn’t behave like any of the men she
knew who had professed to being fascinated by a gaijin. They had all made their “fascination” plain by the end of the first
few drinks.

Even when she arrived at the Betta’s cool, comforting passages she didn’t feel settled. Ridiculously, she kept looking for
the wayward cleanbot that she’d spotted twice before, but all the robots were behaving normally.

As she reached her doorway, a voice called her name from the direction of the elevator. It was Akita.

“I forgot to give you this,” he panted, out of breath, presumably from chasing her along the corridors. His face was quite
red. “This” was a business card, but without the usual digital code on one side. She would have to input the number instead
of swiping the card in her phone.

“It’s the number of the friend I’m staying with,” he explained. “He didn’t want me to give it to just anyone.” The name on
the card was Yusuke Hatta, the address a number in the Zecom Betta.

“How did you get in?” she said. “You’re supposed to call me from the front entry. Unless you’re chipped as a resident, the
elevator won’t take you up.”

He smiled. “McGuire-san, you’re still more Japanese than we Japanese are. You know very well how such ID systems can be bypassed
or adjusted for new users.” He bowed, then turned and waved over his shoulder. “Nothing is un-crackable.”

She watched him disappear around the corner. The lift doors swished open and shut. Nothing, indeed.

“I met Akita-kun today. Do you remember him?”

Masao nodded around a mouthful of noodles. “Big, sulky-looking man. I thought he quit Tomita?”

She laid her chopsticks on the top of the bowl, which was still half-full. She’d told Masao she didn’t want a late snack.

“He did quit, years ago. He went on to Zecom, then he quit there, too. Seems like he’s teaching in a rural university.” Which
one, he didn’t say.

“Why the reunion?”

“Izumi thinks if we put together a research proposal on a particular area of the Sam project, there’s a chance it might be
implemented. One of the most promising areas is sensory processing, which is something Akita used to work on and still seems
to be. I wanted to know if he was open to collaboration.”

“Is his university open, you mean.” Masao finished his noodles. He picked up his own empty plate, tipped the contents of Eleanor’s
plate into the recycler, and left both plates in the sink for the automatic washer to finish.

“You think his university might not want him doing another job?”

“If it’s anything like our place, it’s possible.” Masao stood behind her and massaged her neck absentmindedly. “Was he changed?”

“He was, a bit. Intense in a different kind of way. Mmm, more to the left … he’s got an artificial hand.”

Masao’s hands paused for a second. “My God, what happened?”

“He wouldn’t say. Funny—he used to work on prosthetics, and now he has one.”

“He always was pretty intense, wasn’t he? You were always complaining how he didn’t share computer time fairly.”

“I’d forgotten that.” Masao’s fingers reached under her hair and she half-closed her eyes in pleasure.

“I asked if he’d changed,” he said, “because I ran into a man the other day that used to work in Islamic history. He’s gone
off to farm oranges in Shizuoka. Says he realized what he had here wasn’t what he wanted.” He sat down. “Your turn.”

Eleanor sighed and stood behind him. Massaging Masao always left her hands sore—his back and shoulder muscles were a dense
surface impervious to pressure.