Shock Wave. Walt Richmond
apparent coagulation of the Galactic Citizen training itself, and the separation of his own personality from it. An immunity reaction? he wondered.
“Perhaps,” the robot was saying, “Citizen Terry can inform me. What is this word ‘home’ that my friend Grontunk keeps alluding to? He is a very nice fellow, but he uses some of the weirdest references on occasion. Myself, I am an humble entity, but I have intent of understanding that which I do not.”
“Home,” Terry replied gravely, “is where the heart is.”
“But the heart, in a biochemically housed electronic system, is within the body,” the robot answered just as gravely.
“A colloquialism—common to, I gather, all us biochemically housed electronics systems. Perhaps I can translate,” he continued. “Home is that place where a person feels best oriented, due to familiarity.”
“Oh. But then this is home. Right?” The robot seemed genuinely pleased at having come to a logical conclusion.
“Only for a tin can like you,” Terry said.
“How can it be different for me than for anyone else? This isn’t logical.”
“It is a matter of orientation,” Terry explained. “Grontunk’s point of orientation—and mine, for that matter—and yours as well—are separated by origin and experience. . . .”
“And therefore,” the robot replied, “. . . ah, yes. I see. Orientation is a matter of understanding. Surely any rational being can understand those facts which are presented to him. Therefore home is not where I’m from, but the place about which I have understanding?”
“Yes. Understanding, not just facts.” Terry sat staring at the metalloid figure. There were, perhaps, deductions to be made from the basic symmetries of his structure. Bipedal, as he was; and with dextrous upper limbs as both he and Grontunk had. The robot was slightly taller than Terry.
“How much do you weigh?” Terry inquired, and automatically calculated the return answer into pounds. Approximately two hundred. Very close to Terry’s own weight. “And how many pounds can you lift?”
But this time he didn’t need an answer. The robot was capable of a maximum stress exceeding his own weight by about five times, according to Terry’s own information on the subject.
“But you’re not made of metal, then?” Terry asked.
“No. Of course not.” The robot seemed somewhat surprised. “My metallic appearance serves several useful functions, among which are identification, shielding . . .”
Terry found that he could add the same list himself. The concept of shielding implied without saying so that the robot had an electronic internal organization—and then Terry realized that it implied as well that the tin can must control not only electronic radiation from his own circuits, but his internal heat balance as well. Terry found himself giving way to admiration of the designers of so complex a device, and at the same time wondering who and where they were.
The robot interrupted his thoughts. “Your structure I also find somewhat intriguing. And your designer must have been quite adept, too.”
Terry was about to answer this comment when he realized that he had not spoken, and the thought of designers had not been introduced in the conversation.
“Of course not,” the robot replied. “I apologize for intruding into your thoughts, but your electronic radiations are so much more intelligible than the sound waves you cause to occur with your—mouth?—that I find them far easier to follow. Your designer seems to have skimped a bit on your shielding quotient.”
“If you can read me that well, then the computer can also?” Terry felt himself suddenly as fearful as Grontunk had been.
“Negative.” The reply came promptly. “The computer cannot take into account random signals except those received through special channels such as in the orientation room. I, in my turn, am isolated from the computer by a malfunction in my transmitting equipment.”
The relief that surged through Terry was so great that he felt sure the tin can could not but register it, but that metalloid entity continued as though not registering.
“It was a game of some success on my part to decode your electrical transmissions. But I must admit that I could only do it from a very close proximity. Of course, such intellectual games one plays for amusement, and I am not completely successful, but then I have insufficient reference points. For example, there was an unusual surge a moment ago which I find totally untranslatable.” Terry felt his muscles relax in quick relief, but the robot was continuing, “I also find the name you use for me in these transmissions to be quite intriguing. A metallic food container? Of course, I am neither metallic nor a food container, but . . .”
“I did not mean anything derogatory. . . .” Terry said.
“Of course not. And Tinkan is a much easier form of address than Z-9604. I find the appellation comfortable, and should be delighted if you will use it.”
“Good. It’s much easier.”
“Me too?” asked Grontunk. “It does come more quickly to the tongue. . . .”
The robot bowed, and Terry asked, “Since you read me, do you read Grontunk as well?” Since the matter was under discussion it would be a good idea to find out as much as possible.
“Only superficially, as in your case. There are many recurrent groupings of electronic responses in your individual computers for which I have no satisfactory referents.”
“But if you can receive from us, what is the nature of the difficulty between you and the computer?”
“The signals you emit to your surroundings are of a distinctly different nature than those with which I should be communicating with my . . .” There was a distinct pause. “. . . boss? Of course I have a shielding quotient which you seem to lack which would make it impossible, but even without that, our channel of communication would not even follow the same type of code system you use.”
A binary system? Terry wondered, and found himself working through a binary numeral computation.
“No, no. That would be a formalized version of your own form of code.”
“It is, as far as I know, the simplest possible electronic code,” Terry replied. “Does Grontunk also follow it?”
“No.”
Terry tried again. There were, of course, innumerable other mathematical codes that could be superimposed on an electronic structure. But the simple form of Aristotelian “yes-no” logic. . . .
“Can be complicated,” Tinkan said, “as you say, by innumerable variations. For example, a pulse may be recurrent in time so that the time duration becomes the significant quantity, such as in Grontunk’s case. Or a pulse may be present or absent, as in your own case. An individual pulse may also vary in amplitude thus giving what we would call an analogue quantity of informational referent, which is the case of my own basic computational ability.”
“But an analogue value can run between zero and infinity. Can you also do decimal computation?”
“I find the value of decimal computation restricted by a large number of decimal points,” Tinkan replied, “whereas I can arrive at a much more valid approximate answer with a fewer number of actual manipulations by analogue usage.”
“And,” Terry replied, “with a great deal less precision.”
“But . . .” Tinkan’s answer was interrupted by Grontunk.
“If you gentlemen intend to continue a discussion in which I am not oriented, I must either sit here in puzzlement or withdraw. I do not wish to withdraw, for I am beginning to hope that more shall come of this than I had first thought possible.”
Tinkan turned to include Grontunk in his next remark. “You have misinformed me. This