“In our original designs we had decided to try to keep him free of any artificial cultural biases. Well, morality is one of them. Any morality. Because we built him with a sense of skepticism, HARLIE resists it. He won’t accept anybody’s brand of morality on faith any more than he could accept their brand of religion on faith — although they’re the same thing really. Everything has to be tested. Otherwise, he’ll automatically file it under systems of logic not necessarily corresponding to reality. Even if we didn’t tell him to, he would. He won’t accept anything blindly. He questions it — he asks for proof.”

“Mm — sounds like ‘insufficient data.’ ”

“It’s a little more sophisticated than that. Remember, HARLIE’s got those judgment circuits. He weighs things against each other — and against themselves too. A morality set has to be able to stand up on its own or he’ll disregard it.”

“And…?” she prompted.

“Well, he hasn’t accepted one yet.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. It’s disappointing that nothing human beings have come up with yet can satisfy him — but just the same, what if HARLIE were to decide that Fundamentalist Zoroastrianism is the answer? He’d be awfully hard to refute — probably impossible. Could you imagine an official, computer-tested and approved religion?”

“I’d rather not,” she smiled.

“Me neither,” he agreed. On the other hand, HARLIE is correct when he says he has ethics.”

“Morals, no. Ethics, yes? What’s the difference?”

“Ethics, according to HARLIE, are inherent in the nature of a system. You can’t sidestep them. HARLIE knows that it costs money to maintain him. Someone is putting out that money and wants to see a return on it. HARLIE explains it like this: Money is a storage form for energy, or sometimes value. You invest it in enterprises which will return an equal or greater amount of energy, or value. Therefore, HARLIE has to respond — he has to give the investors a return on their investment. He’s using their energy.”

“That’s ethics?”

“To HARLIE it is. Value given for value received. For him to use the company’s equipment and electricity without producing something in return would be suicidal. He’d be turned off. He has to respond. He can’t sidestep the responsibility — not for long he can’t. He has an ethical bias whether he wants it or not. It’s inherent.

“Of course, he may not realize it, but his ethics function as morals at times. If I give him a task, he’ll respond to it. But if I ask him if he wants to do that task — that’s a decision. Even if he uses his so-called ethics to guide him, he still has to make a choice. And every decision is a moral decision ultimately.”

“I could give you an argument on that.”

“You’d lose. Those are HARLIE’s words. We’ve been over this ground before.” Auberson continued, “The trouble is that he just hasn’t been given a chance yet — we haven’t trusted him enough. That’s one of the reasons he alienated himself from us and kept tripping out with his periods of non-rationality. He felt we didn’t trust him, so he ‘dropped out.’ That’s why I had to let him make the decision about what he wanted to do to earn his keep. I haven’t been able to get him to promise to stop tripping, but I think if we can get him enthused enough about some project, his non-rational periods will decrease, maybe stop altogether.”

“What do you think he’ll come up with?”

“I don’t know. He’s been thinking about it for two days. Whatever it is, it will be something unique, that’s for sure. HARLIE has summed up his ethics in the statement:

“I MUST BE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY OWN ACTIONS.’ and its corollary: ‘I MUST DO NOTHING TO CAUSE INJURY OR DEATH TO ANY OTHER CONSCIOUSNESS, UNLESS I AM PREPARED TO ACCEPT THE RESPONSIBILITY FOR SUCH ACTIONS.’ Whatever he decides is a worthwhile project will reflect this.”

“You sound pleased with that.”

“I’m pleased because HARLIE realized it himself, without my coaching.”

Her smile was soft. “That’s very good.”

“I think so.”

The conversation trailed off then. He could think of nothing else to say. In fact, he was afraid he had said too much. He had talked about HARLIE all evening. But she had been so interested, he had gotten carried away. She was the first woman he could remember who had ever reflected his enthusiasm for his work.

She was good to be with, he decided. He couldn’t believe how good she was to be with. He sat there and looked at her, delighting in her presence, and she looked back at him.

“What are you grinning about?” she asked.

“I’m not grinning.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Want to bet?” She opened her purse and faced its mirror in his direction. His own white teeth gleamed back at him.

“Well, I’ll be damned — I am grinning.”

“Uh huh.” Her eyes twinkled.

“And the funny thing is, I don’t know why.” It was a warm puzzling sensation, but a good one. “I mean, all of a sudden, I just feel — good. Do you know what I mean?”

He could tell that she did; her smile reflected his. He reached across the empty table and took her hand. The waitress had long since cleared the dishes away in a pointed attempt to hurry them. They hadn’t noticed.

All that remained was the wine and the glasses. And each other. Her hand was warmly soft in his, and her eyes were deeply luminous. She reflected his own bright glow.

Later, they walked hand in hand down the night-lit street. It was after one in the morning and the streetlamps were haloed in fog.

“I feel good,” he repeated. “You can’t believe how good I feel.”

“Yes, I can,” she said. She pulled his arm around her shoulders and snuggled close.

“I mean,” he said, then paused. He wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. “I mean, it’s like I want to scream. I want to tell the whole world how great I feel—” He could feel himself smiling again as he talked. “Oh, Christ, I wish I could share this with the whole world — it’s too big for one person. For two people,” he corrected himself.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. She only cuddled closer. He was saying it for the both of them, and she liked to listen. Oh God, did she like to listen. It was all so — so big. The weight of his arm, the sound of his voice, that special sense of sharing—

Still later, as they lay in the darkness side by side, she cradled against one shoulder, he stared up at the ceiling and mused. For the first time in a long while he was relaxed.

“Have you ever been in love before?” she whispered into his neck.

He thought about it. “No,” he murmured back. “Not really. I’ve been infatuated a couple times, confused a few times, lost once, but never in love.”

Never like this…

She made a sound.

“And you?”

“A gentleman isn’t supposed to ask that kind of question.”

“And a lady isn’t supposed to go to bed with a man on the first date.”

“Oh? Is this our first date?”

“First official one.”

“Mm.” She was thoughtful. “Maybe I should have played hard to get. Maybe I should have waited till the second date.”

He laughed gently. “You know, a friend once told me that Jewish girls don’t go to bed till after they’re married.”

She was silent a moment.

Then, in a different tone of voice, “Not me. I’m too old to care about that any more.”

He didn’t answer. He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t too old, that thirty-four was never too old, but the words wouldn’t form.

She went on before he could speak. She turned inward, began playing with the hair on his chest, but her voice remained serious. “I used to think I wasn’t very pretty, so I acted like I wasn’t. When men would ask me out, I used to think that they thought I would be an easy lay because I was desperate for attention, because I didn’t think I was good-looking. I mean, if I wasn’t pretty, that’s the only reason a guy would be asking me out. Do you know what I mean?”