Super-Toys Last All Summer Long

                                                       by Brian Aldiss

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     Aldiss, in a January 1997 interview with Wired Magazine, says
     that in the early 90's he Stanley Kubrick made two collaborative
     attempts to turn his story "Supertoys..." into a script. "I can't
     tell you how many directions we went. My favorite was when David
     and Teddy got exiled to Tin City, a place where the old model
     robots, like old cars, were living out their days. Stanley
     definitely had the ambition to make another big science fiction
     movie, but in the end, we didn't get anywhere. Stanley called in
     Arthur Clarke and asked him to provide a scenario, but he didn't
     like that, either....

     "I have a feeling, having worked with him, that he hasn't got the
     dashing confidence of youth," says Aldiss. "But of course, with
     age, you acquire a different sort of confidence." The director's
     creative vision, meanwhile, is clearer than ever. "Stanley
     embraces android technology," Aldiss notes, "and thinks it might
     eventually take over -- and be an improvement over the human
     race."

     The original drafts made by Aldiss and Kubrick became the
     starting point for his as-yet unfinished project A.I. Following
     the departure of Aldiss, Kubrick subsequently worked with authors
     Ian Watson and Bob Shaw. The film is currently under
     pre-production in London; few further details are currently
     known.

     "Supertoys..." appeared first in Harper's Bazaar, and is ©1969
     Brian Aldiss, all rights reserved
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     In Mrs. Swinton's garden, it was always summer. The lovely almond
     trees stood about it in perpetual leaf. Monica Swinton plucked a
     saffron-colored rose and showed it to David.

     "Isn't it lovely?" she said.

     David looked up at her and grinned without replying. Seizing the
     flower, he ran with it across the lawn and disappeared behind the
     kennel where the mowervator crouched, ready to cut or sweep or
     roll when the moment dictated. She stood alone on her impeccable
     plastic gravel path.

     She had tried to love him.

     When she made up her mind to follow the boy, she found him in the
     courtyard floating the rose in his paddling pool. He stood in the
     pool engrossed, still wearing his sandals.

     "David, darling, do you have to be so awful? Come in at once and
     change your shoes and socks."

     He went with her without protest into the house, his dark head
     bobbing at the level of her waist. At the age of three, he showed
     no fear of the ultrasonic dryer in the kitchen. But before his
     mother could reach for a pair of slippers, he wriggled away and
     was gone into the silence of the house.

     He would probably be looking for Teddy.

     Monica Swinton, twenty-nine, of graceful shape and lambent eye,
     went and sat in her living room, arranging her limbs with taste.
     She began by sitting and thinking; soon she was just sitting.
     Time waited on her shoulder with the maniac slowth it reserves
     for children, the insane, and wives whose husbands are away
     improving the world. Almost by reflex, she reached out and
     changed the wavelength of her windows. The garden faded; in its
     place, the city center rose by her left hand, full of crowding
     people, blowboats, and buildings (but she kept the sound down).
     She remained alone. An overcrowded world is the ideal place in
     which to be lonely.

                                     *

     The directors of Synthank were eating an enormous luncheon to
     celebrate the launching of their new product. Some of them wore
     the plastic face-masks popular at the time. All were elegantly
     slender, despite the rich food and drink they were putting away.
     Their wives were elegantly slender, despite the food and drink
     they too were putting away. An earlier and less sophisticated
     generation would have regarded them as beautiful people, apart
     from their eyes.

     Henry Swinton, Managing Director of Synthank, was about to make a
     speech.

     "I'm sorry your wife couldn't be with us to hear you," his
     neighbor said.

     "Monica prefers to stay at home thinking beautiful thoughts,"
     said Swinton, maintaining a smile.

     "One would expect such a beautiful woman to have beautiful
     thoughts," said the neighbor.

     Take your mind off my wife, you bastard, thought Swinton, still
     smiling.

     He rose to make his speech amid applause.

     After a couple of jokes, he said, "Today marks a real
     breakthrough for the company. It is now almost ten years since we
     put our first synthetic life-forms on the world market. You all
     know what a success they have been, particularly the miniature
     dinosaurs. But none of them had intelligence.

     "It seems like a paradox that in this day and age we can create
     life but not intelligence. Our first selling line, the Crosswell
     Tape, sells best of all, and is the most stupid of all." Everyone
     laughed.

     "Though three-quarters of the overcrowded world are starving, we
     are lucky here to have more than enough, thanks to population
     control. Obesity's our problem, not malnutrition. I guess there's
     nobody round this table who doesn't have a Crosswell working for
     him in the small intestine, a perfectly safe parasite tape-worm
     that enables its host to eat up to fifty percent more food and
     still keep his or her figure. Right?" General nods of agreement.

     "Our miniature dinosaurs are almost equally stupid. Today, we
     launch an intelligent synthetic life-form -- a full-size
     serving-man.

     "Not only does he have intelligence, he has a controlled amount
     of intelligence. We believe people would be afraid of a being
     with a human brain. Our serving-man has a small computer in his
     cranium.

     "There have been mechanicals on the market with mini-computers
     for brains -- plastic things without life, super-toys -- but we
     have at last found a way to link computer circuitry with
     synthetic flesh."

                                     *

     David sat by the long window of his nursery, wrestling with paper
     and pencil. Finally, he stopped writing and began to roll the
     pencil up and down the slope of the desk-lid.

     "Teddy!" he said.

     Teddy lay on the bed against the wall, under a book with moving
     pictures and a giant plastic soldier. The speech-pattern of his
     master's voice activated him and he sat up.

     "Teddy, I can't think what to say!"

     Climbing off the bed, the bear walked stiffly over to cling to
     the boy's leg. David lifted him and set him on the desk.

     "What have you said so far?"

     "I've said --" He picked up his letter and stared hard at it.
     "I've said, 'Dear Mummy, I hope you're well just now. I love
     you....'"

     There was a long silence, until the bear said, "That sounds fine.
     Go downstairs and give it to her."

     Another long silence.

     "It isn't quite right. She won't understand."

     Inside the bear, a small computer worked through its program of
     possibilities. "Why not do it again in crayon?"

     When David did not answer, the bear repeated his suggestion. "Why
     not do it again in crayon?"

     David was staring out of the window. "Teddy, you know what I was
     thinking? How do you tell what are real things from what aren't
     real things?"

     The bear shuffled its alternatives. "Real things are good."

     "I wonder if time is good. I don't think Mummy likes time very
     much. The other day, lots of days ago, she said that time went by
     her. Is time real, Teddy?"

     "Clocks tell the time. Clocks are real. Mummy has clocks so she
     must like them. She has a clock on her wrist next to her dial."

     David started to draw a jumbo jet on the back of his letter. "You
     and I are real, Teddy, aren't we?"

     The bear's eyes regarded the boy unflinchingly. "You and I are
     real David." It specialized in comfort.

                                     *

     Monica walked slowly about the house. It was almost time for the
     afternoon post to come over the wire. She punched the Post Office
     number on the dial on her wrist, but nothing came through. A few
     minutes more.

     She could take up her painting. Or she could dial her friends. Or
     she could wait till Henry came home. Or she could go up and play
     with David....

     She walked out into the hall and to the bottom of the stairs.

     "David!"

     No answer. She called again and a third time.

     "Teddy!" she called, in sharper tones.

     "Yes, Mummy!" After a moment's pause, Teddy's head of golden fur
     appeared at the top of the stairs.

     "Is David in his room,Teddy?"

     "David went into the garden, Mummy."

     "Come down here, Teddy!"

     She stood impassively, watching the little furry figure as it
     climbed down from step to step on its stubby limbs. When it
     reached the bottom, she picked it up and carried it into the
     living room. It lay unmoving in her arms, staring up at her. She
     could feel just the slightest vibration from its motor.

     "Stand there, Teddy. I want to talk to you." She set him down on
     a tabletop, and he stood as she requested, arms set forward and
     open in the eternal gesture of embrace.

     "Teddy, did David tell you to tell me he had gone into the
     garden?"

     The circuits of the bear's brain were too simple for artifice.
     "Yes, Mummy."

     "So you lied to me."

     "Yes. Mummy."

     "Stop calling me Mummy! Why is David avoiding me? He's not afraid
     of me, is he?"

     "No. He loves you."

     "Why can't we communicate?"

     "David's upstairs."

     The answer stopped her dead. Why waste time talking to this
     machine? Why not simply go upstairs and scoop David into her arms
     and talk to him, as a loving mother should to a loving son? She
     heard the sheer weight of silence in the house, with a different
     quality of silence pouring out of every room. On the upper
     landing, something was moving very silently -- David, trying to
     hide away from her....

                                     *

     He was nearing the end of his speech now. The guests were
     attentive; so was the Press, lining two walls of the banqueting
     chamber, recording Henry's words and occasionally photographing
     him.

     "Our serving-man will be, in many senses, a product of the
     computer. Without computers, we could never have worked through
     the sophisticated biochemics that go into synthetic flesh. The
     serving-man will also be an extension of the computer--for he
     will contain a computer in his own head, a microminiaturized
     computer capable of dealing with almost any situation he may
     encounter in the home. With reservations, of course." Laughter at
     this; many of those present knew the heated debate that had
     engulfed the Synthank boardroom before the decision had finally
     been taken to leave the serving-man neuter under his flawless
     uniform.

     "Amid all the triumphs of our civilization -- yes, and amid the
     crushing problems of overpopulation too -- it is sad to reflect
     how many millions of people suffer from increasing loneliness and
     isolation. Our serving-man will be a boon to them: he will always
     answer, and the most vapid conversation cannot bore him.

     "For the future, we plan more models, male and female--some of
     them without the limitations of this first one, I promise you! --
     of more advanced design, true bio-electronic beings.

     "Not only will they possess their own computer, capable of
     individual programming; they will be linked to the World Data
     Network. Thus everyone will be able to enjoy the equivalent of an
     Einstein in their own homes. Personal isolation will then be
     banished forever!"

     He sat down to enthusiastic applause. Even the synthetic
     serving-man, sitting at the table dressed in an unostentatious
     suit, applauded with gusto.

                                     *

     Dragging his satchel, David crept round the side of the house. He
     climbed on to the ornamental seat under the living-room window
     and peeped cautiously in.

     His mother stood in the middle of the room. Her face was blank,
     its lack of expression scared him. He watched fascinated. He did
     not move; she did not move. Time might have stopped, as it had
     stopped in the garden.

     At last she turned and left the room. After waiting a moment,
     David tapped on the window. Teddy looked round, saw him, tumbled
     off the table, and came over to the window. Fumbling with his
     paws, he eventually got it open.

     They looked at each other.

     "I'm no good, Teddy. Let's run away!"

     "You're a very good boy. Your Mummy loves you."

     Slowly, he shook his head. "If she loved me, then why can't I
     talk to her?"

     "You're being silly, David. Mummy's lonely. That's why she had
     you."

     "She's got Daddy. I've got nobody 'cept you, and I'm lonely."

     Teddy gave him a friendly cuff over the head. "If you feel so
     bad, you'd better go to the psychiatrist again."

     "I hate that old psychiatrist -- he makes me feel I'm not real."
     He started to run across the lawn. The bear toppled out of the
     window and followed as fast as its stubby legs would allow.

     Monica Swinton was up in the nursery. She called to her son once
     and then stood there, undecided. All was silent.

     Crayons lay on his desk. Obeying a sudden impulse, she went over
     to the desk and opened it. Dozens of pieces of paper lay inside.
     Many of them were written in crayon in David's clumsy writing,
     with each letter picked out in a color different from the letter
     preceding it. None of the messages was finished.

     "My dear Mummy, How are you really, do you love me as much --"

     "Dear Mummy, I love you and Daddy and the sun is shining --"

     "Dear dear Mummy, Teddy's helping me write to you. I love you and
     Teddy --"

     "Darling Mummy, I'm your one and only son and I love you so much
     that some times --"

     "Dear Mummy, you're really my Mummy and I hate Teddy --"

     "Darling Mummy, guess how much I love --"

     "Dear Mummy, I'm your little boy not Teddy and I love you but
     Teddy --"

     "Dear Mummy, this is a letter to you just to say how much how
     ever so much --"

     Monica dropped the pieces of paper and burst out crying. In their
     gay inaccurate colors, the letters fanned out and settled on the
     floor.

                                     *

     Henry Swinton caught the express home in high spirits, and
     occasionally said a word to the synthetic serving-man he was
     taking home with him. The serving-man answered politely and
     punctually, although his answers were not always entirely
     relevant by human standards.

     The Swintons lived in one of the ritziest city-blocks, half a
     kilometer above the ground. Embedded in other apartments, their
     apartment had no windows to the outside; nobody wanted to see the
     overcrowded external world. Henry unlocked the door with his
     retina pattern-scanner and walked in, followed by the
     serving-man.

     At once, Henry was surrounded by the friendly illusion of gardens
     set in eternal summer. It was amazing what Whologram could do to
     create huge mirages in small spaces. Behind its roses and
     wisteria stood their house; the deception was complete: a
     Georgian mansion appeared to welcome him.

     "How do you like it?" he asked the serving-man.

     "Roses occasionally suffer from black spot."

     "These roses are guaranteed free from any imperfections."

     "It is always advisable to purchase goods with guarantees, even
     if they cost slightly more."

     "Thanks for the information," Henry said dryly. Synthetic
     lifeforms were less than ten years old, the old android
     mechanicals less than sixteen; the faults of their systems were
     still being ironed out, year by year.

     He opened the door and called to Monica.

     She came out of the sitting-room immediately and flung her arms
     round him, kissing him ardently on cheek and lips. Henry was
     amazed.

     Pulling back to look at her face, he saw how she seemed to
     generate light and beauty. It was months since he had seen her so
     excited. Instinctively, he clasped her tighter.

     "Darling, what's happened?"

     "Henry, Henry -- oh, my darling, I was in despair ... but I've
     just dialed the afternoon post and -- you'll never believe it!
     Oh, it's wonderful!"

     "For heaven's sake, woman, what's wonderful?"

     He caught a glimpse of the heading on the photostat in her hand,
     still moist from the wall-receiver: Ministry of Population. He
     felt the color drain from his face in sudden shock and hope.

     "Monica ... oh ... Don't tell me our number's come up!"

     "Yes, my darling, yes, we've won this week's parenthood lottery!
     We can go ahead and conceive a child at once!"

     He let out a yell of joy. They danced round the room. Pressure of
     population was such that reproduction had to be strict,
     controlled. Childbirth required government permission. For this
     moment, they had waited four years. Incoherently they cried their
     delight.

     They paused at last, gasping and stood in the middle of the room
     to laugh at each other's happiness. When she had come down from
     the nursery, Monica had de-opaqued the windows so that they now
     revealed the vista of garden beyond. Artificial sunlight was
     growing long and golden across the lawn -- and David and Teddy
     were staring through the window at them.

     Seeing their faces, Henry and his wife grew serious.

     "What do we do about them?" Henry asked.

     "Teddy's no trouble. He works well."

     "Is David malfunctioning?"

     "His verbal communication center is still giving trouble. I think
     he'll have to go back to the factory again."

     "Okay. We'll see how he does before the baby's born. Which
     reminds me--I have a surprise for you: help just when help is
     needed! Come into the hall and see what I've got."

     As the two adults disappeared from the room, boy and bear sat
     down beneath the standard roses.

     "Teddy -- I suppose Mummy and Daddy are real, aren't they?"

     Teddy said, "You ask such silly questions, David. Nobody knows
     what real really means. Let's go indoors."

     "First I'm going to have another rose!" Plucking a bright pink
     flower, he carried it with him into the house. It could lie on
     the pillow as he went to sleep. Its beauty and softness reminded
     him of Mummy.

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