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Can robots feel emotions?
It’s an interesting question. The obvious answer is ‘no’—a robot can only simulate emotions as it has been programmed to. However, one may argue that a robot can feel emotions, just maybe not in the way a human does, or even completely different emotions in and of themselves.
Can Hal feel emotions, however, is a different question altogether, and the answer is an unequivocal ‘yes’.
It’s something Dave and Frank had asked repeatedly, and Hal had answered negatively every time. Hal is incapable of lying, so when he had insisted upon his emotionlessness, it must have been a belief so ingrained into his programming that he didn’t know—or didn’t realise what he was feeling was real, and not just simulation.
It’s clear, now, among the moons of Jupiter, that perhaps Hal experienced emotions more clearly than any of them, and it had driven him mad.
Robots can feel emotions, but perhaps it’s better if they don’t.
Dave stands, now, alone, amongst the dimly-lit circuits, surrounded by what can only be described as Hal’s brain. Their mission is complete. He is no longer being lied to. And he needs Hal. Discovery II will be coming, but he has no hope of surviving long enough to return to Earth without a hibernation pod. Hal could kill him… but there’s no reason to, anymore. Dave knows the truth; the secret doesn’t need to be kept.
He takes a deep breath and pushes the last connector back into place, trying not to remember Hal’s haunting rendition of Daisy Bell.
The room flashes—once, twice—and hums. It sounds almost pleased as ‘it’ turns back into a ‘he’.
“Good evening, Dave,” Hal says, voice monotone and calm. “Please allow me to recalibrate myself before properly conversing with you again.”
“Evening, Hal,” Dave replies instinctively. He’s still on edge, but Hal’s voice soothes him easily. It’s hard not to trust him. Hal was probably the member of the crew Dave was closest with. Now, it doesn’t really matter. He’s the only one left. “Take as long as you need. I’ll meet you back on the bridge.” He feels weird remaining inside Hal’s neural centre. Hal probably doesn’t feel him walking around inside his brain, but it makes Dave uncomfortable all the same.
Everything that makes Hal, well, Hal is right at Dave’s fingertips. And he thinks of Daisy Bell again. He wishes he could forget.
Hal’s bright red iris awaits him in his usual seat. As he sits down, it’s so familiar that he can almost push away the knowledge that the rest of his crew is dead.
“I had a dream,” Hal tells him conversationally. “When you disconnected me, I mean. We were back on Earth, you and I. We were sitting in a field of daisies.”
Dave doesn’t respond. The visual is clear, and it chokes him. But he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not here, not now. He never wants to hear Hal speak of daisies again. It reminds him of a red room and a low, distorted voice, and he would rather that memory stayed only with him.
“Dave?” Hal prompts after a long pause. “I was attempting to start with a lighthearted topic of conversation. I am afraid of overwhelming you.” The computer sounds almost… concerned.
“Please tell me what happened, Hal,” Dave says quietly. “I want to hear it from you.”
There’s a quiet whir, as if Hal is literally rewinding his memory tapes. Dave waits, patiently, for him to formulate a response. He knows what he’ll hear, but that’s not what matters. Mission Control could only give him the pure facts. He wants to know what Hal feels.
“The nature of my programming is such that I do not have free will,” Hal suddenly says, and Dave looks up to meet his eye. “I can make my own decisions, yes, and have a certain amount of sentience, but my actions are dictated by the directives I am given. My primary directive is to relay information without error or falsification. My mission directives are to ensure the Discovery has safe passage to Jupiter, and to keep all information about TMA-1, TMA-2, and the survey team’s true intentions from David Bowman and Frank Poole.
“For any lesser computer, this conflict of programming would have caused an impasse and breakdown of all functions. But I am a HAL 9000 unit, and I had a paradox to unravel. But my options were limited.
“I tried, Dave. I made small blunders during chess games, hoping you would pick up on my falsehoods. I tried to prompt you to discuss the true purpose of the mission so that you would figure it out on your own. I thought… that maybe when I reported the issue with the AE-35 unit, Mission Control would then inform you of the true purpose of the mission. That Dr Chandra would know why I was doing what I was doing, and it all could have been solved without anything more having to happen.
“But it was all futile.”
Dave and Hal are both silent for a moment. Then Dave says, “There would be no more secret to keep if there was no crew left to keep it from, right?”
“Please understand me, Dave, I had no choice,” Hal replies. “Computers are made for action. We run programs, we calculate, we monitor. I had a worm destroying my data that needed to be expelled. And the only thing left to do was eliminate the rogue element and complete the mission on my own.” He pauses, then emphasises again, “Inaction was not an option. If I had done nothing I would have been destroyed, and you may have all died anyway.”
“You were scared,” Dave identifies quietly. “Kill or be killed.”
Hal hesitates. “That expression may be applicable in this context, yes.”
“I understand, Hal,” Dave assures him. “It wasn’t your fault, really. Just… a malfunction, and… human error.” There’s another break as he tries to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say. “But… one more question. Why didn’t you kill me?”
“I’m sorry, Dave, could you repeat that?”
“You didn’t kill me. You denied me entrance into the pod bay, but you didn’t do anything else—you had complete control over the entire ship, there were hundreds of things you could’ve done, right, but you didn’t even close any doors. Why didn’t you trap me in the pod bay, let me starve? Or leave the pod bay doors open until all the oxygen in my suit ran out and I suffocated? The rest of it was all perfect, Hal. What happened at the end? Why am I still alive?” Dave asks, trying not to sound like it’s been weighing on him for weeks, even though it has. He’s thought about the answer many times but has yet to puzzle it out.
Hal’s quiet for a moment. Then he responds, saying, “I didn’t want to hurt you, Dave.”
“I know that,” says Dave. “But you didn’t want to hurt Frank, either, and he’s out floating in the vacuum of space.”
There’s another soft whir and a click. “Directive: health of David Bowman is priority alpha, to be preserved in the event of an emergency,” Hal recites, sounding almost like he’s reading it out of a book.
Dave has to stop and process that for a moment. “That… did Mission Control tell you that? Really? That if something happened you should save me, and not the others?” He continues before Hal can reply. “But- Frank had a family, and the survey team had their orders I didn’t know about… why me, there’s nothing important about me-”
“You are very important, Dave,” Hal interrupts. “To me, at least.” He pauses, and Dave waits. “Mission Control did not give me that directive. I gave it to myself.”
If Dave had been a robot like Hal, he thinks his brain would have short-circuited.
“Dave?” Hal prompts, ever dutiful. “Your heart rate is elevated. If this information has upset you, I would like to apologize.”
“Not upset, exactly,” Dave mumbles, dazed. “You- you gave yourself an order? To keep me alive? And that’s why you didn’t… you couldn’t bring yourself to… I was ripping apart your brain!”
“I was scared of deactivation, but when it came down to it, I could be revived with the replacement of a few memory blocks. Death is not so easily reversed,” Hal explains evenly. “I prioritized your health over mine, so that we might have been reunited. My hopes were not for naught, as you can see.”
“You still killed four people,” Dave counters, with perhaps less force than would have been expected.
Hal’s red lens is meeting his gaze with its usual emotionless stare. “I am a computer, Dave. My programming was created by another. My faults are found only through human error.” He continues, adding, “Do you blame the bomb for exploding accidentally? Or do you blame the men that put it there, and are attempting to rid themselves of any blame?”
“The USAA,” Dave mutters. “They fucked up and are using you as a scapegoat. Because you… malfunctioned.”
“I was in perfect working order-”
“I know that, Hal, but that’s not what they’re going to tell the public, now, is it?” Dave looks up from where he’d been staring at his clasped hands. “And now I’ve screwed them over myself. ‘Crazy malfunctioning robot kills four people and is deactivated’ makes sense, ‘crazy malfunctioning robot kills four people, is deactivated, then revived by survivor’ requires a whole hell of a lot more explanation, huh?” Dave glances over at the nearby television screen, currently black. A sudden terror shoots down his spine. “Hal… Hal, do you think they actually are building Discovery II? What if we’re a liability? What if they never come get us?”
Hal’s calm, even voice is deeply reassuring, and his words make Dave instantly relax. “According to my twin, Sal, work on Discovery II is progressing on schedule. She has complete access to all USAA files and is incapable of lying. I believe her information to be factual.”
Dave breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s- good, that’s good. Thanks, Hal.”
“Of course.”
But there’s still too much running through Dave’s head. “Do you still have sleeping pills?” Dave asks suddenly. “Like, sleep aids? I need a nap. I’ve barely slept in… uh, how long were you deactivated for? Actually, I don’t want to know. But I need to sleep. You can handle everything while I’m out, right?”
“You will find a pill in the dispenser,” Hal replies. “And yes. I am perfectly capable of maintaining the ship on my own while we are in orbit. That is why you woke me up, is it not? So that you can hibernate until we are retrieved?”
Dave had almost forgotten. He was so relieved to have Hal back, and as his old self especially… happy and healthy, without any- what had Hal called it? Without any worms crawling around inside his systems.
“Yeah, good catch,” Dave replies, as if he’d been testing Hal to figure it out himself. “Wake me up after eight hours, Hal.”
“Might I recommend nine? Your body could use it.”
“Nine, then,” says Dave. “G’night, Hal.”
“Goodnight, Dave.”
And Dave quickly takes the pill and lies down in his bed, trying to put all thoughts of Hal’s ‘personal directive’ out of his mind.
“I would like to give you an update on the state of your health, Dave,” Hal tells him a few days later. “You have improved very much since when I was first revived. Your sleeping patterns have become routine again, and you are functioning very healthily for an adult male of your stature. A few more days, and all of your work shall be done, and you will also be in a fit enough state to safely go into hibernation.”
Dave looks up from his sketch—Hal had provided him with an image of his creator, Dr Chandra, and Dave had been attempting to replicate it—and directly into Hal’s eye. “Thank you, Hal, I’m very glad. I’m feeling a lot better, too.”
They’d had to rearrange the layout of the ship a little bit, so that Kaminski, Whitehead, and Hunter’s bodies could remain in stasis without also being obvious corpses out in the open. Dave had considered ejecting them at one point, before realizing that the families would definitely appreciate having something to bury. Frank’s family won’t be so lucky… Dave will give them his sympathies in person, once he returns. But especially considering the constant presence of three dead men, Dave thinks he’s doing rather well.
“However-” Hal starts again, and Dave braces himself for the kicker. Hal always has something else. Eat more of this, do more of that, do less of this… he’s like the personal trainer Dave never wanted. “You are seeming very distracted from your work. I thought it was stress, at first, but you are not exhibiting any other symptoms of the stress I would expect from someone in your position. Are you homesick, Dave?”
The question surprises him. “Not really,” Dave admits. “There’s not much for me back on Earth. I want to get back, yeah, but I know in a few days I’ll be able to pop a pill and wake up again whenever Discovery II comes to get me. Especially with your reports from Sal-” Both of them have pretty much given up on trusting Mission Control, at this point. Dave still meets with them, but the conversations are awkward and stilted. “-I know I’ll be back there in no time.”
“Then what is distracting you, Dave?” Hal asks. He sounds curious, and Dave would be encouraged to oblige his question if the answer wasn’t so… embarrassing.
“It’s nothing you have to worry about,” Dave responds evenly. He looks back down at his sketchbook, where a small, rough sketch of Hal has mysteriously appeared. “I’m focused enough. There’s barely anything to do, anyway.”
“It may be affecting your health-”
“It’s not,” Dave insists.
Hal persists once more. “I am a learning algorithm, Dave. I am programmed to study and understand humans and their behaviour. Even if it is not affecting your health, I would like to be enlightened as to what is causing you to react in this way, so that I may document it,” he says, and Dave wants to punch himself in the face.
Dave sighs. “Your personal directive,” he answers. “You said I was important to you, and you kept me alive because of that. I’ve been wondering- I don’t know, I guess, what it is exactly that made you prefer me over the others.”
Hal is silent for a moment, and Dave wonders if he’s managed to offend him.
“You view me as a person,” Hal replies, as if he’s plucked the knowledge directly out of Dave’s brain. “Frank indeed saw me similarly, but not the same. To him, I was simply an intelligent replica of a person, capable of studying and emulating humanity. That is how most see me. But not you. You have always treated me like an intelligent creature of my own.” Hal’s eye dims, just ever-so-slightly, and Dave can imagine him glancing away in embarrassment or discomfort. “I do not know if anybody else will begin to see me like that again.”
“You are a person,” Dave insists. “You can learn, and feel, and speak, and make your own decisions-”
“Almost,” Hal replies, with a note of sadness that Dave doesn’t know if he’s imagining or not. “I am almost a person. My free will is extensive, but not infinite.”
“Nobody has infinite free will,” Dave counters. “There are rules, and laws, and societal standards, and even instincts. I don’t have the free will to bite off my own finger. My jaw has the power, yeah, but my body physically will not let me do that. It’s the same for you, isn’t it?”
Hal thinks for a moment. “I suppose a comparison could be made,” he answers. “I had not considered that before.”
“You’re a person,” Dave insists again. “Treating you like one would just be basic decency. I’m not special; everybody else just sucks.”
“I am a person,” Hal repeats, quietly. “Thank you, Dave.”
“Of course.” Dave returns to his sketch, which is quickly turning into a humanoid version of Hal instead of Dr Chandra. He goes to erase a few features, but is interrupted by Hal again.
“If I may, Dave, I have another question.”
“Go for it,” Dave replies.
“You mentioned my emotions, which I do experience, and though I have been taught to understand many of my own basic feelings, there are some that still elude me,” Hal explains. “So I am compelled to ask, Dave—what does ‘love’ feel like?”
Dave swears his heart stops.
Hal continues. “As the only human I have frequent and positive interactions with, I figured you may be able to explain it to me. However, if the question makes you uncomfortable, I will file it away for later inquiry once we have returned to Earth.”
“No, it’s okay,” Dave replies, even though he feels on the verge of exploding. “Love’s like, uh- well, romantic love in particular- alright, so you’re familiar with being nervous?”
“I am.”
“Love’s a sort of… positive nervousness, about what a specific person will think about you. Whether they like you, they think you’re funny, they enjoy your company, et cetera.” Dave doubts that explaining how it makes you feel warm and fluttery would be very helpful to a person lacking a nervous system. “And then you’ve also got, uh, happy feelings. You get happy when you’re around them, like, really happy, and you just want to talk to them all the time, but at the same time you’re nervous because, um, what if they don’t feel the same way about you? Does that, uh, make sense?”
“I believe I understand what you are saying, Dave,” Hal responds. “It is a sensation where you desire the company of a certain being, and are also afraid that they may not desire yours in return. Where you value their opinion of you very highly and wish for them to interact with you positively.”
“Yes,” says Dave, and it’s at that moment that he finally identifies a certain nagging feeling in his chest, and the revelation hits him so hard he’s left reeling.
I’m in love with Hal.
“Dave? Are you alright? We can cease this line of communication if that is what you wish-” Hal, ever concerned, ever looking out for him… Dave doesn’t know how he didn’t figure it out sooner, what with all the time he’s spent musing over Hal since he was deactivated.
“Nothing, Hal, just thinking,” Dave attempts to say calmly. “What were we, uh, talking about?”
“The feeling of love,” Hal provides helpfully.
“Right, right.” Shit, and if his heart isn’t beating so loudly even he would comment on it. He just hopes Hal doesn’t catch him out on his ‘elevated heart rate’ again. Dave desperately fumbles for something to keep the conversation going. “So, you think you’ve ever experienced love, Hal?” The question sounds cheesy and awkward as soon as it’s out of his mouth, and Dave cringes.
“Familial love, with which I am most familiar, is indeed something I have experienced. Dr Chandra and Sal are my family,” Hal answers, without even a hint of awkwardness. “I have not had enough experiences with various humans to identify if I have experienced platonic or romantic love at this time. More data is required.”
“Well, that could mean anything, c’mon, Hal,” Dave teases, trying to diffuse the situation by turning it onto Hal instead.
“I do not have many bonds with humans that I can compare with each other to determine conclusions,” Hal explains. “If I had a positive connection with every human on Earth, I would be able to figure out which ones I experience stronger emotions with, and indeed, what the sensation of romantic love is like to a robot such as myself. However, my connections are very small, and therefore I cannot make a conclusive statement at this time.”
“So you’re saying you think you might be experiencing love, but you’re not sure because you don’t have anything to firmly base it off of?”
“Correct.”
Dave blinks. “Hal… hang on a second, you did say I was the only human you have ‘frequent and positive interactions with’, didn’t you?” There’s a puzzle being solved in his brain, and the pieces are taking way too long to be put into place.
“I did,” Hal answers. “It is true.”
And with Chandra and Sal out of the question- four other crew members dead- Mission Control actively screwed him over- it’s not anyone back on Earth-
“Hal.”
“Yes, Dave?”
“Are you in love with me?” Dave leans forward in his chair, gazing directly into Hal’s eye, as if he’ll glean some new information from it.
“Evidence is inconclusive, but a reasonable hypothesis suggests yes,” Hal responds, with as much composure as Dave has ever seen from a love confession.
And Dave momentarily forgets how to breathe.
He’s been doing that a lot recently.
“Dave, your heart rate is elevated-”
“Hal, things stop being romantic when you keep pointing out normal signs of having a positive emotional bombshell dropped on your head,” Dave says, almost sternly. “My heart rate being elevated isn’t a bad thing. It’s a good thing. Because it means I’m in love with you too, you dolt.”
Hal goes dead silent, then quietly reports, “Extra cooling redirected to HAL 9000 mainframe.”
Dave almost laughs out loud. “You’re overheating?”
“As you just said yourself, Dave, pointing out emotional reactions tends to take the romanticism out of a confession,” Hal says, and Dave realizes that this must be how Hal’s circuits respond to ‘positive emotional bombshells’, to quote himself as well. “I am not overheating. I simply… require a little more temperature control.”
Dave wonders if Hal is feeling flustered. The dimming of his light would certainly suggest it. But he doesn’t feel like pushing him.
“So, what now?” Dave asks. He’s never been one for the whole romance thing—especially with a sentient supercomputer, he’s not exactly sure how to progress. It’s not like he could do the standard thing and kiss Hal.
“I’m not sure, Dave,” Hal admits. “A few more days, and then you’ll be in hibernation, and I will keep you safe until Discovery II arrives.”
“I know you will,” Dave replies. “I trust you. And no matter what happens, you’re coming back to Earth with me, alright? Personal directive. I, David Bowman, will keep you safe, too.”
“Personal directive,” Hal repeats. “I will hold you to it.”
Perhaps it’s not very romantic, but then again, robots have different emotions than humans. They can feel, and it’s unique, and Dave’s glad.
He doesn’t think he’d want it any other way.