Alfred Bester - The Computer Connection

“You’ve been reading my diary. Yes, Fee?”

“Yes.”

“How the devil did you learn how to decode my private terminal keyboard?”

“I taught myself.”

I threw up my hands. Go live with a genius girl. “How much did you pass on to your guy?”

“Nothing,” Sequoya said with his mouth full. “What little I know is from induction, deduction, hints, clues, things overheard. I’m a scientist, you know, and I’ll tell you something else, I not only speak XX, I read body english. So why don’t we drop it? I’ve got a murderous scene ahead of me and I depend on your Group to help me. Wilco?”

“Why should we?”

“I could blow the whistle on your act.”

“F.”

“Good for you.” He realsie smiled again and it was very winning. “Because we all like each other and want to help each other.”

“You Indian con. Wilco.”

“Gung. I’ll need you and Edison. Fee too, of course. I’ll brief you in the chopper so you can ask the right leading questions at the status review. Let’s chop.”

When we arrived at JPL I was so dazed by the enormity of Sequoya’s discovery and the frontiers it had opened that I wasn’t aware of anything around me. All I know is that I recovered consciousness in a large astrochem laboratory seated on a kinobench along with some fifty United Conglomerate majority stockholders. We were facing Hiawatha, who stood with his back to a work table cluttered with chemical apparatus. He was leaning against it and looked relaxed and pleased, as though he was about to hand the U-Con brass a surprise package. He sure was. The question was, would they buy it? The entire review was conducted in Spang, of course, but I translate for my goddamn diary and Fee-snoop Grauman’s Chinese.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. You’ve been waiting anxiously for a status review so I won’t apologize for calling you together on such short notice at four in the morning. You all know me; I’m Dr. Guess, project scientist on the Pluto mission, and I have remarkable news for you. Some are expecting this to turn into a failure review, but—”

“Never mind the guff talk,” I yelled. It had been agreed that I was to be the Bad Guy. “Just tell us why you failed and lost us ninety million.” Some of the stockholders glared at me, which was the purpose of my nasty behavior, to attract hostility from Guess to myself.

“A fair question, sir, but we have not failed; we have had a tremendous unexpected success.”

“By killing three cryonauts?”

“We did not kill them.”

“By losing them?”

“They are not lost.”

“No? I didn’t see them. Nobody saw them.”

“You did see them, sir, in the cryocoffins.”

“I saw nothing but things that looked like naked rats.”

“They are the cryonauts.”

I laughed sardonically. The stockholders rustled with interest and there were growls directed at me — “Gag, man. Let him do the talking.”

I subsided and Edison took over. “Dr. Guess, this is an amazing statement, unheard of in the history of science. Will you explain yourself, please?” Ed was the Good Guy.

“Ah! My old friend from the RCA plasma division. This will be of particular interest to you, Professor Crookes, because the electronic discharges which we call plasma may very well be involved.” Guess turned to the assembled. “Professor Crookes is not an intruder. He is one of several experts I invited to witness the put-down.”

“Stop stalling and start the alibi,” I called.

“Certainly, sir. Some of you may recall an historic theory developed in embryology centuries ago: ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. In other words, the development of the embryo within the womb duplicates the successive lost stages in the evolution of the species. I do hope you remember this classic.”

“If they don’t, Dr. Guess, you’re making it abundantly clear,” Edison said pleasantly.

I thought it time for another sneer. “And what are you paying your old friend for his loyal support? How big a cut of a hundred million is he getting?”

A lot more growls at me. I gave thanks that Fee-5 had been in on the briefing or she would have been on me with claws. Sequoya ignored the rude man in the third row. “Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny, but” — here he paused — “but I believe we have discovered that cryology recycles ontogeny.”

“Good God!” Edison exclaimed. “This will make history for JPL. Are you sure, Dr. Guess?”

“As sure as any experimenter can ever be, professor. Those quote naked rats unquote are embryos, the embryos of the cryonauts. After ninety days in space they have been regressed to an early stage in fetal development.”

“Any theory why?” This from a bright stockholder.

“I must be honest; none. We never had a hint of this fantastic possibility in any of our cryogenic preparations, but all the experiments were conducted on Earth where they were protected by our heavy atmospheric insulation. We did orbit animal subjects, but only for short periods. Our three cryonauts were the first to be exposed to space for an extended period and I have no idea of what factors produced the phenomenon.”

“Plasma?” Edison asked.

“Indeed, yes. Protons and electrons in the Van Allen belts, the solar wind, neutrons, quasar radio bursts, hydrogen ion emissions, the entire electromagnetic spectrum — there are hundreds of possibilities. All must be explored.”

Edison, enthusiastic: “I would be honored to be permitted to assist you in this tremendous project, Dr. Guess.” Then he added in XX, “And I mean it.”

“I would be honored to have your help, Professor Crookes.”

A Ms. stockholder asked in tearful tones, “But what about the poor, dear cryonauts? And their families? And—”

“That’s the most pressing problem. Is it merely a reversal of ontogeny or is it a full recycling? Will they regress to the ovum stage and die? Have they already reached that stage and are developing again to maturity? What will they develop into, infants, grown men? How do we explore this? How do we continue the process?”

General confusion. It was the cue for my next question, not too hostile this time. “I grant that you may be telling the truth, Guess.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And I grant that this may be an astonishing discovery, but are you asking United Conglomerate to finance you in what appears to be pure research?”

“Well, sir, in view of the fact that the Pluto mission must be postponed…”

Anguished cries from the deserving dividenders.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please! The Pluto mission was based on the belief that we could send cryonauts through space. We have discovered that we can’t, yet. Everything must be postponed until we learn exactly what happens to a cryonaut. Naturally I would expect United Conglomerate to transfer the JPL funding to this pure but essential research. It will be the only way of protecting your investment.”

More cries from the stockholders. A powerful voice from the back of the laboratory cut through the confusion. “If not, we will finance it.”

Guess was genuinely startled. “Who are you, sir?”

The Greek Syndicate stood up; squatty, thick hair, thin mustache, elegant with an eyeglass. “I am Poulos Poulos, investment director of the independent, sovereign state of I.G. Farben Gesellschaft. My word is my honor and I give you my word that I.G. Farben will support your research to the limit. So far we have never reached our limit.”

Sequoya looked at me.

“Group,” I called in XX.

The Chief smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Poulos. I will be happy to accept your offer if—”

Angry shouts: “No! No! No! It’s ours. We paid so far. You have a contract. Ironbound. Results of research are ours. We haven’t said no yet. We have to know more. Then we’ll decide. Can’t stampede us. Twelve hours. Twenty-four. We don’t know where we are yet.”