Alfred Bester - The Computer Connection

“Now I’ve had enough of this nonsense, Fee-Fie. You’re my pride and joy and we have a date in the sterilizer.”

“The centrifuge.” Fee sniffled.

“You’re a remarkable girl. Unique. And I need your help now more than ever before. I need you as much as Guig needs his wife. Now what do you want most in life?”

“To — to be needed by you.”

“You’ve got it. So why all the S?”

“But I want everything else, too.”

“Don’t we all! But we’ve got to work for it.”

A naked model appeared on all fours and spoke while a giant Irish wolfhound mounted her. “The only organic food for your beloved pet is Tumor, the new, improved energizer that gives fast, fast relief from the sexual separation of species…”

“I thought this house was insulated,” Borgia complained.

The voice of the Syndicate came from below. “It is my fault. I could not close the door.”

Ed looked guilty and shot out of the room as the Greek entered, polished and assured as ever. He encompassed us with his captivating smile but paused when he saw Natoma. After a moment he raised his eyeglass and said, “Ah.”

I started to explain but he cut me off. “If you please, Guig. I am not altogether devoid of faculties. Does madam speak Spang, Euro, Afro, XX? What is her language?”

“She speaks nothing but Cherokee.”

“Try spik wenty.” Natoma smiled.

“So.” The Syndicate went to Natoma, kissed her hand a hell of a lot more gallantly than I ever did, and said in Euro, “You are the sister of Dr. Guess — the resemblance is unmistakable. You are newly married — the flowering of the face and body of a girl of your age is unmistakable. There is only one man in this room worthy of your love — Edward Curzon. You are the new Mrs. Curzon and I felicitate you.”

(Now how can you compete with class like this?)

“Jas,” Natoma smiled and came to me and took my arm proudly.

The Greek reflected. Then he said in XX, “I have a small plantation in Brazil. It is outside Barra on the Rio São Francisco — about a thousand hectares — it is my wedding gift to you.”

I started to protest but he cut me off again. “Disraeli will draw up the documents of transfer.” He turned to Hiawatha. “I am pleased to report that I may have discovered the answer to your cryonaut perplexity. Value as yet unknown.”

Geronimo and Fee were electrified, and all of us began to shell Poulos with questions. He endured the barrage patiently but at last spoke in his most persuasive voice. “Please.”

We all please.

“Consolidated Can ran a test of a new product at the bottom of the exhausted Appalachian mine, which is twenty kilometers deep. The object: to discover the shelf-life of a novel amalgam container in a neutral environment. Test animals were included in the experiment, housed in sterile habitats in suspended animation. When the research team checked six months later, the containers had held up but the animals were gone. No trace except a small spot of slime in each habitat.”

“ Dio! ”

“I have here the report. Ecco .” The Greek pulled a cassette out of a pocket and handed it to Sequoya. “Now, query: Could there be any penetration of radiation from space to the depth of twenty kilometers beneath the surface of the Earth?”

“There would be the normal background terrestrial radiation with which we’ve lived and evolved for a billion years.”

“I said from space, Dr. Guess.”

“God, there are a hundred possibilities.”

“As I said, value as yet unknown.”

“Does Consolidated twig?”

“No.”

“Have they examined the slime?”

“No. All they’ve done is file a caveat with the patent office describing the phenomenon and the steps they are going to take to research it.”

“Imbeciles,” the Chief muttered.

“To be sure, but what more can you expect of middle management? I beg you, Dr. Guess, come to Ceres and I.G. Farben.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “What’s a caveat?”

The Syndicate gave me a kindly smile. “You will always be poor, Guig. A caveat is a warning to the world that a patent will be filed when the research is completed.”

“We can’t let them,” Fee cried. “We can’t let them beat us out.”

“They will not, my dear.”

“How can you stop it?”

“I bought it.”

“How in hell can you buy a warning?” I asked.

“N.” The Greek grinned. “I bought Consolidated Can. That’s what I was doing in P G. It is my gift to Group research headed by our most distinguished new recruit, Dr. Sequoya Guess.”

Fee threw herself at Poulos and hugged him so violently that there was a tinkle; she’d broken his eyeglass. The Greek laughed, kissed her soundly, and spun her around to face Powhattan.

“What now?” she asked. “What do we do now, Chief? Quick, quick, quick.”

The Chief spoke dreamily, which was a little surprising. “There are waves and particles. Cold radio at the bottom of the e.m. spectrum; many of my colleagues speculate that they’re the residue of the Big Bang origin of the universe. Soft X-rays couldn’t penetrate but hard X-rays might. Cosmic rays, of course. Neutrinos — they have no charge and nothing attracts them — they can pass through solid lead light-years thick. And then there are the particles blasted out by degenerating stars as they collapse into a gravitational hole, which brings up another fascinating possibility — are we being machine-gunned by particles from a contrauniverse? What?”

“We didn’t say anything.”

“Oh. I thought I heard — A satellite out in space would increase the chances of encounters by about fifty percent.”

“And that’s what happened to the cryonauts. Yes, Chief?”

“Possibly.”

“So what do we do now?”

He didn’t answer; just gazed dreamily into space, maybe trying to spot a passing particle.

“Chief, what are we going to do now?” Fee persisted.

Still no response.

I whispered to Borgia, “Not the catatonic bit again?” She shrugged.

Then Uncas spoke, so slowly that it seemed he was listening to somebody else. “The question is… whether to maintain all systems… in the cryocapsule… here on Earth… or orbit again to accelerate the… process.”

“If it is to be here on Earth,” the Syndicate said briskly, “I own a mine in Thailand which is thirty kilometers of depth. You are welcome to use it.”

“It might be better… to orbit again… or take the capsule… out to the orbiting… Con Ed twenty-mile cyclotron.”

“But will U-Con finance it?” I asked.

“I beg you, Dr. Guess, come to I.G. Farben. No objections, please, Miss Fee. You will live in the most beautiful villa on Ceres where there will be no worry about being beaten out.”

At this point the Chief drifted off again, listening to a soundless conversation and we waited, we waited, we waited. Edison came barging into the room, triumphant. Obviously he’d repaired the front iris but we shut him up before he could report his victory. We waited, we waited, we waited…

“I didn’t hear that,” the Chief said.

“We didn’t say anything,” I said.

The printout of my diary downstairs burst into its clatter. We all jumped. I was absolutely flabbergasted.

“But it’s impossible,” I said. “That damn fool thing only responds to instructions from the terminal keyboard, which Fee smashed forever ago.”

“Interesting,” Sequoya said, quite himself again, which was a surprise. (This Cherokee caper was turning into one astonishment after another.) “We’d better have a look. Probably a delayed response to the keyboard demolition. Machines do get emotional at times.”