Alfred Bester: The Computer Connection

“Watch yourself, Guig. You’re knee-deep in the fireplace. Now let me get this straight. You want to use the Grand Guignol technique on Guess and you’re asking the Group for ideas, aid, and comfort.”

“That’s it, Sam.”

“Some don’t approve.”

“I know.”

“And some don’t believe.”

“I know that, too, but some have an open mind. They’re the ones I want to tap.”

“You’re sliding into the piano, Guig. Then this is going to be your final superergon, and we can’t let you down. God knows, a man of the stature of Dr. Guess would be a tremendous asset to the Group. I’ve always agreed that we need new blood. I’ll pass the word on the grapevine. You’ll be hearing from us.”

“Thanks, Sam. I knew I could depend on you.”

“Don’t go yet. I’m a month behind on your shenanigans. What have you been up to?”

“I’ll beam you a printout from my diary. The usual channel?”

“Yes. And what about that remarkable young lady, Fee-5? Should we plan a recruitment for her?”

I stared at him, absolutely speechless. It had never occurred to me, and my instantaneous reaction was to shake my head.

“But why not, Guig? She sounds as tremendous as Dr. Guess.”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “ Revoir , Sam.” And I retrojected.

Confusions and upsetments. I went to her room to have a look at her. She was sleeping in a white coverall, scrubbed and polished, her hair skinned back, and she had a lunch packed and waiting. All set for the big new job. I inspected the lunch; enough for two including a kilo of my private caviar from the St. Lawrence hatchery. Hmmm.

Her bed was murmuring, “The vacuum-insulated cryogenic tank at the United Conglomerate JPL Space Center contains nine hundred thousand gallons of liquid hydrogen for fueling the Pluto Mission rockets. In terms of energy its contents are equivalent to…” Usw . Boning up to make herself worthy of Sitting Bull. Hmmm.

I went to the study for a rap with my diary. I had to know what was wrong with me. Was I overprotective? Was I afraid of her? Did I hate her? Did she hate me? Was I rejecting the prospect of knowing her forever?

TERMINAL. READY?

READY. ENTER PROGRAM NUMBER.

NEW PROGRAM. CODE 1001.

DESCRIBE PARAMETERS.

USE ALL RELATIONS BETWEEN FEE-5

AND TERMINAL AS FIXED POINT AND

FLOATING POINT VARIABLES.

STATE ARGUMENT MODE.

ARE FEE-5 AND TERMINAL MEMBERS

OF SAME SET?

CODE 1001 HAS BEEN LOADED.

LOC. + CODE. START COUNT.

It took like ten minutes, and when you translate that into nanoseconds there aren’t enough zeros to go around.

CODE 1001 HAS FINISHED RUN.

MCS, PRINT. W. H. END.

The printout cackled: WITHIN MATHEMATICAL PARAMETERS FEE-5 N = TERMINAL. WITHIN EMOTIONAL PARAMETERS FEE-5 = TERMINAL.

“Emotional!” I hollered at the goddamn diary. “What’s that got to do with it?” and I went to bed (mad).

I chopped her down to JPL next morning where they wouldn’t let me through the main gate and she gave me a triumphant look as she sashayed in. I looked around. I remembered it from the days when it was just a scrubby hill scarred with a few burns where Cal Tech undergraduates had been playing with baby rockets. Now it was a complex so gigantic that JPL was threatening to secede from Mexifornia and go into business for itself.

After a few hours with Jacy at the university hospital (doing fine) and watching the campus riot (Antipleasurehood) I got home just in time to open the door for an enormous figure in an antique rubber diver’s suit. “I’m not buying anything today,” I said and started to shut the door. It opened the face plate of the helmet and about a gallon of seawater gushed out. “Guig! I’m here to help you,” the bod said in XX.

It was Captain Nemo, who’s been cracked on marine biology so long that he prefers to live in water. He turned and waved his arms. “Bring her in, lads,” he shouted in Spanglish and a little more water squirted out of his helmet. Three goons appeared lugging an enormous vat which they carried into the house. “Set her down easy,” Nemo admonished. “Easy, lads. Easy. That’s it. Avast. Belay.” The goons left. Nemo took off the helmet and beamed at me, his whiskers dripping. “I’ve got all your problems solved, Guig. Meet Laura.”

“Laura?”

“Look in the tank.”

I took the lid off and looked. I was face-to-face with the goddamn biggest octopus in history.

“This is Laura?”

“My pride and joy. Say hello to her.”

“Hello, Laura.”

“No, no, Guig. She can’t hear you from out here. Stick your head under the water.”

I stuck. “Hello, Laura,” I bubbled.

Damn if the beak didn’t open and I heard “Herro” and the eyes stared at me.

“Can you say your name, love?”

“Raura.”

I pulled out and turned to Captain Nemo, who was bursting with pride. “Well?”

“Fantastic.”

“She’s brilliant. She has a vocabulary of a hundred words.”

“She seems to have a Japanese accent.”

“Yes. I had a little trouble with the mouth transplant.”

“Transplant?”

“Well you don’t think I found a thinking, talking octopus, do you? I created her with transplants.”

“Nemo, you’re a genius.”

“I admit it,” he admitted modestly.

“And Laura’s going to help me put the squeeze on Sequoya Guess?”

“She can’t miss. We tell her what to do and your man will die so horribly that he’ll never forgive you.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Have you got a pool? I’m beginning to dry out.”

“No, but I can fake one.”

I sprayed the little drawing room with transparent perspex, about six feet up the walls; the floor and furniture too, of course, making the coat two inches thick, and there was a drawing-room-shaped pool including the decor. I filled it from the main pump. Nemo got out of his suit, went into the living room, and came back with Laura in his arms. They got into the pool and Nemo sat down on the couch and breathed a bubble of relief while Laura explored curiously. Then Nemo motioned for me to join them. I joined. Laura wrapped her arms around me affectionately.

“She likes you,” Nemo said.

“That’s nice. So what’s your hideous plan?”

“We take your man aqualung diving. We take him deep. He’ll have a closed atmospheric system with a high-pressure helium-oxygen gas mixture. The helium is for the bends.”

“Yes?”

“Laura attacks. The monster from the deep.”

“And drowns him?”

“No, no, no, lad. More fiendish than that. Laura has been briefed. She cuts off the helium input while he’s struggling.”

“So? He’s getting pure oxygen.”

“That’s what makes it fiendish. Oxygen, under high pressure, produces symptoms of tetanus, strychnine poisioning, and epileptic spasms. It exaggerates the excitomotor power output of the spinal cord and creates violent convulsions. Your man will go under in slow agony.”

“It sounds ghastly enough, Nemo, but how do we save him?”

“Chloroform.”

“With what?”

“Chloroform. That’s the antidote for oxygen poisoning.”

I thought it over. “It sounds kind of complicated, Nemo.”

“What d’you want, a volcano?” he asked angrily.

“Sorry. Sorry… I just want to be sure it’ll work this time. We’ll try it, Nemo. We — Wait a minute. I hear a godawful pounding on the front door.”

I climbed out and went to the front door, forgetting I was naked. When I irised it open, there was Scented Song, looking as ever like a Ming Dynasty princess. There was an elephant behind her hammering at the door with its trunk.

“The vision of your godlike presence lends celestial light to these concave and unworthy eyes,” she said. “All right, Sabu, knock it off.”