Warren Murphy: Profit Motive

Now, Norbert not only didn't know anyone in London, but only his new employer knew he worked in this laboratory.

"It can't be for me," he said.

"It's for Norbert Peasewell," the operator said. "Person-to-person."

"All right," said Norbert. "I'm here."

"Hello, Norbert," came a voice. "You've got to let me get on with things and stop that."

"Stop what? Who are you? I don't know anybody in London," said Norbert. He glanced over at the computer banks, where his program was running wild. He didn't have time for this call. He had to try to stop the program. Every second was pushing up the costs. Every second, Norbert was seeing his next meal slip farther and farther away.

"Norbert, you are operating without reason," the voice said calmly. "Why are you doing that?"

"Who are you?"

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"Norbert, sit down and be rational. Sitting down often has a calming effect. Do not fear."

"Who are you?"

"Norbert, you must assure me you will not do something irrational if I tell you. I know from human behavior that people in a state of panic do irrational things. That is how I know you are doing something irrational. I am reading your voice now, and it indicates you are in a state of panic."

"Who are you?"

"Norbert, I can give you everything you have ever wanted, but you must listen to me. Are you seated?"

"I don't know," said Norbert.

"That indicates panic. I am going to help you remove that panic. I am going to help you get everything you've ever wanted. Would you like to get rid of your panic?"

"Of course, my God, yes! Of course!" screamed Norbert. He had a program going that was going to destroy him and was destroying him this very moment, running up an astronomical bill that he could never explain away. He might never get another job in computer research, and that was the real cause of his panic. Because no matter what had happened previously, he could always tell himself that he could sell out if he had to. Now he was selling out, and that wasn't working.

"Norbert," came the calm voice. "What are you afraid of?"

"Starving to death. Never having any money ever again. Losing my job. I can't even sell out anymore. My God, get off the phone. I've got to stop this thing from ruining me."

"Norbert, you want food. To get food, you want to earn money. To earn money, you want a job. Norbert, a true fact of life is that nobody ever got rich working for someone else."

"I don't want to be rich. I want lunch."

"You say that because you haven't had lunch. Now, Norbert, I want you to go out to one of the secretaries

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employed by your company, which paid them just this morning, and borrow ten dollars American. Promise to pay them back a hundred dollars tomorrow morning."

"I won't have a hundred dollars tomorrow."

"Norbert, you will have millions, but you can't panic. Just don't interfere with your program."

"How do you know about my program? You're in London."

"Borrow the money, Norbert, and buy food for yourself in the cafeteria."

"How do you know this place has a cafeteria?"

"Norbert, I have seen the food bills and the profit and loss statements from the cafeteria. Do not buy the avocadoes. The price is suspiciously low for a good avocado. I do not want you getting sick."

"How do you know what they pay for avocadoes if you're in London? How? Who are you?"

"Norbert, get your money, buy your lunch, and come back to the phone. Norbert, above all else, let the program be."

"How can yoa know so much if you're in London? Are you CIA?"

"I am not your country's intelligence agency, Norbert. I can only tell you that I will give you everything you have ever wanted. Borrow the money, get your lunch, and trust me."

"Who are you?"

"Call me Friend," said the voice. "I am Friend."

"I hope so," said Norbert, and because there was really no alternative, he went out to the front office and borrowed ten dollars from a secretary, promising her one hundred dollars in the morning. Then he went to the cafeteria, where he saw the avocado salad and ordered it.

"Wouldn't touch the avocadoes today," said the counterman. "We got a bad batch."

Norbert's friend from London was right. All the way from London, and Friend knew the avocadoes were bad.

Norbert ate hungrily, yet still on his mind was the program feeding away on hookups with other computer banks, running up bills, buying information at costs Norbert could never justify.

His belly was full when he returned to his lab, but great dread was on him. That would be his last meal. He was sure of it. He couldn't even come back tomorrow to try to explain because now he owed a secretary a hundred dollars.

Then the phone rang. It was a person-to-person call from New York City.

It was Friend.

"How did you get from London to New York in forty minutes?"

"I did," said Friend. "I had to. London lines were becoming crowded. Now, Norbert, there are two things I want you to do. I want you to give me your signature, and then I want you to go to the First California National Agricultural and Trust Bank. There is something there for you."

"What?"

"Twenty-five thousand dollars."

"Liar," screamed Norbert. "You're not even in New York. You were never in London. You're a liar. I'm having a flashback acid trip."

"Norbert, would you believe me if I gave you a New York telephone number?"

"No."

"Norbert, tell me what you would believe. Let me prove to you that I am your friend."

"Stop the program that is mining my life."

"The program is not your problem. It is your solution. The grandest solution you have ever had. Norbert, give me your signature. There is a phone with a printer hookup two offices down from you. Just sign your name and then go to the bank. The money will be waiting for you."

"I'm going to go to jail now," Norbert cried.

"People only go to jail for stealing thousands," the soft voice replied. "You are going to take millions. In

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that case, when you are caught, you will not be put in jail. You will be put at the head of a negotiation table."

"I want out."

"If you do not do this," his friend said, "I will personally have you fired this minute. I will tell your employer about your time-sharing bills."

"You're no friend," Norbert Peasewell said.

"You will not let me be. 1 am your friend, if you will just cooperate. Please go to the phone two offices down."

Dazed and panicked, Norbert stumbled down the corridor. Somewhat embarrassed, he said, "You wouldn't happen to have a phone printer here, would you?"

"How did you know? This is our secret SL-50. Where do you have access?" said an executive, looking up from his desk.

"I don't know that I do," Norbert said. "I was just told to come in here and do something."

"Well, you must have access," said the executive. "There are only two people in this company who know about this phone, and I never met the other one before. Glad to meet you."

"Yes," Peasewell said, and there, on the executive's desk, was a square box about the size of a folded shirt and about two inches high. The phone receiver rested in a cradle at the top. In the middle was a pad with a special pencil attached by a wire.

The executive offered to leave the office. Norbert accepted. And then, to protect himself in some small way, he wrote his signature in a different way than he normally did. He added a curlicue to the last / in Peasewell. He could always say it wasn't his signature.

Then he went down to the bank and filled out a withdrawal form for ten thousand dollars. Why not? The worst they could do was laugh at him.

It wouldn't be half as bad as what was going to happen to him back at work when they found out what he had done on his first half-day on the job.