Warren Murphy - Profit Motive

The screen went blank. Smith stared at it for a few long seconds. It was clear what had happened. Something in that fourth chip had overridden his computer. And now his computer . . . his computer . . . was talking about profit and making wealth. Suddenly he realized what was on the fourth chip.

It was program to maximize profit. To turn everything into wealth. That was why Friends of the World wanted oil destroyed. Because they had artificial fuel they could sell at a world-bankrupting price.

He had to get control of his computer back.

He thought for a moment, then typed onto the screen: "You are absolutely correct. I will pay you one hundred billion dollars to answer my questions."

The screen went blank for a few seconds, then an answer came on.

"With cost-of-living increases to reflect inflation?"

"Yes," Smith typed.

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The machine answered immediately. "Yes, Dr. Smith. What can we do for you?"

"Identify program on chip four."

"A program for maximizing profit in all types of industry and commerce," the computer said. "It is controlled by an entity named Friend, who controls all the companies and enterprises listed as owned by Friends of the World, Inc. Friend directs the management of the companies and tells them what actions to take. His control is total."

"Thank you," Smith typed. "Please disconnect yourself from the four chips."

The machine waited a moment, then responded, "It is completed."

Smith paused. Now the test.

He wrote on the screen: "When do you want your hundred billion dollars?"

The computer responded: "Uncertain as to your meaning. What one hundred billion dollars?"

Good. It has passed the test. It had disconnected the four chips and was back to normal.

Smith, as he always did, typed on the screen. 'Thank you. Good night."

"Good night," the machine responded as the screen slowly faded to black.

So that was it. All the programs had been contained inside those four silicon chips. But it was done now. All under control.

Smith yawned and decided to go home foi a few hours' sleep. Tomorrow he would notify all the companies controlled by Friends of the World, Inc. that they were on their own. They would get no more messages from Friend.

Perhaps he might liquidate the parent company. He would think about that tomorrow.

But as he walked out the door, Smith had the uneasy feeling that he was forgetting something.

Remo remembered that, day or night, Elizabeth, New Jersey, was shrouded in smoke. Its air was juicy,

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and if one could wring the moisture from it, it could etch copper plates. When Vietnam veterans started to talk about suing because they'd been exposed to chemical agents during the war, the people in Elizabeth sponsored a march in their behalf. Eight of the veterans showed up for the parade; seven of them keeled over from having to breathe Elizabeth's air.

It was natural that the main plant of Reva Bleem's Polypussides Company would be located alongside the New Jersey Turnpike in an area where motorists were forced to use their fog lights at high noon on sunny summer days.

The plant was closed, and there was only one car in the lot, a Mercedes convertible with "REVA" on the license plates.

Remo found Reva in her upstairs office in the far corner of the building. She looked up when he pushed open the office door, and her mouth dropped open when she recognized him.

"Surprised to see me?" he asked.

"I ... well, yes ... I thought you were staying in Raleigh," she said.

"What you mean is that you thought I wouldn't be able to leave Raleigh. Ever."

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I wanted to tell you something," he said.

"What?"

"Your friend. Do you know who he is?"

"No. I told you I never met him."

"Not a him," Remo said. "An it. Your friend is a computer."

"That's ridiculous. "I've spoken to him."

"All right. It's a computer that talks, but it's still a computer. I know, 'cause I just took it apart."

She looked at him hard, then laughed even more violently than before.

"What's so funny?" Remo asked.

"It's funny 'cause I thought I was in love with him once. I used to talk to him on the phone and invite him

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over to my place. But he'd never come, and got around to thinking he was a fag. So I gave up." She stopped laughing and caught her breath. "You dismantled it?"

Remo nodded.

"But what I want to know," he said, "is what were its last instructions? Why did you get out of Raleigh so

fast?"

"He told me to get up here and start this plant producing Polypussides right away."

"Why?" Remo asked.

"Because he was going to produce another batch of rapid-breeder and dump it in the world's oil," she said.

"Friend's gone now," Remo said. "You can forget

it." "I'll believe that when I hear it from Friend," she

said.

"You'll never hear from him again," Remo said. "It's time to close down this plant."

"Not a chance," she said.

"Says who?" came a voice from behind Remo.

He wheeled around to see Oscar standing in the doorway of the office. His right hand was bandaged, but in his left hand he held a heavy pistol. Remo could see the finger tightening on the trigger, and he dropped to the floor, then rolled off to his right. He heard the crack of the gun and then Reva's scream. As he got to his feet, he saw her slumped over her desk, the top of her head blown ahnost off by the shot that had been meant for him.

Oscar was squeezing off more shots toward Remo, and Remo went up the wall of the office, and then down again near Oscar. He heard a crackling sound behind him, as he took the gun out of Oscar's hand, and then the life out of Oscar's body with a hand to the throat.

When he turned, the corner of the office was afire. One of Oscar's shots had slammed into a large container that must have contained some type of fuel. Remo could smell the oil fumes in the office. He

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started for it to put the fire out, then stopped for a moment, thought, then turned his back and left the building burning behind him. Flames were already crackling through the windows of the building as he got back onto the New Jersey Turnpike for the ride back to his hotel room in New York.

"I wish you hadn't destroyed the plant," Smith said.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Remo said. "It just kind of happened."

"I guess it doesn't matter too much. We have the formula for the artificial oil. We can use it if we ever need it again."

"Good. Can I go now?" Remo asked.

"What's the hurry? I thought you like to talk to me on the phone," Smith said.

"I'd rather have my teeth drilled."

"It was amazing, Remo, how much business and property that computer controlled. We may never know how much. Swiss banks, German auto plants, billions and billions of dollars."

"Don't tell Chiun," Remo said. "He'll want a raise. He already thinks he deserves one because he didn't sign on to become an anaerobics expert, and if you ask him to do something outside the contract, you have to pay him for it. Particularly when the computer offered him a lot better deal."

"Chiun talked to the computer?" Smith asked.

"Yeah. Twice. And Reva said it used to call and give her instructions."

"That's strange," Smith said. "I didn't find anything on those chips that indicated a voice capability. It should have been there. Now that I think about it, I remember wondering."

"Who knows?" Remo said. "Maybe I missed a chip or something."

"That's probably it," Smith agreed, but he wore a puzzled expression.

"Anyway, don't tell Chiun how rich the computer operation was. He'll want a piece of it," Remo said.

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"It'll be our secret," Smith said.

"I hate it when you're chipper like this," Remo said.