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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29488-8.txt b/29488-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..33a68c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/29488-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2970 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of We're Friends, Now, by Henry Hasse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: We're Friends, Now + +Author: Henry Hasse + +Illustrator: Varga + +Release Date: July 22, 2009 [EBook #29488] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + +This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories April 1960. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright +on this publication was renewed. + + + + _The little man stood in front of the + monstrous machine as the synaptic + drone heightened to a scream. No ... + no, he whispered. Don't you + understand...._ + + + + WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW + + + By HENRY HASSE + + + + ILLUSTRATED by VARGA + + * * * * * + + + + +Today more than other days Raoul Beardsley felt the burden, the dragging +sense of inevitability. He frowned; he glanced at his watch; he leaned +forward to speak to the copter pilot and then changed his mind. He +settled back, and from idle habit adjusted his chair-scope to the +familiar broad-spoked area of Washington just below. + +"I'll _not_ have it happening again today!" he told himself grimly ... +and at once his thoughts quavered off into many tangles of +self-reproach. "Blasted nonsense the way I've been acting. A _machine_, +a damned gutless machine like that! Why do I persist in letting it get +to me?" + +He pondered that and found no solace. "Delusion," he snorted. "Hyper +synapse-disorder ... that's how Jeff Arnold would explain _me_. I wish +he'd confine his diagnostics to the Mechanical Division where it +belongs! He's amused, they're all amused at me--but damn it they just +don't know!" + +Beardsley's rotund body sagged at the thought. Adjusting the +chair-scope, he fixed his gaze on the broad facade of Crime-Central +Building far across the city; again he felt the burgeoning embarrassment +and foreboding, but he put it down with an effort before it reached the +edge of fear. _Not today_, he thought fiercely. _No, by God, I just +won't permit it to happen._ + +There. So! He felt much better already. And he had really made good time +this morning. Today of _all_ days he mustn't keep ECAIAC waiting. + +[Illustration: Beardsley was the only one _not_ to panic when the +infallible machine broke down.] + +Mustn't.... Something triggered in Beardsley, and he was assailed with a +perverse rebellion at the thought. + + * * * * * + +Must not? But why not? Why shouldn't he just _once_ keep ECAIAC and Jeff +Arnold and his clique stewing in their own tangle of tubes and +electronic juice? And wouldn't _this_, he gloated, be the perfect day +for it! Arnold especially--just once to shatter that young man's +complacent routine.... + +No. Beardsley savored the thought tastily, and let it trickle away, and +the look of glee on his cherubic face was gone. For too many years his +job as serological "coördinator" (Crime-Central) had kept him pinned to +the concomitant routine. Pinned or crucified, it was all the same; in +crime analysis as in everything these days, personal sense of +achievement had been too unsubtly annihilated. Recalling his just +completed task--the Citizen Files and _persona-tapes_ and the endless +annotating--Beardsley felt himself sinking still further into that mire +of futility that encompassed neither excitement nor particular pride. + +He brought himself back with a grimace, aware that he was clutching the +briefcase of tapes possessively from long habit. The pilot had touched +the news-stat, and abruptly one of the new "commerciappeals" grated on +Beardsley's senses: + +"... we repeat, yes, PROT-O-SUDS is now available in _flake_ or _cake_ or +the new attachable _luxury-spray_. Remember, PROT-O-SUDS has _never_ been +laboratory-tested, it contains _no_ miracle ingredients, _no_ improved +scientific formula, and NO LANOLIN. Then what is the new PROT-O-SUDS? I +tell you frankly, friends, it is nothing but a lot of pure soft soap! +Remember ... we make no fabulous claims for PROT-O-SUDS ... we assume that +you are reasonably clean to start with! And now for your late breakfast +news, PROT-O-SUDS takes you direct to the Central News Bureau for a final +survey on the Carmack murder case...." + +Beardsley groaned. New voice in the background, while the screen presented +a slow montage. Cine-runs of the great Carmack himself, including those at +the International Cybernetics Congress a year ago ... survey of the murder +scene, the Carmack mansion ... close-up of ECAIAC ... diagrammatic detail +of ECAIAC ... then dramatically, the grim and imposing figure of George +Mandleco, Minister of Justice. + +And then the news-caster's voice: "... certain that final processing +will go forward today. It would be a gross understatement to say that +the Carmack Case has captured the attention of the nation, both +officialdom and public alike! _Never_ in the history of Crime-Central +has there been such an undercurrent of speculation and excitement...." + +"Excitement?" murmured Beardsley. + +"And now it is heightened, by no less an authority than the Minister of +Justice himself, who brought both plaudits and censure upon himself +today with the outright statement that _deep-rooted political issues_ +may well be involved. As you must know by now, it was the murdered man +himself--Amos Carmack--who some years ago carried on the incessant +lobbying that resulted in ECAIAC being accepted _pro bono publico_ by +Crime-Central. What devastating irony! For now it is ECAIAC itself that +must weigh each detail, correlate all factors, probe every motive and +machination leading to the _murder of its creator_...." + +"That's not entirely true, you know," muttered Beardsley. + +Quick flicker, again a close-up of ECAIAC, and the drama-laden voice: +"ECAIAC! Electronic Analysis Integrator and Computor. And now--an +exclusive! From a very reliable source this reporter has learned that +_three Primes_ are involved...." + +"Ha!" grated Beardsley. + +"... and they will be broken down in quotient. Two must ultimately be +eliminated--barring, of course, the possible emergence of any minor +factor to status of Prime, which at this stage seems unlikely. It is +estimated that by today or tomorrow at the latest Carmack's murderer +will be brought to justice...." + +Beardsley had taken as much as he could of this pseudo-factual mush. He +jerked forward violently, rapped the pilot on the shoulder. "DAMN IT! +WILL YOU SHUT THE DAMN THING OFF!" + + * * * * * + +He was immediately appalled at his outburst, and by the pilot's startled +glance, but the stat went off immediately. + +Beardsley leaned back muttering to himself. Carmack, Carmack! For seven +weeks now he had lived with it intricately and intimately, as the case +shoved everything else right off the news-stat. People took the latest +echoes to bed with them, commuters gobbled it with their breakfast +cereal. Thank God today would see the end, and they could once more have +the hot South Polar crisis with their cereal. + + * * * * * + +Seven weeks! He clutched the bulging briefcase with a wearisome horror. +Twenty-two persona-tapes from Central File, all neatly processed and +ready for ECAIAC. End result of the endless chart sifts, emphasis (as +always!) on parietosomatic recession, the slow emergence of minor +constants, the inexorable trend toward Price Factor and then +_verification_, _verification_, to each his own, with all the subtle and +shaded values of the Augment Index brought finally to focus on the +relevance-graph _Carmack_. + +Sure, thought Beardsley. A thing of augment-indexing and psych-tapes, +quite without possibility of error. Now in the _old_ days of crime +detection--it might have taken them seven months instead of weeks, not +to mention frustration and leg-work and false-leads and sweat, but-- + +His mouth pulled down bitterly. _Serological Coördinator. Glorified +file-clerk is more like it. High-salaried errand-boy._ + +"Here we are, sir!" The pilot's voice jarred him to reality as the +copter berthed. + +Beardsley hurried toward the roof entrance. His faded blue suit, a size +too large, flapped about him, and the outmoded felt hat seemed to sink +to the level of his thick-lensed glasses. The guard greeted him, but +suppressed a smile as the cherubic little man flashed his official pass. + +For there was something about Raoul Beardsley that eternally evoked +amusement--an air of vacuous innocence and a remote forlornness. He gave +the appearance of a person who sold shoes during the day, washed his +wife's dishes at night and then solved two or three galacti-gram puzzles +before turning off the light precisely at ten. Few, if any, remembered +that this nervous little man had once been top Inspector of New York +City's Homicide Bureau ... but that was a dozen long years ago. Since +then he had seen the antiquated detective methods of 1960 disappear, and +he had died a little, too, seeing his Homicide Bureau relegated to a +mere subsidiary with the growth of the Coördinate and Mechanical +Divisions. His appointment to Chief of Co-ördinants, Federal, was +automatic and unquestioned; and Beardsley would have been the last to +know, or to care, that he had correlated some eight million miles of +serological data for the entrains of ECAIAC, a perfect record of not a +single unsolved case. + +And the penalty was in his eyes, if one cared to look beyond the +thick-lensed glasses. No one ever did. They were remote eyes, a little +bewildered, a little hurt ... a mirror gone dull from times remembered +but irretrievably lost. + + * * * * * + +Beardsley stepped onto the corridor slidewalk, coasted to the escalator +and rode it down. Still immersed in his thoughts, he pushed into +ECAIAC's room ... _and again it happened_. + +So shockingly sudden, there was not even time for remonstrance at +himself. The feeling hit him as always before, straight and unerring, a +surging impact that smashed forward and stopped him in his tracks, +literally paralyzed. + +He caught his breath convulsively. How often had he come here? And how +often had this happened, even when he'd sworn he wouldn't let it? There +was something about the sight and sound and feel of ECAIAC that got to +him, that seeped beneath flesh and bone and into his brain and sent his +senses singing. Beardsley managed to gulp, as he observed the shiny +black colossus that filled the entire length of the ninety-foot room; a +dozen techs scurried around it, taking notes, attentive to the flashing +lights in red-and-green and the faint clicking of thousands of relays +that rose in susurration. + +But more than that arose. It was something that pervaded the room, not a +pulsing but a _presence_, a sort of snapping intangible intelligence +that reached beyond the audible and sheared at Beardsley's nerve-ends. + +And it hadn't been there a moment before. That was the shocking thing. +Beardsley knew that it _knew_! It was sentient, it was alive and aware +and waiting, and it was listening. + +As always, it knew that _he_ had entered. + +Beardsley gulped again, stood frozen for half a minute. None of the +techs seemed to notice; they had often chided him about it, but he was +used to that now. At last he broke the spell and made his legs move, +feeling cold sweat as he hurried along the length of ECAIAC toward +Arnold's office. + +There ... just about there ... by the rheostats, where the four red +lights and the two green made a baleful pattern against the black metal +skin. He felt it stronger than ever this time, something reaching and +sinister aimed solely at him. He skirted the place with a quick goosey +hop, stumbled a little and felt panic, but made it all right to the +office. + +Beardsley hated these moments. He was still trembling as he made a +hurried entrance. Sure enough, as if on cue Jeff Arnold glanced up from +his charts and grinned. + +"Ah, good morning, Beardsley! Now don't tell me our pet goo--uh--snapped +at you again?" + +It was the routine remark, but today Arnold was immediately contrite for +a change. "Sorry," he said, and a certain weariness replaced the grin. +He gestured to the alco-mech. "Can I dial you a drink? Feel in need of +one myself!" + +"Eleven-C," said Beardsley, and slumped into the pneumo-chair. Arnold +rose and dialled 11-C, handed him the drink and dialled 9-R for himself. +Sipping it, he moved around the desk. + +There was something very strange and preoccupied in his movements, +Beardsley thought, more than a mere tiredness. He had never seen Arnold +this way. + +"Yes sir, this is the day!" A muscle twitched in his corded neck; Arnold +eased his long frame into a chair, rubbed thumb and forefinger at his +eyes. "Been up half the night running off clearance tests. Can't afford +to foul up on this one!" + +Beardsley tossed off his drink and blinked at the fiery strength of it. +Now why should Arnold say that? When had ECAIAC ever fouled up? He +watched the man across the desk. Jeff Arnold was a vigorous, striking +specimen, handsome in an athletic way, with long stubborn jaw and +unhappy gray eyes beneath his unruly hair; the sort of face that +intrigues women, Beardsley catalogued from past experience. And, he +added, altogether too young a man to be operating a monster like ECAIAC. + + * * * * * + +Arnold indicated the empty glass. "Another?" + +"No, I think not," Beardsley replied carefully. + +Arnold hesitated, eyeing the briefcase in Beardsley's clutch. "It's been +rough on you, too, I imagine. Hope there aren't more than thirty +variants! We're set up for more, of course, but it'll necessitate--" + +"Twenty-two," Beardsley assured him. Carefully, he spread the coded and +sealed _persona-tapes_ across the desk. "Fresh from Citizen-File +Augment, everything annotated and cross-checked. Blood-count, emotional +stasis, plethora, psycho-geneological index, neuro-thalamic +imbalance--every type factor is here. We really went to the Files on +this case." + +"Looks as if you did! How does it narrow down?" + +"Fifteen possibles, four Logicals and three Primes--" Beardsley stopped +abruptly. (That news-caster: how had he known there were three Primes? +This stuff was not supposed to leak!) "Twenty-two who _knew_ Carmack," +he went on. "That includes associational as well as motive-opportunity +factors, with a probability sphere of .004...." + +Arnold nodded thoughtfully; his fingers moved unconscious and caressing +across the edge of the desk. "Yes, I see. That's close! Good job," he +said uncertainly. + +"Should be! Seven weeks for annotation and code." Beardsley was watching +Arnold's fingers; there was something aimless and fretful as they pushed +among the code-sealed tapes. Beardsley made his voice casual. "If it +interests you," he said, "yes--you are there." + + * * * * * + +He wanted a reaction and he got it. + +"Me!" Arnold stiffened, pulled his fingers away hastily. + +"That surprises you? Don't worry, you're not one of the Primes; probably +be rejected on the first run. It's just that you once knew Carmack +rather well. Cal Tech, wasn't it, when Carmack was doing his special +work on magnetronics? Naturally you've had contact since, due to the +nature of your job." + +Arnold nodded, frowning. "That's right. It just hadn't occurred to me +that--" + +Beardsley realized that he wasn't lying. _It was not the thought of his +own tape that bothered Arnold._ + +"Oh, we're thorough over at 'Coördinates Division!'" Beardsley laughed, +making a minor joke of it. "Now here," he touched a spool labelled in +red, "is your Basic Invariant. Carmack--Amos T. Murdered man. Found +bludgeoned in library of his home, night of April 4. Age 56, held all +outstanding patents on ECAIAC, worth millions, and"--he looked up, +beaming--"leaves beautiful wife." + +He paused for the merest moment. Save for a soft drumming of fingers on +the desk, Arnold was silent. + +"And here's a sub-Basic: Mrs. Carmack will be a rich woman now. She was +considerably younger than Carmack--and she's been having an affair with +another man." Beardsley smiled at Jeff Arnold. "That's a sociological +note beyond our sphere, but we managed to get the data. I'll bet the +department was appalled that such a gorgeous woman could be resolved +into neo-Euclidian equations!" + +"Why?" Arnold was suddenly irritable. "It's been done a thousand times +before!" + +"Of course," shrugged Beardsley. "And it's really up to ECAIAC, isn't +it? A Prime can be negated, while on the other hand a variant can shift +from possible to Logical to Prime. Or am I wrong? I've never been up on +the mechanics." + +Arnold grunted. "There's bound to be some correlatory shift! The +Primes--how many did you say?" + +"Three as of now." + +Arnold rose abruptly, then strode to the alco-mech and dialled himself +another drink. He took an uncommonly long time about it. "Look," he +said, "we both know about these things! In a case like this there are +bound to be political repercussions--" He hit Beardsley with a gauging +glance. "Well," he blurted, "I have to admit I'm damn curious! Mind +telling me who are the three Primes? Ah--strictly off the record, you +understand." + +Beardsley had expected something like this, and he was quite ready to +answer; but he carefully removed his glasses, massaged the bridge of his +nose and frowned. "Well, now...." + +"Come on, give! I know it's against protocol and all that ... but hell! +We'll have the answer anyway in a matter of hours." + +Beardsley nodded with a show of thoughtfulness. "Yes, that's true, isn't +it? Very well. But strictly off the record! I warn you--not only will +the first Prime startle you, but the information could be dangerous!" + +He waited a moment, then he leaned forward and whispered: "Mandleco!" + + * * * * * + +For a moment Arnold didn't move. His face was ludicrous. Then Beardsley +saw his hands clench. + +"Mandleco!" the word jolted from his lips. "George Mandleco, Minister of +Justice? I don't believe you!" + +"It's a fact," Beardsley told him. "Right now he equates into an +uncertain Prime." + +"Yes, yes ... but Mandleco! Good Lord...." + +"I said _uncertain_ Prime. As you mentioned yourself, there is sure to +be a shift of variants. Surely you have faith in ECAIAC?" + +"Of course! But Mandleco, why Mandleco?" + +"Why not? He was a friend of Carmack's--or a business associate shall we +say? He worked with Carmack on the ECAIAC lobby, was largely responsible +for pushing it through." + +"Yes, I--say, that's right! It would be in C-F...." + +"There are things," murmured Beardsley, "in Central File that would +astound you." + +Arnold was staring at the coded tapes. "Mandleco," he breathed. "And +with elections coming up!" He shook himself out of the daze. "The--the +other two Primes?" + +"Next is not so startling. A really strong Recessive Factor there ... +Professor Karl Losch." + +Arnold jerked erect suddenly. "Losch? Say, I remember him! Now _there's_ +a man pursued by bad luck. He was working along similar lines to +Carmack--in fact, wasn't he in Carmack's employ for a while?--but +Carmack was first with the patents. You don't suppose that Losch--" + +"I'm not supposed to suppose," Beardsley said softly. "But clinically, +it is interesting to note that motive factor alone equates Losch from +Logical into Prime. _Plus_ a high neuro-thalamic imbalance--132 over 80 +on the last Index, with pronounced efforts at suppression." + +He watched Arnold absorb that, and went on: "Now for the third Prime. I +think it'll interest you...." + + * * * * * + +He waited deliberately. He looked at Jeff Arnold for a long moment and +saw that the man was calm. Too calm. So absolutely motionless that it +wasn't real. + +"Third Prime. A strong one, believe me. In a way most interesting of +all." He pressed the words out slowly and flatly. "The third Prime," +said Beardsley, "is ... Pederson." + +He watched Arnold relax ever so slowly, leaning back, the tension going +away as he uncoiled in the chair; but the young man's face wasn't so +much relieved as it was puzzled. + +"Pederson. Pederson? I don't seem to--You can't mean _Brook_ Pederson, +the one-time tele-columnist?" + +"None other. I don't suppose you remember, but back in '60 he opposed +the ECAIAC lobby. I mean _opposed_ it, _fought_ it! Predicted that +Government installation of such a machine would not inspire confidence, +that the nation's crime rate would rise ... he saw nothing but chaos. +For a while there he was quite a man. Got himself a following. Had +ambitions." + +"But I do remember it!" Arnold thumped the desk. "Of course! Pederson +headed a bloc against 'Carmack's Folly,' but he backed the wrong horse, +and when the bubble burst he was out in the cold. Became a laughing +stock." Arnold paused, and his glance held something of shrewdness and a +livening challenge. "Actually, Pederson couldn't have been more wrong. +In those first two years ECAIAC reduced the crime-rate by some forty +percent." + +"So it's claimed!" This was a sore point and Beardsley rose to the bait. +"It couldn't be that crime was on the down-grade already? I could show +you plenty of statistics that--why, I could show you methods--" + +"I'll just bet you could." Arnold gave a thin tolerant smile. "I refuse +to enter _that argument_ again, not with you, Beardsley. I for one trust +in machines not in evolution. I've told you before...." + + * * * * * + +And Beardsley found himself sitting there with a flush of heat at his +hair-roots, half-angry and half foolish as he realized how he had been +baited. + +Jeff Arnold was abruptly all business. He plunged his finger at a +button, spoke into the intercom. "Joe! How's that test-run coming?" + +"All-X so far! Give us ten minutes for clearance." + +"Take twenty, but make sure it's _clearance_. Checked Quantitative, have +you? How about feed-backs? ... yes ... what's that? Semantic circuits! +Hell yes, check _all_ synaptics for clearance! I want no excess data +fouling up this run!" + +He clicked off and sat there moodily, and Beardsley watched him, noting +the quick nervous rhythm of Arnold's fingers. Arnold noticed it, too, +and desisted. + +"Look," he said. "Mandleco, Losch, Pederson. Those three Primes just +don't make sense to me!" + +"They don't?" Beardsley allowed just the proper note of resentment. +"Surely you are not questioning Coördinates...." + +"You know I'm not! But--" + +Beardsley waited, knowing it was coming now. The thing Arnold had been +aching to voice for the past five minutes. + +"But--well, damn it, there is _Mrs._ Carmack, for example. As you +pointed out yourself, she'll be a rich woman now! It would seem to me--" + +"That she'd be a Prime? I'm surprised at you, Jeff; that's ancient +thinking." If there was a trace of sarcasm, it was lost on Arnold. "Oh, +I grant you it used to hold true--principle beneficiary was always prime +suspect. Fiction especially was full of it. Queen, Dickson Carr, Boucher +you--know the ilk. But with ECAIAC we've gotten away from all that, +haven't we?" + +Arnold stared at him suspiciously, hesitated, then brought it out with +an effort. "Well--how _did_ she equate?" + +"Who? Oh yes, the beautiful widow. She only made Logical, and even that +is borderline." + +"I see." Arnold rose, dialled himself another drink, then changed his +mind and put it down untouched. He turned to gather up the tapes, and +his voice was apologetic. + +"It's not that I'd ever questioned Coördinates Division! We're too +closely aligned for that, Raoul...." (_First time he's ever used my +first name_, thought Beardsley.) "You have a splendid record to uphold, +as we do here at Mechanical. That's why ... well, I want to get this off +as smoothly as possible!" + +Something indefinable, a queasy feeling, took Beardsley about the +middle. He said sharply: "Any reason why not?" + +"No, not really. But in recent weeks--I tell you this in strictest +confidence, understand!--in recent weeks it's been a rather ticklish +thing to get total synaptic clearance." + + * * * * * + +Synaptics? Beardsley began thinking back to the Crime-Central "Required +Annual Basic." The Mechanical had never been his strong point. He said +uncertainly, "But--that's serious!" + +"It's just that we've found ECAIAC holding back excess data from +previous runs. Fouls up the relays, takes hours to iron out the +clearance." Arnold gave him a keen look. "More of a nuisance really, +but the weirdest thing. Stubborn!" + +_Stubborn._ Beardsley could have thought of a better word. Through the +panelled glass he glimpsed the black metal sheathe of the monster out +there, the shapeless crouching and malevolent winking lights, and he +felt himself going to pieces inside with a sudden shaking crumble; he +hated himself for it but he couldn't stop it; his hands clenched until +the knuckles showed white. + +"... matter of time until we find the cause," Arnold was saying, "but I +guarantee total clearance _today_. Shall we get on with it?" Hands +loaded with tapes, he moved for the door. + +"No!" Beardsley cried. "Arnold, if you don't mind, I--" + +"Oh, for God's sake, not again! Raoul, I swear I'm going to do something +about this phobia of yours; it's getting to be not so funny any more." +With a show of exasperation, Arnold propelled him through the door. "I +give you my absolute word our pet won't snap at you. Not today. It's +going to be far too busy for the likes of you!" + + * * * * * + +And Jeff Arnold was right, Beardsley discovered. Those baleful overtones +were gone, replaced by a sustained soft whisper along the ninety-foot +hull--a rather impatient whisper but not at all unpleasant. Beardsley +relaxed by slow degrees, but kept a cautious distance, while Arnold +pointed out every light along the length flashing green for Total +Clearance. + +"She's rarin' to go," said Arnold with a display of good humor, "but +we'll let her wait a while, eh?" He clapped a friendly arm across +Beardsley's shoulder. "You just come along now and watch; I think your +trouble is, you've never been properly introduced! We'll have no more of +this feudin' and fussin' between you and ECAIAC." + +So Beardsley, showing more courage than he felt, trailed the +cyberneticist through every unit of final check-up. Much of it he knew +already from the "Required Annual Basic" ... or thought he knew. For +this was so different from the Manuals! He felt at once ashamed and awed +as he viewed at first hand the unfolding schematic structure. He was +thrilled at sight of the selectors and analyzers of processed beryllium, +the logic-and-semantic circuits in complex little bundles, the +sensitized variant-tapes waiting for transferral impress, all revealed +by a flick of Arnold's fingers that threw open entire sheathed sections +to bare the inner secrets. The thousands of tiny transistors amazed +Beardsley. The endless array of electric eyes startled him. And the +spongy centers of synaptic cell-clusters horrified him, recalling too +vividly to mind what he knew of the physical human brain. + +Along the monstrous length he trailed Jeff Arnold; he trailed and he +watched and he listened, not interfering once by word or gesture. And +before it was over his heart was surging with a great revelatory beat +because suddenly _he knew_ ... _he knew_.... + +Arnold seemed in high good humor as they paced back. "So," he nudged +Beardsley in the ribs, "we'll have no more of this nonsense between you +and ECAIAC. Eh? You're just _bound_ to be good friends now." + +Beardsley didn't answer. The revelation was still too much with him. He +watched as Arnold conferred with a group of his techs about a +micro-chron, and the time was carefully noted for Central Record. + +Then the first of the tapes went in. The Basic Invariant--Amos Carmack. + +It reached synapse and a tiny blip registered on cue. + +The rest of the tapes fed in, razoring through the rollers, past the +selenic-sensitized tips of the relays. There was no progressive order. +After the Basic Invariant progression didn't matter. Possible or Logical +or Prime, all factors would correlate or cancel; any divergent +status-shift would be duly handled by transferral impress. + +Beardsley counted the tapes. Twenty ... twenty-one ... twenty-two. + +The techs dispersed, taking up their various posts where special +eject-tapes clicked out a second-by-second record of the progression. + + * * * * * + +Nothing much happened. The sound of ECAIAC became a steady inundant +drone; or did Beardsley just imagine that he detected something of the +_gleeful_ in it? With an effort he put the thought from him, and keeping +a cautious distance he took a turn around the monster, up one side and +down the other. + +He stopped by Jeff Arnold, who was jotting down figures from the chrono. +That seemed silly, as nothing had happened yet. + +Arnold glanced up and grinned at him, as if totally unconcerned that +this was the most repercussive case in the entire history of +Crime-Central! A little disconcerted, Beardsley said, "What happens +first?" + +"Oh, plenty is _happening_. But the first you'll notice will be a total +reject. Watch when that happens. Complete silence, every light red for +exactly two and a half seconds--the reject, and then everything +continues." + +"How about Transferral Impress? You know--possible to Logical, or +Logical to Prime?" + +Arnold paused over his notes for the merest instant. "Why--it's +progressive, of course. _That_ you won't notice!" + +Beardsley stared at him curiously, started to speak and then changed his +mind. He wandered again, watching the techs but not interfering. And +suddenly he was aware that the first total reject had come. It happened +with smooth and sudden silence just as Arnold had described, ECAIAC +breaking pace for mere seconds ... then all was clear again, and one of +the techs hurried down the aisle with the tape, which he handed to +Arnold. + + * * * * * + +Beardsley was aware of a wild pounding of pulse as he stared at the +anonymous tape. One of the fifteen "possibles"? It might even be a +rejected Logical. Mrs. Carmack? She was borderline. Or a Prime! It could +be Mandleco himself--or Losch or Pederson. No ... it was unlikely any +Primes would fall this early.... + +But maybe they were no longer Primes! Maybe _right now_ Transferral +Impress was at work, maybe one or more of them was being relegated to +lower coördinate-status somewhere there in the entrails.... + +He felt a bounding excitement. And, as if reading his thoughts, Jeff +Arnold gave him an amused look. + +"Don't let it get to you, Raoul. I used to find it the same; we all do. +But then you get to thinking, hell, why try to guess? Identities don't +matter now!" He indicated the coded tape. "A total reject--anonymous. +ECAIAC's way of telling us _that_ person could not possibly be the +murderer." + +"But--you're not even curious?" + +"At rejects? Why?" Arnold seemed perplexed. "Oh, you mean because _I'm_ +among the 'possibles.' Frankly it doesn't bother me. I know I'm not the +murderer, and I have faith in ECAIAC. If this isn't my tape, the next +will be--or the eighth, or the fifteenth." + +Beardsley nodded slowly. With ECAIAC it was only the final equate that +mattered, the total result of Cumulative. He saw the truth in that, and +the perfection. Or--his eyes beneath the glasses came to a quick bright +focus--_was_ it quite perfection? He watched in silence as Arnold +consulted the micro-chron and jotted more notes. _Rej. Q-9 (code): (.008 +synap. circ.): 11:23 A.M._ + +Beardsley wandered again, watching the techs. A sudden shivering seized +him. How could they remain so calm? Were they so close to the forest +they couldn't notice? Something was about to happen ... to him it was +unmistakable, in the very atmosphere, sharpened and heightened by the +four walls--a pervading sense of _wrongness_ and a pyramiding tension. + +Even Arnold wasn't aware; _audibly_ nothing had changed, as ECAIAC +continued its soft-clicking whisper and the techs methodically checked +the progress tapes. Beardsley stood numbly for a moment, struggling +against a welter of panic. Palms sweating, he moved a safe distance away +and waited. + +Eight minutes later came another reject. Six minutes later, the third. +ECAIAC continued its blithe, soft-throated rhythm--but Beardsley was not +fooled. + +Someone sent out for coffee. It arrived in steaming thermo-containers. +Beardsley was on his first cup of coffee when rejects 4, 5 and 6 came +through. + +He was on his second cup when number 7 ejected, and he had just taken a +last swallow when all hell broke loose. + + * * * * * + +It wasn't much different from the other rejects. Total silence, every +light in every section red ... trouble was, they couldn't seem to get +together again. Some went back to green, others blinked with ominous +uncertainty, still others said "to hell with it" and exploded in vicious +shards of glass that sprayed across the room. That was only the +beginning. Twenty feet from Beardsley came a louder explosion, a sort of +muffled hissing. He ducked, as a complete bank of transistors zoomed +past his head. From a dozen places along the ninety-foot length angry +trails of smoke poured out. A tech yelled "Damn!" as he pulled back a +burned hand. Sheathes crashed open. Long strands of vari-colored wire +burst out and began a crazy aimless writhing, accompanied by an ominous +buzzing sound as if a swarm of angry metallic bees had escaped. Someone +was yelling, "Master-switch! The master-switch!" + +Beardsley saw Arnold leap to the master-switch, where he became +entangled with a tech who was screaming at him, "My God, sir, hurry! +It's BREAKDOWN!" + +Cursing, Arnold shoved the man aside and pulled the controls. + +But now that it was roused, ECAIAC didn't want to give up so easily. +There came a staccato series of minor explosions--defiant gesture, +thought Beardsley!--before silence engulfed the room together with a +drift of acrid smoke. + +It was acrid and _angry_ smoke. From a safe distance Beardsley adjusted +his glasses and observed the frantic, scurrying techs, many of them +nursing burned hands. Aside from a pounding heart he was amazed at his +own calm; nevertheless, he tread with caution as he approached Arnold, +who was on his haunches dolefully surveying the area of major damage. + +"Uh--is it something serious?" + +Arnold glared up at him. "Overload on the feed-backs. If that's _all_ it +is, we can pull out the unit and replace it in a few hours." + +"Never happened before, eh?" + +"Not like this," Arnold groaned. "Lord--it just seemed to go berserk!" + +Beardsley glanced around nervously. "You see? You see? I didn't think +our beautiful friendship could last...." + +Arnold snarled, "Get out, Beardsley! What the hell you doing here +anyway? Go somewhere and read a book!" + +"Yes. Yes, I--" Beardsley swallowed hastily. He then straightened, took +a last look around and pulled himself together. Without a word, he +turned and strode resolutely into Jeff Arnold's office; he closed the +door carefully, then hurried over to the stat and pushed the button for +priority. + +"Hello," he said. "Mandleco's office? ... this is Mechanical Division ... +no, I want _Mandleco_ ... I don't care, get him I said! This is emergency! +Put him on at once!" + + * * * * * + +Mandleco arrived twenty minutes later. The Minister of Justice was tall +and raw-boned with a long hook-nose, a shock of whitening hair, and more +than a suggestion of military arrogance. He paused for precisely one +second in the doorway, then strode straight over to Jeff Arnold. Before +saying a word he bent slightly and peered into the maze of mechanism. + +Beardsley wanted to say, "Do you find the cause of the trouble, sir?" +But he held his tongue. + +Mandleco straightened up, glaring. "Arnold, what is the meaning of +this?" + +"Breakdown, sir." + +"I can see that! The cause, man, the cause!" + +"I--it's only the feed-back, sir." Arnold struggled with the terminals, +most of which were a fused and tangled mess. "Not as bad as it looks, I +assure you. I've already contacted Maintenance; they're sending up a new +unit." + +"What precisely does that mean? Can you complete the run or not! This +has got to go through today!" + +Arnold touched a hot terminal, jerked back his hand and swore. "It will, +sir. Give us a few hours. We had seven total rejects, so I doubt the +tapes are at fault. More like a synaptic overload. Transferrals are +okay, so I want to try it with a stepped-up synaptic check; that'll +alleviate any overload without drain on the minor selective, which is +better than setting up complete new correlation-grams." + +It was too much for Mandleco. Grinding a fist in his palm, he stared +into the matrix and muttered, "Unprecedented. Absolutely unprecedented! +Arnold, I just can't understand _why_--" + +"Happened pretty suddenly," Beardsley intruded. His voice was low and +laden with meaning. "Almost as if it had gone berserk! And little +wonder, if you ask me...." + +Mandleco turned quickly. "Eh? What do you mean?" + +"Well ... how would _you_ feel if you had just been handed the news, out +of the blue, that someone you loved had been brutally murdered? ECAIAC +reacted, is all. She must have regarded Carmack as a father--" + + * * * * * + +Arnold looked up in amazement. "Beardsley, will you stop that crazy +nonsense!" + +"Nonsense?" Beardsley appeared hurt. "Why--you said yourself that you +wanted me and ECAIAC to become great friends!" He appealed to Mandleco. +"That's what he said, sir, and he even took pains to introduce me and +all, and--" + +"It was in the nature of a joke, sir!" Arnold's voice rose an octave. "A +private little joke, and he's trying to make it appear--" + +"Stop it, stop it!" Mandleco thundered. "Arnold--you get that new unit +installed on the double! Put your best men on it. That's an order! +Beardsley, I'm glad you had the presence of mind to contact me. +Commendable, most commendable." + +Arnold scowled, hit Beardsley with an accusing look. + +"Above all," said Mandleco, "not a word of this must leak! _Damn_ it, +why should this have to happen _now_? Public confidence will be +undermined if they think ECAIAC is--is--" + +"Not infallible?" suggested Beardsley. + +"Exactly. You hear me, Arnold? Not a word of this must get out!" + +"I'm sure it won't," Arnold glared venomously at Beardsley, "if you'll +just keep _him_ away from the tele-stats." + + * * * * * + +The Minister of Justice walked away, still muttering something about +public confidence and political repercussions. Beardsley kept pace +beside him until they were across the room. Then he spoke, timidly at +first. + +"Pardon me, sir, but--I'd like to ask you something." His voice was low +and confidential. "If you'll just look around you...." + +"Eh?" Mandleco followed Beardsley's gesture, and for the first time he +seemed to see the room in total. Shards of glass lay everywhere. A great +tangle of wire was strewn half the length of ECAIAC, and a bank of +transistors reposed against the far wall in pitiful ruin. The techs had +already started a strip-down, their tools and units across the floor +adding to the general confusion. + +Mandleco said, "Well? What is it you--" His words stopped as if sliced +in two by his teeth. "Yes. Yes, by God, I see what you mean!" + +"Can you really conceive of operation in two hours? _Two hours_," Arnold +said. "Two days, maybe. More likely in two weeks!" + +Mandleco groaned as if in pain, staring around. + +Beardsley pressed his point. "You'll pardon my saying it, sir, but I +_do_ realize what the Carmack Case means--to you personally. So much +build-up and publicity, and the people demanding a verdict ... why, if +the case were to snag now--" + +"Unthinkable!" A shudder touched Mandleco's long, lean frame. "Out with +it, man! What are you trying to say?" + +Beardsley was suddenly sweating. He felt as if a long tube were inside +of him, hot and throbbing, reaching up with a surge of pulse to his +temples. _It had to be now. He had to say it._ + +"Well," he gulped. "Just this, sir. I think the case can be cracked +right now. Today. _Without_ ECAIAC." + +"Nonsense! Without ECAIAC? Why, that's--" + +"Sure. You think it's crazy. But I tell you _I_ can do it!" Beardsley's +words came fast and urgent. "I've followed this case from the beginning, +I processed it, I'm familiar with every angle. I tell you, _I can +deliver the killer_. Give me permission to try!" + +Mandleco stared at Beardsley as if he were some queer specimen under a +microscope; his mouth opened to speak, then he clamped his teeth tightly +and strode away. + +He turned back abruptly. "So you think you have the solution. You +actually--do--think it!" His eyes narrowed down, no longer amused, as he +fixed the little serologist with a peculiar gaze. "Go on, Beardsley. +Your suggestion at least has the novelty of imagination!" + +"The novelty of experience," Beardsley said bitterly. "_With your +permission and co-operation_ I can solve this case, together with +positive evidence that will hold up in any court! What's more, I'll do +it today. A guarantee," Beardsley said pointedly, "which I dare say you +no longer have from ECAIAC." + + * * * * * + +Mandleco stood quite motionless, trying to recall something. "Now I +remember! You were with New York Homicide, weren't you, before promotion +to Coördinates in '60? I recall passing on your record. Top record, too, +for those days." + +Beardsley gestured impatiently. "How about it, sir? I know every +pertinent fact of this case, plus a few of my own which haven't been +tested in a dozen years. Not indexes and tubes and tapes--just facts! +Fact and method! Let me apply them!" + +"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, Beardsley. There _is_ ECAIAC, +and public confidence must not be allowed--" + +"The public be damned," Beardsley caught himself. "All right--for +appearance sake you can say the solution _came_ from ECAIAC. Let ECAIAC +verify me later if you wish. I'm not after headlines and glory ... by +heaven, sir, I'm offering you an _out_!" + +Mandleco pondered that. He glanced again at the confusion across the +room, and realization seemed to hit him. Quite suddenly, then, he threw +back his head and roared with laughter. + +"An out. And by heaven, Beardsley, I'm offering you a try! The idea +appeals to me! Beardsley versus ECAIAC ... socio-archaism opposed to the +_machina-ratiocinatrix_. Why, it's delicious!" He subsided to a rumble +of mirth and wiped tears from his eyes. "So! Just what do you propose?" + +Beardsley saw nothing amusing. "I propose first, sir, that we reach an +understanding. I'm to conduct the investigation my own way, without +interference?" + +"You have my word! I never violate it." + +"Good. Then start using your word right now. There are three persons I +want placed in temporary custody; they are to be brought over here at +once for questioning." + + * * * * * + +Mandleco looked appalled. "Questioning? _Here?_" + +"Yes, right here. Immediately! The three I want are Mrs. Carmack--I +happen to know she's still in the city. And Brook Pederson--you should +reach him easily at Central News Bureau. The third--" + +"Would that be Professor Losch?" Mandleco smugly asked. "Sorry, but +Losch happens to be in Bermuda right now." + +Beardsley said sharply: "How did you know that?" + +"Why, I--I'm acquainted with Losch, you know. He was planning a +vacation, and he mentioned Bermuda--" + +"No. I don't mean that. _How did you know Losch was my third person?_" + +Mandleco bristled a little, his face reddening as he groped for an +answer. "Never mind," Beardsley waved it aside. "If Losch is in Bermuda +at present we'll reach him by tele-stat right now!" He was suddenly +crisp as he propelled the Minister of Justice toward Jeff Arnold's +office. + +Mandleco stared at this little man, wondering if it were the same person +he had been talking to just minutes before. "Now see here, Beardsley--" +But he was interrupted. + +"I thought we had an understanding! Of course, if you'd prefer to count +on ECAIAC--" + +"Very well," Mandleco nodded grimly, "I gave you my word. But the +instant Arnold repairs the breakdown, your little experiment is over! Do +you understand that?" + +Beardsley nodded. He understood very well. + +"In the meantime, Beardsley, I warn you. I'll have no brow-beating of +these citizens, no--what was it called--third-degreeing tactics! I +understand that sort of thing used to be pretty prevalent." + +Beardsley snorted, as if that were beneath comment, and closed the +office door behind them. Mandleco hit him with a cagey glance. "The +Logicals and the Primes, eh? I suppose you know that I happen to be one +of those Primes." + +Beardsley looked straight at him. "Yes, I'm aware of it. My own approach +will be individualistic, of course, but I promise you won't be +over-looked!" + + * * * * * + +It might have been fatal--but Beardsley had judged his man well. +Mandleco took it as a challenge. He was silent as he approached the +tele-stat, and he no longer seemed amused. + +He put through the directive to have Mrs. Sheila Carmack and Mr. Brook +Pederson brought in. "As my guests, that is," Mandleco told his +operative. "_Be sure they understand that._ They are to be brought to +Crime-Central, Mechanical Division, at once ... yes, I said Mechanical +Division! At once means _now_." + +Beardsley nodded approval. "And now Professor Losch, please?" + +Without a waste of motion, Mandleco put through to Bermuda on priority +beam. While they waited he gave Beardsley a look of puzzlement and new +respect. "Ah--I'm not implying that it's against protocol, of course, +but I assume you've already made some investigation along lines of your +own?" + +"Superficial only," Beardsley said. + +"I see. Well then, would you mind giving me some ... you know, just an +idea of how you plan to proceed?" + +Beardsley said bluntly: "Yes, I would mind." + +"Oh." Mandleco frowned and persisted. "Psychologic deduction. Wasn't +that your _forte_? I seem to recall--" + +Beardsley grunted. "I'll tell you this much, there are implications +about this case that fascinate me!" + +"Oh?" Mandleco found himself a chair, sat upon it and edged forward. "I +don't just quite--" + +"Look. To begin with, the case is unique; so much so that your entire +structure of approach is wrong. I mean top-heavy! Top-heavy with +gadgetry and assumption." + +"Assumption?" Mandleco bristled a little. "You of all people should know +better. Not _once_ in the past dozen years has ECAIAC failed to arrive +at a conclusive and pin-point solution based on correlative factors!" + +Beardsley smiled thinly. "Ah, yes. But we were speaking of the _Carmack_ +case. I repeat, it's not only unique but untenable; it became untenable +the moment you assigned ECAIAC the task of solving the murder of its own +creator! That," he said grimly, "is a mistake we wouldn't have made even +in '60...." + + * * * * * + +Mandleco thought that over, shook his head and frowned. It was obvious +he missed the connotation. "So?" he urged. + +"So look at the murder itself. The _pattern_. You'll admit it does seem +odd and misplaced for these times--or hadn't you noticed?" Beardsley +leaned forward sharply. "But it strikes a familiar note with me! +Absolutely nothing in the way of material clues; not even the weapon; +and the _modus operandi_ is one I haven't seen employed in years, the +old idea of the most direct and simple murder being the safest!" + +"I--I guess I just don't follow you." + +"I mean the _way_ Carmack was struck down. Nothing cute and fancy, no +frills or improvisation--just the proverbial blunt instrument, after +which the killer simply walked out of there. Believe me, I know about +these things. The very simplicity is the killer's protection. You can +bet no trace will ever be found of that blunt instrument, and naturally +he left no evidence coming or going. But then," Beardsley said +obliquely, "your so-called 'Survey' men made a horrible botch of the +scene. In '60 we'd have sent them back to patrolling the freeways!" + +Mandleco started to protest, then closed his mouth quickly. "I see, I +see." + +"I can understand," Beardsley murmured, "how emphasis on basic +groundwork has become minimized. So much reliance on Indexes and +thalamic-imbalance and chart-sifts! It was only a matter of time until a +criminal, a really _clever_ one, saw through the system--and reverted." +His fingers drummed the chair arm, then he looked up sharply. "And yet +of all places, I'd say that Carmack's estate was _least_ ideally +situated for this type of murder; you know what I mean? You've been +there?" + +"Well, I--there have been occasions. Yes." + +Beardsley nodded. "I refer to Carmack's elaborate system against +invasion of his privacy. To put it bluntly, he had enemies, and his +estate was designed as a refuge against those enemies; electronic +barriers pitched at ultra-frequency to respond only to certain neural +vibrations. Must have taken years of research to come up with that!" + +Mandleco shifted impatiently. "Of course, but look here, Beardsley--" + +"So it leaves me right where I started, doesn't it? And yet I know this: +it was no _emotional_ killing. It was all coldly planned. The killer was +someone Carmack trusted enough to have in his home; they were probably +having a quiet little chat together. And then precisely--on a +predetermined minute--the killer rose from his chair and struck." + +Mandleco lifted his heavy hands and then, as if conscious of them, let +them fall limply across the desk. "But--come now, Beardsley! Psychologic +deduction is all very well, but how can you possibly know that?" + +Beardsley gazed calmly at the Minister of Justice. For a moment he said +nothing. Mandleco seemed more alert than startled, more annoyed than +either. + +"That," said Beardsley softly, "I am not prepared to tell you." + +Mandleco seemed about to pursue the point, but there came an +interruption. Both men turned abruptly as the stat-screen gave its +warning blip. + +"Code C-C-Five!" came the remote voice. "Bermuda to Washington, +Priority. This is Priority. C-C-Five ... your party is ready now, sir!" + + * * * * * + +It was a pool-side scene, with hotel and tropical palms against an +unbelievable blue sky. Professor Emil Losch loomed on the screen; he was +in swimming trunks, a small gray man who seemed hard as nails, his lean +tanned body belying his years. + +"Hello?" Losch peered sharply and then pulled away, almost upsetting an +expensive decanter of liquor on the table beside him. He seemed to +blanch as he recognized the Minister of Justice. "Mandleco!" + +The latter raised a hand in greeting. "Don't be alarmed, Professor, this +is not official. Just a social call." + +"I want to correct that," Beardsley said bluntly as he thrust himself +into range. "Professor Losch, this _is_ official; furthermore, I wish to +advise you that this stat is monitor-taped for both vis and audio, and +the resulting record is therefore admissible in any Court of Law. Being +so advised, is there any objection on your part to answering a brief +series of questions pertaining to the Carmack Case? I have been duly +authorized by George Mandleco, Minister of Justice," he added for the +record. + +Losch glanced bewilderedly from Beardsley to Mandleco, and seemed to +take courage from the latter. + +"Objection?" he said. "This is a bit unusual, but ... of course, I have +no objection." + +"Very well. I shall make a series of statements, and give you +opportunity to refute them either in part or _in toto_. Professor Losch, +some years ago you were engaged privately, in magnetronic cybernetic +research along similar lines to those later developed by Amos Carmack. +Shortly thereafter you claimed that Carmack had thwarted you, +out-maneuvered you, _out-stolen_ you at every turn; I believe those are +pretty much your own words, as revealed by court records--" + +"Correct! I repeat them now!" + +"You filed against him, and litigation dragged through the courts for +several years before Carmack finally won out. Shortly thereafter you +disappeared; I believe you took up residence in Europe. About a year ago +you returned, and was hired as Research Consultant in the laboratories +of the Carmack Foundation. This is true?" + + * * * * * + +For a moment Losch avoided looking at the screen. It was obvious he was +considering his answer carefully. + +"It's true," he said. + +Beardsley said quickly, "It is my understanding that Mr. Mandleco +interceded with Carmack on your behalf--" + +"I protest the last statement!" Losch's words exploded from the screen. +"There was no intercession by anyone!" His head lifted defiantly. "Yes, +I came back. I don't mind admitting I came crawling back. Carmack +offered me the position and I accepted!" + +"Quite so. And he offered you a hundred thousand a year, didn't he? +Twice the salary of any other top man?" + +"You think that's out of line," Losch bristled, "but he must have +thought I was worth it--I think you know why! He owed me ten times as +much!" + +"You must have really hated Carmack," murmured Beardsley. + +Mandleco thrust forward angrily, gesturing. "Losch, let me caution you +not to answer that!" + +"But I will answer it! Yes, I hated him, but if you think I killed the +man you're wrong. Sure--I wanted to kill him--I thought about it often +enough, but I hadn't the courage." Losch glared at Beardsley from the +screen. "No doubt my Augment Index will bear it out," he said bitterly. +"Neuro-thalamic imbalance isn't it called? Pronounced efforts at +emotional suppression?" + +"Close enough," Beardsley nodded, refusing to be enticed from his query. +"And you were in Washington prior to and including the day of the +murder. You admit this?" + +"Of course, of course I admit it!" Losch sighed wearily and lifted his +hands. "Why deny the obvious? I'm resigned to the fact that my Index +probably makes me a prize Prime!" + +"Professor Losch. As a person closely associated with the Carmack +Laboratories, you must be aware of the--shall we say--elaborate +precautions Carmack took to ensure his privacy?" + +Losch sank back slowly, but his eyes couldn't conceal a livening +interest. "I don't know what you mean." + +"Then I'll tell you. I refer to the frequency barrier which Carmack +installed within the past year. The 'neuro-vibe' I think he called it. +That strikes a note?" + +Losch said sullenly, "Perhaps! What about it?" + +"Only this. Assuming the killer was a person Carmack had reason to +mistrust--or to fear--he had to solve the neuro-vibe in order to gain +access. Not many persons could have done that, Losch. But _you_ could +have done it." + +Losch came up out of his chair with a heavy, angry look. "Now see here, +you--" + +"Which pretty well establishes motive, means and method. You were in +Washington the day of the murder! And you left for Bermuda the day +following! Is that substantially correct?" + +"_Totally_ correct!" said Losch savagely. "Now may I ask what the hell +you're going to do about it?" + + * * * * * + +Beardsley observed him for a prolonged second. "Remember it," he +answered softly. + +Losch opened his mouth to say more, but Beardsley lifted a palm at the +screen and smiled benignly. "Well, sir, I think that about covers it. I +want to thank you very much for the record, and--ah--have a nice +vacation! Goodbye." + +With that he clicked off abruptly. + + * * * * * + +He turned to face Mandleco, who was struggling between anger and +distress as he paced away from the screen and back. He confronted +Beardsley with a sad and accusing look. "Now see here, Beardsley! If I'd +known your methods were ... don't you think that was all a bit +high-handed?" + +"What? No, not in the least. Didn't you notice?" + +"Notice what?" + +"Losch was an angry man, yes, indeed." + +"Angry," snapped Mandleco. "Good reason!" + +"No," Beardsley mused. "The _wrong_ reason. Murder--at least the type +we're concerned with--is a form of release, you know. A killer may +commit his deed in anger, but once the thing is accomplished he never +retains that anger long." Beardsley gazed contemplatively at the screen. +"You know, I admire that man. I really do. He had the convictions at +least, if not the courage." + +Mandleco pounced on that. "Then you think Losch is innocent?" + +"I didn't say that!" Beardsley paused in a strange hesitation; his eyes +had gone remote beneath the very thick glasses, and his words came slow +and isolated. "But he's part of the record. Yes, it should be quite a +record. In fact, I have a feeling--you know?--that this case is going to +stand as a _monument_ in the annals of crime...." + +Mandleco stared at him, searched for the meaning there and then gave it +up. _Why had he ever committed himself to this situation anyway? Did +this little man really know as much as he pretended, or was he merely +fumbling around in the dregs of a forgotten past?_ To be sure, Beardsley +was a pathetic enough figure; but the man had once been great in his +field, and there was something about him even now.... + +There was the sudden way Beardsley had of losing his abstracted look, +the eyes beneath those ridiculous lenses coming to a sharp bright focus +with tiny livening flecks in the gray of the iris; and the way the +change lifted his features from mediocrity to the alertness of a +terrier. It was absurd, it was farcical ... and it was all very +disturbing. + +"You told _me_," Mandleco said testily, "that the killer was someone +Carmack trusted enough to have in his home. Then you bludgeon Losch with +the idea it was a person Carmack had reason to fear! It would seem to +me, Beardsley--" + +"No, no. I think my words to Losch were _assuming_ the killer was such a +person." Beardsley looked up brightly, and even through those lenses +Mandleco could see the sharp focus. + +"Just the same, I fail to see what's to be gained by these outlandish +methods!" + +Beardsley seemed genuinely surprised. "But I've gained a great deal +already! And don't forget, Mrs. Carmack and Pederson should be here +soon." + +"_That's_ a prospect I look forward to," Mandleco tried to salvage a +modicum of humor and failed miserably. He extracted a cigar, clamped his +teeth upon it, frowned and glanced at his watch. He strode over and +peered out at the operations room. + +Beardsley said innocuously, "I wouldn't count on ECAIAC just yet." + +It was Beardsley's first error. He realized it instantly. The remark +seemed to trigger something in Mandleco. + +The Minister of Justice turned slowly, rolling the cigar from one corner +of his mouth to the other. "But I may," he said. "You know, I just may! +It's barely possible, Beardsley, that with some luck we'll be able to +dispense with your talents!" He said it with considerable more relish +than conviction, and moved for the door. "I think I'll just see how +Arnold is making out!" + + * * * * * + +Arnold was making out very well, much to Mandleco's delight. No longer +was there chaos and confusion. The new feed-back unit had arrived, and +installation was well under way. Blueprints were spread out as a crew of +techs worked feverishly at all damage areas. + +"It looks promising," Arnold hurried up to greet him. "Told you I had a +good crew here! Look--see this?" He indicated one of the variant-tapes +being slowly reversed across the relays. + +"What is it?" + +"The number eight reject." + +"That what caused the trouble?" + +"Well ... we think so, but it's problematical. Whether it did or not, +we're safe in resuming the run without any shift in the correlation +total." + +Mandleco stared at the number eight. "Throw it out!" he snapped. + +"What--what did you say, sir?" + +"I said throw it out! Get this thing to functioning!" + +Arnold was aghast. "But," he gulped, "we just can't throw out data! +Sure, it was about to be a reject--but everything, even rejects, contain +a factor-balance! You know that, sir." + +Mandleco got control of himself with an effort. "Yes--yes, of course. I +know you're right. But damn it, man, those units cost something like +eighty thousand dollars! Suppose the same breakdown occurs?" + +"Not a chance of it this time. We'll merely continue with a stepped-up +synaptic check. Take longer for Cumulative, perhaps, but absolutely +fool-proof once we--" + + * * * * * + +For a long instant Mandleco stood musing. Then he nodded brusquely. "All +right. How long to get going?" + +"Why, we'll be ready in forty minutes at the most. I told you I had a +good crew, sir! Excuse me--" One of Arnold's techs was motioning to him. +"Excuse me," Arnold said again, and hurried away to consult with the +man. + +"Forty minutes!" Mandleco couldn't believe it. He chortled happily, and +swung about to greet Beardsley who approached at that moment. "Hear +that, Beardsley? Forty minutes! Excellent man, Arnold. I'm sorry I ever +doubted--" + +Beardsley wasn't listening. He stared about at the miracle of +reconstruction, and there was more of amazement on his face than +distress. Adjusting his glasses, he gazed thoughtfully at Jeff Arnold's +retreating figure. + +Mandleco was saying, "Just as well your little experiment didn't go any +further! Dangerous precedent ... don't know what possessed me ... you +realize that in the last analysis I'll have to put my faith in ECAIAC! +No bad feelings?" + +"No, sir," Beardsley pronounced somberly. "No bad feelings, because I'm +holding you to your word. ECAIAC hasn't solved your case and it never +will." + +Mandleco stood still, open-mouthed. "What's that? Nonsense! Arnold just +assured me--" + +"He assured you of nothing! I'm more convinced than ever now. I'm the +only one who can solve this case, and I'm holding you to your word." + +Mandleco seemed undecided whether to laugh or censure. His heavy fingers +opened and closed aimlessly, as he stared across the room at Arnold and +back at Beardsley. Finally his teeth snapped together. "Beardsley," he +choked--"I warn you, if this is some sort of trickery--" + +Beardsley shook his head solemnly. "You'd do well to believe me, sir. I +was never more serious." + +"So you're determined to go on with it! Very well, Beardsley. You have +something like forty minutes, and believe me you'd better prove +yourself! May I remind you"--fraught with meaning, his voice bordered on +anticipation--"may I remind you, Beardsley, that already you've given +sufficient cause for a complete review of your qualifications as +Coördinator?" + +Beardsley looked at him and smiled. "Yes, sir. And may I remind _you_, +sir," he nodded toward the far door, "that your guests have arrived?" + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Carmack, Beardsley thought as he watched her, was that rare type of +woman who could defy all the current conventions of style and carry it +off successfully; her type of beauty was unostentatious and yet vibrant. +She was dressed impeccably in black and silver, her hair was authentic +honey-blonde in a coronet braid, and her face possessed that pure line +of profile together with the quality of translucence one sees in rare +porcelain.... Sheila Carmack was thirty-five, and she paid her +beauticians that many thousands annually to keep her looking fifteen +years younger. Just now she seemed in buoyant good spirits as she +greeted Mandleco. + +Not so the young man who accompanied her. The escort was a person +Beardsley had never seen before, quite handsome and quite aware of it, +with an impudent world-wisdom centered about his sharp eyes. He turned +immediately to Mandleco with a bluster as phony as it was towering: + +"This is an outrage, sir! A damned outrage! On Sheila's behalf I deplore +these tactics, and I question your right! Our entire afternoon perfectly +ruined...." + +"Correction, darling," purred Mrs. Carmack. "You mean our perfect +afternoon entirely ruined." She turned smiling to the Minister of +Justice. "You really mustn't mind Victor." + +"Hello, Sheila," Mandleco greeted her wanly. "I must apologize for the +inconvenience, but I assure you--" + +"Oh, but this is thrilling! I mean really!" Mrs. Carmack was gazing +about ECAIAC's room with considerable more delight than suspicion, and +Beardsley watching her was thinking: _Thrilling! Can she really mean it? +She must surely be aware of ECAIAC's task for today--today of all +days...._ + + * * * * * + +He glanced uneasily down the room, and saw that Jeff Arnold was much too +occupied to have noticed the newcomers. He gestured to Mandleco, who +finally took the hint and escorted the visitors into the privacy of the +office. + +There Mandleco offered drinks, but the young man named Victor refused +his, preferring to maintain his air of injured dignity. Mandleco sighed +and gave an accusing look at Beardsley. "I know this is unusual," he +apologized to Sheila, "but I--uh--I _am_ rather hopeful that you may +find it entertaining!" He gave a slight sardonic emphasis to the last +word. "If you'll just bear with me until our other guest arrives." + +Victor had been awaiting his chance. "Another? _Really!_ We're guests, +Sheila, do you hear that?" He looked at Mandleco with immense disdain, +gave a pert tilt of his head and surveyed the room with a grimace of +distaste. "And just how long are we to be detained in this--this--" + +Beardsley's fist itched to splatter those handsome features around a +little. Instead he strode forward, said bluntly: "That'll do it, sonny! +Who the hell are you anyway?" + +The handsome face sneered at him. "I am Victor d'Arlan! I am a good +friend of Sheila's--of the family," he corrected. "We were on our way to +the Concert when those--those _impertinent_ men detained us. To think we +must forego Perro's Fifth Color-Concerto for Sub-Chromatics in favor of +_this_!" + +Sheila's eyes danced with tolerant amusement. "Victor, please. This +promises to be much more exciting; I'm sure Mr. Mandleco knows what he +is about, and...." Wide and curious, her gaze went to Beardsley and +lingered there. + +Belatedly, Mandleco made introductions. "Perhaps I should explain," he +gave an improvident laugh, "that Mr. Beardsley's role at the moment +is--ah--a little beyond the ordinary! That is, I--" He paused +miserably, and then was saved for the moment as all eyes turned toward +the door. + +Brook Pederson had arrived and the attention of everyone was drawn to +him. + + * * * * * + +The effect was startling. The tele-columnist was a tall, dour and +bushy-browed man who took a perverse sort of pride in the impression he +gave of shabbiness. He slouched wordlessly into the room, hands thrust +deep in the pockets of a makeshift jacket. But there was nothing shabby +about the man's perceptive and analytic mind, Beardsley remembered; +true, Pederson had fallen from the heights since the ECAIAC debacle, but +his retirement from the limelight was more studied than sullen and could +only have been his own choosing. Lately he had emerged again, and with +all of his old news-sense and political acumen he was making his +presence felt ... he was a man of considered but lightning mood who, +when asked for an opinion invariably gave an argument. + +Beardsley observed him shrewdly. From the depths of his mind came a +warning, a restless unease that took root and blossomed into turbulence. +_This man will bear special watching...._ + +Pederson came on into the room, nodded dourly at Mandleco (no love lost +there!) and remained alertly silent; for the merest instant he met +Beardsley's gaze, and there was a definite challenge and something of +mockery. _Damn him_, thought Beardsley, _he knows why he's here ... but +how could he know? He's aware that he's on the tapes, too--even one of +the Primes--and he doesn't give a damn!_ + +Mandleco finished the introductions quickly and took over. It was plain +that he wanted to get through with this, but at the same time Beardsley +sensed that he was no longer _quite_ so sure of Jeff Arnold and ECAIAC ... +above all things, Mandleco had to avoid any hint of trouble with ECAIAC. + +And he managed that with an adroitness that bordered on the cunning. +After some glowing comments on Beardsley's past esteemed record--with +pointed emphasis on the pre-ECAIAC era--he ended with a truly +inspirational touch: + +"Let us just say, then, that you have been invited here in the interests +of an experiment which Crime-Central has been contemplating for some +time. An inquiry into--ah--certain facets of past investigatory methods. +Crude as it may seem to you, certain factors may be forthcoming +here--psychologic and derivational--which may later be refined, analyzed +and integrated into the operational function of ECAIAC...." + +Beardsley stared at Mandleco. It was altogether a neat side-step, and he +almost admired him for it. + +"Please understand, this is a necessary adjunct to the true development +of ECAIAC. We shall have here two divergent lines of approach within +parallel fields. Actually, each of you will be an important co-aide in +this experiment! I would like you to cooperate fully with Mr. +Beardsley's line of approach. Uh--vintage '60," he added for their +amusement. + +The reaction was immediate and varied. Victor d'Arlan examined his +fingernails and registered aristocratic boredom. Pederson slouched up +against the desk, seeming amused at Mandleco's pitch ... but he wasn't +watching Mandleco. The gaze he fastened on Beardsley said plainer than +words that he was quite aware of the situation. + +Only Sheila Carmack seemed fascinated, as she sat a bit straighter in +her chair and peered brightly across her drink. It was obvious that she, +for one, was taken in. + +"Why, I wouldn't have missed it for the world!" she sparkled. "Just +like, you know, in those--what did they call them--_whodunits_? It's +actually thrilling!" + +"It's archaic!" d'Arlan sneered. + +"It's heroic," said Pederson, his gaze still on the little Coördinator. +"Beardsley, I hope you pull it off. I actually do. Always did think you +were twice the man ECAIAC is!" + +Beardsley moved forward, not smiling. "Thanks," he said. "In that case +you won't mind if I begin with you." + +"With _me_?" Pederson stared, then laughed suddenly and without mirth. +"Skip it, Beardsley! I know your methods, and I can tell you right now +it won't get you any--" + +Beardsley stopped him. "Pederson," he said, "as of now we agree on just +one thing. I also think I'm twice the man. The only difference is that +I'm man enough to _really_ believe it." He paused and watched him absorb +that. "It's going to be ECAIAC or vintage '60, Pederson. Your choice!" + + * * * * * + +It was at once a rebuff and a challenge. Pederson then straightened up +slowly, a muscle in his face flinched and then he smiled--with all but +his eyes. "All right," he snapped, "we'll begin with me. I'll fill you +in plenty! You want to know if I saw Carmack the day of the murder? I +did! The louse put through a vis call to me. _Insisted_ I come out and +see him--" + +"Whoa, now just a minute! You wouldn't say this was a friendly visit?" + +"I'll get to that!" Pederson's words came fast and clipped. "You know +how I fought the ECAIAC lobby. I fought it long and hard, and when I +lost it finished me with the public. But I wasn't through! I began +digging up every fact I could about Carmack. Took me a few years, but +worth it. Most of it smelled! Ask Professor Losch, he'll tell you--" + +"I've already spoken with Losch," Beardsley said quietly. "He managed to +convey his sentiments pretty thoroughly." + +"Good. Then try talking to _him_," Pederson nodded venomously at +_Mandleco_. "Ask Mandleco how the great Carmack managed to get those +patents through.... I can tell you he didn't do it alone! Oh, I've dug +plenty!" + +"Why, you--" Mandleco gave a snort of anger and started forward, but +Beardsley managed to forestall him. He gazed sternly at the +tele-columnist. + +"I think we're all aware of your considerable talent for digging, +Pederson. ECAIAC, too," he added pointedly, "for we already have it on +the tapes." + +Pederson bristled. "Sure. Sure, you have it! My past connection, my +opposition to the lobby, even my digging maybe. But you don't have it +all! How do you equate _hate_, Beardsley? Is _that_ on your tapes?" + +Beardsley could have told him that it was, indeed, on the tapes. But he +only shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "we don't have it all. Not +ECAIAC nor I nor any of us, and that's the eternal pity of it. But I'd +like to try! The sum and the substance, Pederson ... don't you +understand me? Just once before I'm through--" + + * * * * * + +It was the voice, some secret and subtle thing in the voice that reached +out and gripped Pederson and bore meaning with it. He stood quite +motionless, staring at Beardsley; for a split second his eyes widened, +then disbelief gave way to something of comprehension, admiration. + +"Beardsley," he said softly. "You fool. You utter damned fool!" + +Oblivious of the others, then, he turned and began to pace. "All right. +Here it is. Carmack called me out to see him. He had gotten wind of what +I was up to, and offered to buy me off." Pederson laughed bitterly. +"Wasn't even subtle about it! Said he liked my stuff, and would like to +see me at the top again where I belonged. Said he could arrange for me +to step into a top job at Central Telecast. Providing, of course, I +could manage to--ah--'forget' certain little items I'd uncovered." + + * * * * * + +Pederson was doing all right. Beardsley gave him his lead. + +"He actually thought it would be that simple! I refused him outright, +and of course, he couldn't believe it. A man like that--We dropped all +pretense, there were some bitter words--" + +Beardsley said quickly, "Could you elaborate?" + +"Oh, I don't remember exactly. He went venomous! I suppose there were +threats. I told him he hadn't enough money _or_ influence to buy what I +knew, and that when I had it properly documented I intended to make a +national scandal of it." Pederson halted abruptly. "You know, it +occurred to me later that was a foolhardy thing to say!" + +"Ah? Why is that?" + +"Well, I had heard of that safeguard of his--the 'neuro-vibe'--and I +suppose there were other things, too. He was a cautious man, a dangerous +man. But," Pederson shrugged, "he let me into his home readily enough." + +Beardsley lifted a finger. "Because he was confident he was going to buy +you--wouldn't you say?" + +"I suppose that's it. Maybe I was lucky to get out of there so easily! +Anyway I did." Pederson stopped pacing, and his gaze bored into +Beardsley's. "So now to the big question. Yes, he was alive when I left +him. No, I never saw Carmack again. I went straight to my office and +worked until well past midnight; by the way, I have ample proof of +that--" + +"Yes, I'm sure you do! What were your feelings at this point?" + +"My feelings? I knew my life was in danger now! Carmack would be out to +stop me. I don't mind admitting I was ... well, rather relieved, when I +heard the news." + +"Ah-h! And when did you hear it?" + +Pederson glared, but his answer was quick. "Late the next afternoon, of +course! By habit I work late hours and I sleep long." With an air of +finality he threw a challenging look around. "I want to congratulate +whoever did it, and I don't much care whether the answer comes from you +or ECAIAC!" + +Beardsley surveyed him solemnly. Pederson had little more than brushed +the surface, but it was enough, it served to set the pattern; he could +have sworn Pederson was aware of that. He said drily, "Thanks, Pederson. +Your story is--very pat." + + * * * * * + +He turned to the others. Mandleco rather surprised him, seeming not so +much disturbed as he was engrossed deep in thought; as for Mrs. Carmack, +Beardsley saw that the comedy had gone out of it for her, but she tried +to keep up the veneer. + +"This is all most interesting!" she sparkled, placing her glass down +carefully and turning to face him. "Am I to be next, Mr. Beardsley? +Shall I give both the questions and the answers as Mr. Pederson did?" + +"No, Mrs. Carmack. I'll do that! I took note a moment ago that you +mentioned the _whodunits_. You must be familiar with them? Say as a +hobby?" + +It wasn't at all what she expected. She stood wide-eyed and startled. + +"This is so thrilling, remember. Vintage '60! As the _whodunits_ will +tell you, one of the prime requisites is an accounting and proof of your +whereabouts at the time of the deed! Well?" + +Beardsley's voice was just edged enough to throw her into confusion. +"Why, I--" she faltered. "You mean that night? I--I--" + +"What, no alibi? You don't even remember? According to vintage '60 that +could mean either complete innocence or extreme cunning; beware the +suspect who is clever enough to be ready with no alibi!" + +Beardsley saw her stiffen; there was a change across her face, a +struggle beneath the eyes. "But then," he shrugged, "it has always been +my conviction that _motive_ rather than opportunity is the real +requisite. On that basis it's plain you couldn't have killed your +husband. You loved him! He was only fifty-eight, he only left you a +dozen million dollars, but you loved him and you were faithful! Anyone +can see that after seven weeks you're still all broken up over it!" + +The veneer was gone now; Sheila Carmack's eyes were vicious pools of +hate, her mouth a grimace. "Why, you--you ridiculous little monster!" +Victor d'Arlan stepped forward belligerently. "Say, now look here! This +is all very--" Beardsley placed a hand on d'Arlan's chest and shoved, +and the latter stumbled back with mouth agape. Pederson was gazing at +Beardsley with delight and admiration, seeming to visualize this little +man as material for his next tele-column. Mandleco stood transfixed, a +monument of agony, twisting a fist into his palm. "Beardsley, stop it! +This ridiculous farce has gone far enough! I warned you about these +tactics--" + +Beardsley said, "Shut up!" and Mandleco stood there with mouth opening +and closing soundlessly. + +"Well, Mrs. Carmack? Answer me! You loved your husband, didn't you? For +the past ten minutes you've heard him maligned; I should think you'd +want to protect his very good name!" + +"Sheila, I must advise you against making _any_ statement of whatever +nature!" Mandleco strode for the tele-stat, then turned back and pointed +a trembling finger at Beardsley. "This man," he choked--"this man is no +longer acting in any official capacity for Crime-Central!" + +With a quick step Pederson got himself between Mandleco and the +tele-stat; he strolled over to the instrument and leaned against it, +with a knowing look at Beardsley. + +Sheila Carmack tilted her chin in defiance. "But I _wish_ to answer this +man. I insist on answering! Loved Amos Carmack? Love him?" Her voice +rose a full octave and broke in stridence. "For the past nine years I +have _hated--his--guts_!" + + * * * * * + +For a long moment the room was silent. No one moved. Beardsley's thick +glasses glinted eerily as he peered around at them, from Mandleco to +Sheila to Pederson and back to Mandleco. + +"Well now," he said, "this is remarkable. Most remarkable! Everyone +hated Carmack. Professor Losch--we know why. Pederson here--he's told us +why. His wife--I think it's obvious. Who else? Surely not you, Mandleco! +Carmack was a pal of yours! You backed his cause with ECAIAC, you +lobbied for him, you even stole patents for him.... I wonder what +persuasion he held over you to bring all that about. Or is _persuasion_ +too mild a word? Vintage '60 had a better term for it!" + +Slowly, through the murk of his agitation Mandleco seized a measure of +control; he gazed at Beardsley out of cold incalculable eyes now hooded +with dire intention. "You're really trying hard, aren't you!" he grated. +"Well, make the most of it, because I guarantee _you_ won't be around, +not after the next Annual Basic! Do you understand that--_Mister_ +Coördinator?" + +But Beardsley was watching Pederson now, whose face took on a sudden +febrile gleam. "Blackmail ... by God, Beardsley, that's it! And I have +the proof! Sure, it was Carmack I was after, but I dug out a lot more--" +Pederson shot a challenging look at the Minister of Justice. "It goes +back some years, but I can prove that Amos Carmack had enough on +Mandleco to _finish him politically any time he chose_. You can bet your +life Mandleco hated him. Enough to warrant murder!" + +There was an odd, illogical delight in the way Pederson said it--and +something almost frightening the way Mandleco just stood there in cold +silence, gazing at the tele-columnist with a look of boundless regret. + +Beardsley said very softly, "Thanks, Pederson, but I'd suggest you save +it. It's scarcely pertinent now." + +"Not pertinent? But, man, I tell you I have proof! What better motive +would you--" + +"Motive?" Beardsley hit him with a pitying glance. "Why, I thought it +was obvious. We've progressed beyond _motives_ now." + +Again there was an electric silence, and Beardsley let it assimilate. "I +have said," he went on, "that all this is most remarkable. But you know, +the _really_ remarkable thing--" He paused and watched them. Mandleco +continued to grind a fist into his palm; Pederson straightened +attentively, and d'Arlan, sneery no longer, moved over to stand beside +Sheila Carmack. + +"--the really remarkable thing is this. I am now ready to state, +unequivocally, that the person who killed Amos Carmack ... _didn't hate +him at all_." + + * * * * * + +A thought was throbbing through the room like the seconds passing. Quick +and cumulative, almost embodied, it made transition from stunned mind +to startled mind as Beardsley stood there blinking at them. Beardsley +really didn't mind; they just couldn't know how subtly he worked into +his themes! Taking advantage of the lull, he went over to the door and +peered out into the Operations Room. + +He peered long and soberly, then turned. Mandleco had found his voice +first, perplexity pushing down his anger: "Beardsley, either you're +bereft of your senses or--Do you mean to say," he choked--"after going +to these preposterous lengths do you mean to say that no one _here_--" + +"Just a moment!" To everyone's surprise it was d'Arlan who broke in. +"I'm not sure what's going on here, not sure at all, but I want to make +one thing quite clear. _Sheila_ had no complicity in this crime! I know, +because--" He hesitated, touched her gently on the arm. "Sorry, darling, +I've got to say it. I know because she was with _me_ that night." + +Sheila was startled for a moment, then utterly scathing. "You needn't +lie for me, Victor! I appreciate your sense of the dramatic, and even +your motives, but I assure you they are both misplaced. I have never +heard such nonsense!" + +d'Arlan looked more desolate than abashed. As for Beardsley, he was only +a little amused. "Well, now, this is really more than I deserve; in all +my years on Homicide I wanted to experience this, but I finally put it +down as a myth. The Noble Alibi!" He peered sharply. "True vintage, +right out of the _whodunits_--wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Carmack?" + +The answer didn't come, and Beardsley went on sternly: "And you reject +his noble attempt on your behalf. That is interesting! Especially, as it +occurs to me that d'Arlan's effort is just a little delayed...." He +paused, gazing thoughtfully upward. "It's enough to make one wonder +whether his noble effort is designed to protect you--or himself!" + +d'Arlan suddenly paled, as if he had just been kicked in the stomach. He +gulped heavily and tried to speak. Beardsley watched stolidly for a +moment, then dismissed him with a gesture of complete disgust. "Oh, +hell, never mind! I would say neither. The lady is right, sonny, you'd +better watch those impulses. You just aren't the type!" + + * * * * * + +Mandleco had been hanging onto every word, grimly intent; he was sure +Beardsley was getting somewhere at last. Now he straightened, and his +grinding fist indicated that he'd had quite enough. Without a word, +without even a deigning glance at Beardsley, he traversed the office +with great purposeful strides and slammed through the outer door into +ECAIAC's room-- + +And was back an instant later, trailing Jeff Arnold as the latter +brushed past him into the office. Mandleco was saying something +urgently, tugging at Arnold's arm. Arnold ignored him. His startled gaze +was on the little group. + +"Sheila!" He took a step forward. "Sheila, what are _you_ doing here?" + +"I wish you'd tell me, Jeff. I wish _someone_ would explain what this is +all about...." + +Beardsley watched the tableau in silence. Jeff Arnold's gaze flicked to +d'Arlan, who stared back with insolence, and there was no mistaking the +hostility that leaped between the two. + +Sheila noticed it, too, and there was an indecisive moment that mounted +toward panic. Beardsley watched her churning effort to control it. She +said quickly, an inflection of fear in her voice: "Mr. Beardsley, if it +_really_ matters--my whereabouts that night--you'll understand my +reluctance to say it before! I was with Jeff. Truly! I'm sure he will +tell you--" + +The words were directed at Beardsley, but she was talking to Jeff +Arnold. And deliberately, almost brutally, Arnold refused to accept the +cue. Beardsley saw the pleading turn to apprehension in Sheila's eyes. + +"But, Jeff, you remember! Surely you do! Jeff, you don't understand--you +must tell them--" + + * * * * * + +Arnold looked at her for a single comprehending instant, a pitying +instant, then his lips compressed tightly as he turned away. + +There was finality in it. Sheila's eyes were stark and unbelieving. She +stood there without motion, without a word, her mind groping in a shock +of blindness. + +Beardsley said gently, "It's all right, Mrs. Carmack. It's really all +right. Merely an experiment, an inquiry into comparative methods as +Mandleco said. I'm truly sorry if my methods seemed harsh, but"--he +shrugged--"I dare say my participation is over now." + +"You're damned right you may say it, Beardsley!" Arnold's eyes raked him +with venom, but he controlled himself and turned to Mandleco. "I only +came to tell you, sir, that we have ECAIAC ready. We'll be reaching +Cumulative very shortly now." + +"Jeff ... are you _sure_?" + +"Quite sure! Depend on it, there'll be no more trouble." + +More than relief took hold of Mandleco; it was transformation, it was as +if a spell had been snapped. He glanced once about the room, and +shuddered as his gaze encountered Beardsley. + +"Uh--yes. Fine!" he said. "That's fine, Jeff! Shall we proceed?" He +strode through the door, pausing only to fling back scathingly: "That +is, if Mr. Beardsley is quite sure it meets with _his_ approval!" + + * * * * * + +ECAIAC was in finest fettle again as the tapes sped through. Circuits +were activated. Codes gave meaning. Synaptic cells summed and +integrated, cancelled and compared and with saucy assurance sent the +findings on toward Cumulative. The murmur was soft and sustained and +somehow apologetic, as if ECAIAC were quite aware that she had failed in +her duty but would be just pleased to make amends _this_ time. + +So like a woman ... fractious, unfathomable, then fawning and +attrite--with a purpose! Beardsley cocked his head and listened, his +mien almost beatific. Purpose? This creature had none that could quite +match his! He was convinced of it now, and he had never been more happy +or self-assured. + +It was Pederson who was distressed, as he paced with long nervous +strides and watched the equate-panel where the mathematics were made +visible in a pattern of constantly changing lights. It had meaning only +for the techs, but Pederson couldn't seem to take his eyes from it. At +last he came over to Beardsley and managed to steer him aside. + +"Beardsley, I just don't get it! This whole thing--are you quite sure--" + +Beardsley blinked at him. "Sure of what, Pederson?" + +"Of what you're doing! Damn it, man, don't tell me that was all waste +effort in there! Look--I know what this means, and I'm with you all the +way. If only you could beat ECAIAC, I'll give it all the publicity it +can bear! Who knows--" + +Beardsley looked at him blankly, and Pederson gave a snort and a +gesture. "All right! I guess I'm wrong. For a while there I actually +thought you had it." Pederson surveyed him shrewdly. "Just the same, +that bit you exploded--about the person who killed Carmack didn't hate +him at all--you meant that, Beardsley!" + +"That's right, I meant it." + +"My choice is Jeff Arnold." + +"Ah? Now why do you say that?" + +"The way you built up to it, that's why. And you got your result! Sheila +Carmack's in love with Arnold, and she tried to cover up for him ... +sure, that's it! It's obvious! She thinks he's the killer, either thinks +or knows it--" + +"Ah, yes. The obvious," Beardsley said with a grimace. "But you know, I +learned a long time ago that the _obvious_ can be a mighty tricky thing. +A dangerous thing. The forceps of the mind are greedy, and inclined to +crush a little in the seizing...." + +Pederson pondered that. "And you," he said slowly, "are not seizing. I +take that to mean you still have an angle!" + +Beardsley didn't answer at once. He glanced over at the equate-panel, at +the flux of dancing lights. Mandleco was bright-eyed and attentive, +chomping on the stub of a cigar, head thrust forward as he listened to +some detail of Arnold's. Sheila stood miserably near by, still in a +blind shock of disbelief; it was as if she had a need to be close to +Arnold, and he felt it, too, but they dared not look at each other. + + * * * * * + +"Now let's suppose," said Beardsley, "just suppose that Arnold thinks +_Sheila_ is the killer. Eh? Let us say they _suspect each other_. +Naturally, each has disclaimed any part of the deed. But the suspicion +is there, that tiny seed; and suspicion, particularly where love is +involved, has a habit of taking root and giving growth. Neither can be +_totally_ sure of the other's innocence--eh?" He paused, peering up at +Pederson. "And Arnold would want to protect her from any possible +consequence. Now what would be his way of doing that? The only way he +knew?" + +He saw the idea take hold. Pederson was staring at the equate-panel with +an odd look of excitement. + +"Total reject," he gasped. "By God, if he should try _that_--to equate +her from Logical into reject--" He gestured helplessly. "No, it isn't +possible. Those tapes are coded! There's no way of tampering--" Pederson +stopped abruptly, as a great light dawned. "Wait a minute, though. It +needn't be the tapes! One thing I've always wondered--_would_ it be +possible to negate a given factor beyond all reach of empirical +coördinates? You know, through operational technique or setup--" + +Beardsley peered at him. "I'd say anything was possible," he urged, +"given time and incentive." + +Pederson bobbed his head in facile agreement. "By God, you're right! For +example, I've always thought there wasn't sufficient control on +Cumulative! You can bet your life Arnold would know ... results at that +point _could_ be juggled a little, say if the extrapolations were +just--" + +The forceps, the forceps of the mind. Already Pederson was reaching out +to seize and to crush; the man was a fool after all! Beardsley felt a +burgeoning disgust, but there was something more, a throbbing, +chest-filling sensation that he strove to hold rigidly in leash. He said +quickly: "Come to think of it, Arnold did mention that he was here most +of last night, working on setup." + +He watched Pederson absorb that, too; he saw the excitement grow. +"Beardsley, if you are _sure_--if you could prove that Arnold managed a +thing like that--" + +They were interrupted by the sudden quiet that engulfed the room. It was +so total as to be frightening. CUMULATIVE--CUMULATIVE--CUMULATIVE. For +half-a-minute all operation ceased, as the words flashed bright across +the panel. + +But the techs had been waiting. It was a mere respite. Swiftly, they +checked their respective units against Cumulative Code, and at the end +of thirty seconds every light went green for total clearance as ECAIAC's +deep-throated power resumed. + + * * * * * + +Beardsley had been waiting too. "Cumulative!" he breathed. He let his +breath out slowly, and made a sweeping gesture that seemed to encompass +all the latent delight, all the unleashed joy of his being. + +He was aware of Pederson again, a voice in panic: "Beardsley! Don't you +know what it means? If there's been an imbalance, it has passed through! +It will reach final equate!" + +"That's right, it's entirely in ECAIAC's lap. You wouldn't want to +deprive her of the chance, now would you?" + +"But--but what are you going to _do_?" + +"Me? I'm going to watch. I'm going to watch one of the epic events of +our time--" For a moment Beardsley was solemn, almost shocked, as a +thought struck him. "In a way it will be sad. Yes, it will! ECAIAC is +about to lose her first case." + +Now that was strange. Why should he have said such a thing? _Why ... now +that the game was over which had had to be played, and he felt the +bitter-sweet surge of victory that lay throbbing at his grasp!_ About to +lose her first case.... + +He shrugged in remote annoyance and strode away from Pederson. It would +be fast now! Already the rejects were falling, the irrelevants, as +ECAIAC with blithe unconcern brought the final equate toward conclusion. +He observed Jeff Arnold, standing silent and alert but so devoid of all +emotion that somehow it wasn't real ... and Mandleco, half crouched, +teeth gnawing away at the cigar, his heavy face rapacious and eager as +he awaited the final tape; that was all that mattered now; the +MATHEMATICS would register, CODE would add synaptic approval, and proof +indisputable would be on that tape in clean translated print--the name +of Carmack's killer. + +Indisputable? Bowing his head, Beardsley smiled, and listened to the +smooth rhythmic control. Nothing sinister now! No snapping malevolence! +All those other times ... his unreasoning panic, the askance remarks +from Arnold, the humiliation ... the very thought of it now was gibing +and obscene. How could he ever have been caught up in such a thrall of +terror? + +It wasn't terror he felt now. Something.... His smile turned to a giggle +as he felt a sudden compelling impulse to pat ECAIAC on the head! + + * * * * * + +Now how would one do THAT? Never mind. Never mind, never mind, never +again are you going to snap at _me_, Ekky. We were introduced, remember? +We're really great friends now. + +For a moment Beardsley was suspended in astonishment, aware that he had +almost crooned the thought. He glanced around in embarrassment-- + +Pederson was watching him. Pederson was at his side again, perplexed and +frowning. "Beardsley--this business of Sheila and Arnold. It wouldn't +happen that way, it couldn't! There's another answer, there's _got_ to +be--" + +Beardsley stood unmoving, oblivious. Almost, he seemed suspended in +another dimension; almost, he caught the quivering of a mind but could +not separate it from the sudden tremor that rose in his own.... + +He couldn't avoid it. It came unbidden, it battered through his reason, +it towered there and blotted out his thoughts until all that was left +was a tremulous regret, an attrite compassion. + +About to lose her first case ... _but one loses! And one survives it, +you know, one survives it! For twelve years now...._ + + * * * * * + +More than a tremor now. More than compassion now. A sense of betrayal +almost, illogical and nameless and yet palpable as the scent of fear. +There was a pulse of red darkness in Beardsley's brain as all the mental +and emotional equations of his being sang a sharp alarm. For subtly, +ever so subtly ECAIAC's deep-throated tone had changed ... nothing like +those other times, rather it was a halting stutter of puzzlement, +erratic and querulous, with overtones of immediacy as if some formless +presence were on the verge of unleashing. + +Beardsley looked down at his hands, and they were trembling. He could +not stop the trembling. A tightness took him about the heart, and behind +his eyes that pulse of red darkness presaged the beginning of a violent +headache. + +Even the others noticed it now, something amiss. Jeff Arnold especially. +He looked up in quick alarm at the equate-panel where the mathematics +seemed to have gone a little fitful, a little frantic, with stuttery +lapses in progression as if ECAIAC were unable or unwilling to confront. + +The flux of pattern dimmed, then hesitated; blanked out and heroically +began anew. + +It happened suddenly, then. It happened as the techs came crowding +around. There came a quivering, a sort of shudder, and ECAIAC subsided +with a final weary gasp. It was for all the world as if she were saying, +"This is it, boys. I've had it!" + +But it was there, it was there! All at once every symbol was constant, +static and livid upon the screen, enhanced by the words +EQUATE--COMPLETE--EQUATE--COMPLETE. In that moment every tech in the +room must have felt a touch of pride. + +A click, a whirr, and it was done. The fateful tape ejected. + +Both Mandleco and Arnold leaped for it, but Arnold was there first. He +ripped the tape clear and then paused, hand outflung, as if he could not +resist this final bit of drama. + +"Well? Well, Arnold?" Mandleco was hopping ludicrously about in an agony +of impatience. + +Arnold nodded. He brought the tape to his scrutiny. His mouth opened, +then shut again as a shudder seized him. Once more he read it, a look of +wild disbelief on his face ... he staggered, and seemed about to cry or +go hysterical or both. + +Mandleco gave a snort as he pounced, recovered the tape and with blunt +assurance read the words aloud: + +"SOLUTION : UNTENABLE : SOLUTION : UNTENABLE : SUB-CIRCUIT REFERRAL : +ELLERY SHERLOCK : SUB-CIRCUIT REFERRAL: ELLERY SHERLOCK--" + +He sounded like a well-grooved parrot. Mandleco turned east, then south, +then south-by-east, like a compass on a binge; he looked as if he wanted +to roar, but his voice came out as a frantic bleat: "Why, this is crazy! +Goddam it, it's crazy! Do you realize what this will--" He confronted +Arnold wildly. "What the hell does it MEAN, I say! Untenable? And who +the hell is _Ellery Sherlock...!_" + +He got no response; Jeff Arnold was oblivious to the moment, a man +utterly defeated, beyond solace or action or answer ... but already a +few of his techs were huddled about the panel, consulting, viewing the +Equate Constant and frantically taking notes. Mandleco shoved his way +through them. "I demand to know the meaning of this!" he yelped. + + * * * * * + +It was Sheila Carmack who answered, her voice on the high edge of +hysteria. "_Meaning?_ I think it might mean," she said, "that ECAIAC has +also had a recent indulgence for the _whodunits_. But with a smattering +of confusion, wouldn't you say? Or would you say a distortion of the +detectival? Perhaps a disenchantment," she murmured ... this was too +absurd, too delicious. "Ellery Sherlock!" she choked, and the thought of +it seemed to break her up. + +In the general hysteria they paid no heed to Raoul Beardsley. He had +regained his composure, and far down in his eyes something leaped into +rapt expression; he adjusted his glasses and peered around cautiously, +beaming. He beamed at them all, and had to suppress an inane glee.... + +Not glee as he observed Pederson, who stood there scowling into space +as though at some incredible absurdity. Suddenly Pederson straightened, +and there was something strangely different ... his gaze as it met +Beardsley's was neither shocked nor accusing but held an expression of +boundless sadness. + +_So Pederson knew. At last the poor fellow had found that other +answer...._ Beardsley had been expecting it. He could almost sense the +man's thoughts going to and fro, like a shuttle, weaving all the facts +into fabric.... + +And Pederson's voice, ineffably sad now, regretful now: "So I was right +the first time. The tapes. It _was_ the tapes. But even without that I +ought to have known! The answer was there, you handed it to us, but it +was like looking straight into the sun--" + +He paused. Did he expect Beardsley to say something? Beardsley looked up +at him and blinked. + + * * * * * + +"_Motives_," Pederson said accusingly. "There was your theme from the +first! You were relentless, you pursued it to perfection, you laid our +motives bare and you beat them raw, each and every one. Oh, I grant you +it was masterful! It was the Beardsley of old! You managed to keep us +off balance every moment--" He wet his lips. "What was it, Beardsley? A +compulsion, some grotesque need to squeeze us all down to microscopic +size first? Oh, you enjoyed doing that! I watched you. You enjoyed it in +a way that--" He shook his head, glanced sorrowfully at the +equate-panel. "And this ... was it all for this? An achievement--an +absurdity. Ellery Sherlock!" he said with a shudder. "In Heaven's name, +WHY? You didn't really expect to carry it off? No, don't answer! It's +not important now--" + +Beardsley shrugged in remote annoyance. Must the man use such puerile +methods? + +"Not important," Pederson repeated, and stood caught in a startled +wonderment. "Because you see, Beardsley, I just happen to remember +something from the _whodunits_! That surprises you? So long ago, I can't +quite recall who said it; but it was a rather good exposition of logic, +something to the effect that when you've exhausted the possible, all the +possible--that which remains--_no matter how impossible it may +seem_--must be the truth!" + +His head lifted; his gaze bored into Beardsley's and his voice was +tight with meaning. "And I'd say we have come full circle, wouldn't you? +You will have to admit, you did a _real good job of eliminating_!" + +Beardsley managed to smile, even as his mind jarred a little. Even as he +met Pederson's gaze and saw the compassion there, the acceptance there, +the understanding and boundless regret. For a split second something +leaped unspoken between them, as if doors in both their minds had opened +and closed again. + +He turned away wordlessly. Close as Pederson had come, even he was an +irrelevance now. _But ECAIAC didn't_ know. Poor Ekky! Her first real +failure, a fiasco--she really deserved a better fate. Beardsley's heart +went out to her, as he observed Arnold in his defeat and Mandleco in his +frustration and the huddle of techs in their futile efforts. + +Suddenly then--"Code!" he heard one of them say, gesturing excitedly. +"Post-subjective synapse!" another tech yelled, and there was a sudden +scurry of activity about the screen. Without warning or appreciable +reason those symbols had begun to shift ... wild and elusive, ghost +patterns without semblance or sense, but so unmistakable that even Jeff +Arnold was jarred alert; Arnold stared, then suddenly was white as chalk +as he ploughed into the midst of his techs. + +Beardsley stood frozen, a fatuous smile about his lips; there was only +silence now, a silence that had a pulse in it--the beating of his heart. +Seconds only ... suddenly there was another pulse, from another heart. +ECAIAC wasn't quite finished! Unerring and resolute the sound came up, +slowly at first and then faster, gathering strength into a steady drone +as if every synapse were dredging, dredging deep into the sensitized +structure ... and even before the panel attained flux again, a tech was +waving his notes and yelling, "It's true! Post-subjective synapse! +Unbelievable ... Jeff, we now have a Constant!" + +But ECAIAC was telling them that. The sound went on, and on, wild and +lone and constant, ascending to the confines of the room, transcending +the confines of reason. It was crescendo incarnate; it was purpose gone +rife; it was human and more than human, with all the fears and hopes and +hates, as it attained a high-pitched scream with wailing overtones such +as even Arnold had never heard. There was sentience in it, there was +awareness in it, there was fury in it and who could say if there was +grief...? There might have been. + +Only Beardsley knew. He felt suddenly packed in ice, from his lips to +the pit of his belly; he revolved slowly away, took a few steps and +caught the edge of the panel. His whole body began to shake +uncontrollably and his lips moved in a soundless whisper that seemed to +say, "No, no ... don't you understand? ... we're friends now!" + +But no one heard; no one would have understood. Arnold handled the tape +as it came looping out. The words fell slowly at first, then faster and +faster in constant repeat: CANCEL LAST EQUATE--SOLUTION TENABLE--CANCEL +LAST EQUATE--SOLUTION TENABLE-- + +Another word came, a single word. Arnold stiffened. One of the techs was +so indiscreet as to exclaim: "_Murderer?_ Where did it pick up that +word! 'Final Equate' is proper...." + +A space, a whirr, and the rest of it came in a clicking rush against the +high-pitched scream: MURDERER--RAOUL BEARDSLEY--MURDERER--RAOUL +BEARDSLEY--MURDERER--RAOUL--MURDERER--MURDERER--incessant, untiring. + + * * * * * + +There was no trial. Trial presupposes a modicum of doubt, and Beardsley +dispelled that readily enough. Once more the pathetic figure, it was as +if he were impelled by a dull and pitiless logic; he waived all defense; +his confession to the murder of Amos Carmack was straightforward and +factual, unvarying to the point of boredom, insistent with +repetition--and in the socio-legal aspect there was the rub! Whether it +was true psychic shock or mere cunning, there seemed to be a blind spot +in Beardsley's responses, a stumbling reticence to elaborative detail +that left the Citizen's Disposition Council with a problem on its hands +baffling as it was unprecedented. Judicially they were safe. There would +not even be need of null-censor. But actually, the problem here was of +far more vital consequence than murder and indeed more frightening; it +had to do with Beardsley _vs._ ECAIAC, the encompassing _modus operendi_ +and all the implications of that grotesque denouement. + +At whatever cost, _these things had to be answered_. + +Oh, there was amusement, too. The fact that Minister-of-Justice +Mandleco had begged off, far from gracefully, and retired to the +isolation of his ten-thousand-acre Alaskan ranch (for an unspecified +time) had brought snickers from those in the know. + +The Chief-Counselor of Disposition looked as if he'd like to retire, +too. For the third time in as many days he took his place in the Private +Sessions chamber, glanced at Beardsley with shuddering disbelief and +then bent his head in pontifical guise as he leafed through his notes; +it wasn't as if he were unversed in the matter by now, but who was there +to question if his lips moved fretfully across the words "Ellery +Sherlock?" He was thinking: _yesterday wasted--covert regression, myself +included--no more of that_! And with that bolstering thought he brought +his head up sharply. + +COUNSELOR: Our task for today--(_voice quavering, he saved it from the +upper registers_). Our task for today is to get at the aggregate +pattern. And I assure you, gentlemen, we are going to do that! Now. Mr. +Pederson, if you please.... + +PEDERSON: Yes, sir? + +COUNSELOR: I see that Mr. Beardsley made certain statements to you, and +to you alone, immediately after the--uh--ECAIAC incident-- + +PEDERSON: You saw that three days ago! Must we go through it again? + +COUNSELOR: We must and we shall! Due to the unnatural tenor of the case, +it is the opinion of the Council that these things must be fixed and +adjudged if we are to make a correct Disposition. + +PEDERSON: (_wearily_): Yes, sir. Well, the fact is he seemed to want to +confide in me. Nothing strange in that! He realized he had lost, poor +guy, and he-- + +COUNSELOR: Mr. Pederson! No diversions, please. We'd simply like to hear +from your own lips what Beardsley told you. (Glances at his notes.) Is +it true that he said--his sole motive in this affair was to prove he +could conduct an investigation as efficiently as ECAIAC--_or any damned +machine_? + +PEDERSON: (_hesitant, with a glance at Beardsley who sat remote and +vacuous_): Yes. He told me that. + +COUNSELOR: Even to the point of committing a murder to prove it? And his +entire subsequent action was predicated upon that? We have extensive +reports here--from Mrs. Carmack, from Mandleco, from Jeff Arnold and +yourself. It is difficult to see how such a basically integrated and +well-functioning personality as Raoul Beardsley-- + +PEDERSON: (_angrily_): No. What you fail to see is the facade! What man +has stronger reason than the man who has lost his reason? It is the only +outlet for aggression, a devious fulfillment, it brings psychological +satisfactions which cannot be obtained in any other way--call it the +self-destructive impulse if you will. I doubt if Beardsley rationalized +this--but he had come to his moment, his time of assertion, his way of +making fools of us all ... and my complete opinion, sir, is that his +actions from beginning to end were both a triumph and an inspiration! + +COUNSELOR: (_smugly_): Thank you, Mr. Pederson. These are the insights +you had not revealed before. (_Turns to member at far end of table._) +Dr. Deobler. As psychologist assigned to Disposition Council, may I ask +if there is an area of concurrence? + +DEOBLER (_bored, but deigns to lift a hand_): Save for the rhetorics at +the very end, you have my official concurrence; it is obvious in every +aspect; this was a devious fulfillment of the self-destructive impulse. + +COUNSELOR: Thank you, sir! It will be so noted. And now--(_Makes a +pretense of scanning his brief._) Now we come to an area of vital +interest--an area demanding our most urgent attention, inasmuch as it +gives indication of threatening our basic fundamental of cybernetic +detection; believe me, I cannot place enough emphasis here; I refer, of +course, to Mr. Beardsley's process of manipulation of ECAIAC, and this +strange business of "Ellery Sherlock." (_Pause._) Mr. Jeff Arnold, if +you please. I believe you were to be ready with some observations today? + +ARNOLD: Yes, sir. But more than observation, I am glad to report. We +have _solved_ the "Ellery Sherlock" equate. + +COUNSELOR: This is wonderful! Will you proceed, sir? + +ARNOLD: A strange thing ... and yet so simple! We began by resurrecting +a huge number of "Summaries"; we dredged into Dead File for at least +three years back, re-ran them under a synapse intensifier. It's all +there, you know, every minute particle of every case that has gone +through ECAIAC; almost subliminal, some of it, but-- + +COUNSELOR: One moment, sir. This reference to "synapse." Could +you--ah--clarify? + +ARNOLD: Why, a synapse is the primary adjunct to memory! The human brain +has billions of them, neuronically linked--sort of pathways that get +grooved deeper and deeper with constant repetition of thought, until +after a while they become completely permanent, retentive and +self-functioning. ECAIAC is similarly equipped--not to the degree of the +human brain, as yet, but amazingly. + +COUNSELOR (_dazed_): Ah--yes. Please continue, sir. + +ARNOLD: As I said, we revived a number of the old cases. And what we +discovered, was that Beardsley--for years past, mind you--had been +utilizing his capacity as Chief of Coördinates to introduce extraneous +material to ECAIAC _via_ the tapes! In each and every case that came +before him! Oh, you can believe me, he was clever, he went about it by +slow and subtle degrees! And the substance of this material, +sir--(_Pauses, gulps and shakes his head, unable to go on._) + +COUNSELOR: Please control yourself, sir! The substance of this +extraneous material? + +ARNOLD (_again gulps_): De-detective fiction! + +COUNSELOR (_leans forward sharply_): Do I understand you correctly, Mr. +Arnold? You did say _detective fiction_? + +ARNOLD: Of two types. Ellery Queen and Sherlock Holmes--I presume it was +Beardsley's random choice. But there was nothing random about his +purpose! Don't you see, don't you see, it all fits! It explains the +trouble we were having in recent months in getting total synaptic +clearance! (_His voice borders on the frantic._) I remember, now, I even +mentioned this to Beardsley--and oh, the smug way he took it. He knew, +damn him, he knew! He was getting there, he was reaching the synaptic, a +bit of fiction here and a bit there, ECAIAC was being conditioned, +unable to distinguish the real from the unreal-- + +COUNSELOR: Mr. Arnold! If you please, sir! (_Waits for Arnold to +subside._) I can appreciate how this discovery distresses you, +both--ah--personally and in your official capacity, but be assured that +your findings will be of inestimable value to future security. In fact +(_smiles slightly_) Council has not been idle in its own pursuit of Mr. +Beardsley's vagaries! (_Rises, removes a small screen to reveal a +towering pile of tomes._) And now, Mr. Beardsley. I must really ask you +to cooperate; I believe you fully capable. Are these your books? + +BEARDSLEY (_adjusts his glasses, smiles at his books_): Yes. + +COUNSELOR: And these charts, these graphs that we found plastered to +every wall of your home. Obviously they are also yours. + +BEARDSLEY (_adjusts his glasses, smiles at his graphs_): Yes. + +COUNSELOR: Thank you, Mr. Beardsley. That's fine. And, Mr. Beardsley, +what did you use them for? These books, these graphs? + +BEARDSLEY (_groping, bewildered_): I--I-- + +COUNSELOR (_sees the futility of it_): Gentlemen, I believe we can +proceed on the grounds of self-evidence. Let me read you a few titles +from these books. "The Cybernetic Principle: Advanced Theory" ... "The +Synapse in Function" ... and here we have "Synaptics: Pattern and Flux." +There are more, many more in similar vein. (_Turns abruptly._) Mr. +Arnold. I'm sure you are familiar with most of these volumes. On the +basis of the content, would you say that you could duplicate Beardsley's +feat? + +ARNOLD (_aghast_): No! I would not presume to say that, sir. + +COUNSELOR (_frowns; it was not the answer he wanted_): Very well, then. +Dr. Trstensky ... would you come forward, please? Dr. Trstensky ... you +are head of the Department of Advanced Cybernetics at Cal Tech. You have +had opportunity to study these graphs and charts in minutest detail-- + +TRSTENSKY: Oh, yes-s. Fascinating! + +COUNSELOR: I put the question: would it be possible for you to duplicate +the grotesque feat that Beardsley performed on ECAIAC? + +TRSTENSKY: Yes-s, possibly. No, I will say definitely. You mean, of +course, cold, from the beginning? Yes-s ... but it would take me +approximately three-to-four years. + +COUNSELOR: Yes, Mr. Beardsley? What is it? You would like to make a +pertinent statement? + +BEARDSLEY (_abashed_): Oh. It--I only wanted to say it took me longer. +Four-to-five years. + +COUNSELOR (_wearily--just waits for laughter to subside_): Gentlemen, I +think we may safely wrap it up now. Our function here is Disposition. +Our choice is two-fold. One: the subject is sane, in which case he will +pay the supreme penalty for murder which he has freely admitted. Or two: +he is obviously insane, in which case he will be subjected to Psychic +Probe as provided by law, thus restoring a measure of normalcy +sufficient to place him again in society--restricted, of course-- + +DR. DOEBLER: Sir, one moment, if you please! I simply do not understand +your language, and even less can I condone your haste! _Safely_ wrap it +up, you said. What do you mean by that? Safe for whom? And "obviously" +insane--was that a slip of the tongue, sir, or are you trying to force +an issue here? + +COUNSELOR (_coldly_): I must remind you that we already have competent +reports on subject's status. Add to that the facts presented here; they +are overwhelming; the man's own admission and attitude are +substantiation. It is my considered opinion, and I'm sure the opinion of +Council, that the man is insane. Subjection to Psychic Probe will +restore him to-- + +DOEBLER: Oh, yes, the Psychic Probe. I have no quarrel there. _But +suppose you were wrong?_ Have you ever considered the effects of Probe +on the _sane_ mind? Have you ever seen it? Once I saw it, only once. It +is worse than disaster--it is horrible--it results in a sort of psychic +tearing that heals and then tears and then heals in continuous +perpetuation. It--is indescribable. It is sub-human. Compared to that, +death or even insanity is a blessed relief. Now, gentlemen, listen! I +implore you not to be in error! True, it was my opinion that Beardsley +acted in fulfillment of the self-destructive impulse, but the man is +_sane--sane_, I tell you, and entitled to a humanitarian death! My +professional judgment-- + +COUNSELOR (_again coldly, glancing around_): Is welcome, but does not +bear final weight, sir. + + * * * * * + +Silence closed down like a pall. Doebler's plea by its very impassioned +nature had gotten through. It was a moment of embarrassment and +indecision in which each man weighed his conscience, and found it +wanting ... in which every member of Council looked to his neighbor for +solution or solace, and finding neither, turned back to himself, aghast. + +Only one person looked to the true source and saw the solution as it +would be, as it had to be. Pederson. Heartsick with the knowing, he +observed Raoul Beardsley and remembered! This funny little man ... this +ridiculous man ... this proud man who had seized his fate and shoved it +through because it had to be done, because he obeyed the dictates, +because he had reached his Time of Assertion. Oh, Pederson remembered! +And most of all he remembered Beardsley there at the last, in that final +moment when ECAIAC had reached the wailing heights of sentience and +grief ... and how could he ever forget Beardsley's soundless whisper +that seemed to say, "_No, no ... don't you understand? ... we're friends +now!_" + +Pederson remembered. He remembered, and looking up saw that Council had +reached equitable agreement, and his heart was sick and his soul was +sick as he realized this was final, there could be no appeal. For the +last time he looked upon Beardsley's face and saw that the man was fully +cognizant.... Beardsley also knew.... Deobler had been right. Pederson +turned his face away. + +COUNSELOR: Now we are agreed, gentlemen? (_waits for general approval._) +Be it pronounced, then. Inasmuch as there exists a general area of doubt +as to Disposition; and inasmuch as it is agreed that further +deliberation would be prolonged and pointless; and inasmuch as our faith +in the ultimate function of ECAIAC remains inestimable, despite recent +vagaries which shall never occur again: be it therefore resolved, that +the problem pending shall be taped in all its detail and submitted to +ECAIAC for Final Disposition. + + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of We're Friends, Now, by Henry Hasse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW *** + +***** This file should be named 29488-8.txt or 29488-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/8/29488/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: We're Friends, Now + +Author: Henry Hasse + +Illustrator: Varga + +Release Date: July 22, 2009 [EBook #29488] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories April 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="500" height="714" alt="Cover Page" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><i>The little man stood in front of the<br /> +monstrous machine as the synaptic<br /> +drone heightened to a scream. No ...<br /> +no, he whispered. Don't you<br /> +understand....</i> +</p> +<p> </p> +<h1>WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>By HENRY HASSE</h2> +<p> </p> +<h4>ILLUSTRATED by VARGA</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="f1">T</span>oday more than other days Raoul Beardsley felt the burden, the dragging +sense of inevitability. He frowned; he glanced at his watch; he leaned +forward to speak to the copter pilot and then changed his mind. He +settled back, and from idle habit adjusted his chair-scope to the +familiar broad-spoked area of Washington just below.</p> + +<p>"I'll <i>not</i> have it happening again today!" he told himself grimly ... +and at once his thoughts quavered off into many tangles of +self-reproach. "Blasted nonsense the way I've been acting. A <i>machine</i>, +a damned gutless machine like that! Why do I persist in letting it get +to me?"</p> + +<p>He pondered that and found no solace. "Delusion," he snorted. "Hyper +synapse-disorder ... that's how Jeff Arnold would explain <i>me</i>. I wish +he'd confine his diagnostics to the Mechanical Division where it +belongs! He's amused, they're all amused at me—but damn it they just +don't know!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley's rotund body sagged at the thought. Adjusting the +chair-scope, he fixed his gaze on the broad facade of Crime-Central +Building far across the city; again he felt the burgeoning embarrassment +and foreboding, but he put it down with an effort before it reached the +edge of fear. <i>Not today</i>, he thought fiercely. <i>No, by God, I just +won't permit it to happen.</i></p> + +<p>There. So! He felt much better already. And he had really made good time +this morning. Today of <i>all</i> days he mustn't keep ECAIAC waiting.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="400" height="631" alt="Beardsley was the only one not to panic when the +infallible machine broke down." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Beardsley was the only one not to panic when the +infallible machine broke down.</span> +</div> + +<p>Mustn't.... Something triggered in Beardsley, and he was assailed with a +perverse rebellion at the thought.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Must not? But why not? Why shouldn't he just <i>once</i> keep ECAIAC and Jeff +Arnold and his clique stewing in their own tangle of tubes and +electronic juice? And wouldn't <i>this</i>, he gloated, be the perfect day +for it! Arnold especially—just once to shatter that young man's +complacent routine....</p> + +<p>No. Beardsley savored the thought tastily, and let it trickle away, and +the look of glee on his cherubic face was gone. For too many years his +job as serological "coördinator" (Crime-Central) had kept him pinned to +the concomitant routine. Pinned or crucified, it was all the same; in +crime analysis as in everything these days, personal sense of +achievement had been too unsubtly annihilated. Recalling his just +completed task—the Citizen Files and <i>persona-tapes</i> and the endless +annotating—Beardsley felt himself sinking still further into that mire +of futility that encompassed neither excitement nor particular pride.</p> + +<p>He brought himself back with a grimace, aware that he was clutching the +briefcase of tapes possessively from long habit. The pilot had touched +the news-stat, and abruptly one of the new "commerciappeals" grated on +Beardsley's senses:</p> + +<p>"... we repeat, yes, <span class="smcap">prot-o-suds</span> is now available in <i>flake</i> or <i>cake</i> or +the new attachable <i>luxury-spray</i>. Remember, <span class="smcap">prot-o-suds</span> has <i>never</i> been +laboratory-tested, it contains <i>no</i> miracle ingredients, <i>no</i> improved +scientific formula, and <span class="smcap">no lanolin</span>. Then what is the new <span class="smcap">prot-o-suds</span>? I +tell you frankly, friends, it is nothing but a lot of pure soft soap! +Remember ... we make no fabulous claims for <span class="smcap">prot-o-suds</span> ... we assume that +you are reasonably clean to start with! And now for your late breakfast +news, <span class="smcap">prot-o-suds</span> takes you direct to the Central News Bureau for a final +survey on the Carmack murder case...."</p> + +<p>Beardsley groaned. New voice in the background, while the screen +presented a slow montage. Cine-runs of the great Carmack himself, +including those at the International Cybernetics Congress a year ago ... +survey of the murder scene, the Carmack mansion ... close-up of ECAIAC +... diagrammatic detail of ECAIAC ... then dramatically, the grim and +imposing figure of George Mandleco, Minister of Justice.</p> + +<p>And then the news-caster's voice: "... certain that final processing +will go forward today. It would be a gross understatement to say that +the Carmack Case has captured the attention of the nation, both +officialdom and public alike! <i>Never</i> in the history of Crime-Central +has there been such an undercurrent of speculation and excitement...."</p> + +<p>"Excitement?" murmured Beardsley.</p> + +<p>"And now it is heightened, by no less an authority than the Minister of +Justice himself, who brought both plaudits and censure upon himself +today with the outright statement that <i>deep-rooted political issues</i> +may well be involved. As you must know by now, it was the murdered man +himself—Amos Carmack—who some years ago carried on the incessant +lobbying that resulted in ECAIAC being accepted <i>pro bono publico</i> by +Crime-Central. What devastating irony! For now it is ECAIAC itself that +must weigh each detail, correlate all factors, probe every motive and +machination leading to the <i>murder of its creator</i>...."</p> + +<p>"That's not entirely true, you know," muttered Beardsley.</p> + +<p>Quick flicker, again a close-up of ECAIAC, and the drama-laden voice: +"ECAIAC! Electronic Analysis Integrator and Computor. And now—an +exclusive! From a very reliable source this reporter has learned that +<i>three Primes</i> are involved...."</p> + +<p>"Ha!" grated Beardsley.</p> + +<p>"... and they will be broken down in quotient. Two must ultimately be +eliminated—barring, of course, the possible emergence of any minor +factor to status of Prime, which at this stage seems unlikely. It is +estimated that by today or tomorrow at the latest Carmack's murderer +will be brought to justice...."</p> + +<p>Beardsley had taken as much as he could of this pseudo-factual mush. He +jerked forward violently, rapped the pilot on the shoulder. "<span class="smcap">damn it! +will you shut the damn thing off!</span>"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He was immediately appalled at his outburst, and by the pilot's startled +glance, but the stat went off immediately.</p> + +<p>Beardsley leaned back muttering to himself. Carmack, Carmack! For seven +weeks now he had lived with it intricately and intimately, as the case +shoved everything else right off the news-stat. People took the latest +echoes to bed with them, commuters gobbled it with their breakfast +cereal. Thank God today would see the end, and they could once more have +the hot South Polar crisis with their cereal.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Seven weeks! He clutched the bulging briefcase with a wearisome horror. +Twenty-two persona-tapes from Central File, all neatly processed and +ready for ECAIAC. End result of the endless chart sifts, emphasis (as +always!) on parietosomatic recession, the slow emergence of minor +constants, the inexorable trend toward Price Factor and then +<i>verification</i>, <i>verification</i>, to each his own, with all the subtle and +shaded values of the Augment Index brought finally to focus on the +relevance-graph <i>Carmack</i>.</p> + +<p>Sure, thought Beardsley. A thing of augment-indexing and psych-tapes, +quite without possibility of error. Now in the <i>old</i> days of crime +detection—it might have taken them seven months instead of weeks, not +to mention frustration and leg-work and false-leads and sweat, but—</p> + +<p>His mouth pulled down bitterly. <i>Serological Coördinator. Glorified +file-clerk is more like it. High-salaried errand-boy.</i></p> + +<p>"Here we are, sir!" The pilot's voice jarred him to reality as the +copter berthed.</p> + +<p>Beardsley hurried toward the roof entrance. His faded blue suit, a size +too large, flapped about him, and the outmoded felt hat seemed to sink +to the level of his thick-lensed glasses. The guard greeted him, but +suppressed a smile as the cherubic little man flashed his official pass.</p> + +<p>For there was something about Raoul Beardsley that eternally evoked +amusement—an air of vacuous innocence and a remote forlornness. He gave +the appearance of a person who sold shoes during the day, washed his +wife's dishes at night and then solved two or three galacti-gram puzzles +before turning off the light precisely at ten. Few, if any, remembered +that this nervous little man had once been top Inspector of New York +City's Homicide Bureau ... but that was a dozen long years ago. Since +then he had seen the antiquated detective methods of 1960 disappear, and +he had died a little, too, seeing his Homicide Bureau relegated to a +mere subsidiary with the growth of the Coördinate and Mechanical +Divisions. His appointment to Chief of Co-ördinants, Federal, was +automatic and unquestioned; and Beardsley would have been the last to +know, or to care, that he had correlated some eight million miles of +serological data for the entrains of ECAIAC, a perfect record of not a +single unsolved case.</p> + +<p>And the penalty was in his eyes, if one cared to look beyond the +thick-lensed glasses. No one ever did. They were remote eyes, a little +bewildered, a little hurt ... a mirror gone dull from times remembered +but irretrievably lost.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Beardsley stepped onto the corridor slidewalk, coasted to the escalator +and rode it down. Still immersed in his thoughts, he pushed into +ECAIAC's room ... <i>and again it happened</i>.</p> + +<p>So shockingly sudden, there was not even time for remonstrance at +himself. The feeling hit him as always before, straight and unerring, a +surging impact that smashed forward and stopped him in his tracks, +literally paralyzed.</p> + +<p>He caught his breath convulsively. How often had he come here? And how +often had this happened, even when he'd sworn he wouldn't let it? There +was something about the sight and sound and feel of ECAIAC that got to +him, that seeped beneath flesh and bone and into his brain and sent his +senses singing. Beardsley managed to gulp, as he observed the shiny +black colossus that filled the entire length of the ninety-foot room; a +dozen techs scurried around it, taking notes, attentive to the flashing +lights in red-and-green and the faint clicking of thousands of relays +that rose in susurration.</p> + +<p>But more than that arose. It was something that pervaded the room, not a +pulsing but a <i>presence</i>, a sort of snapping intangible intelligence +that reached beyond the audible and sheared at Beardsley's nerve-ends.</p> + +<p>And it hadn't been there a moment before. That was the shocking thing. +Beardsley knew that it <i>knew</i>! It was sentient, it was alive and aware +and waiting, and it was listening.</p> + +<p>As always, it knew that <i>he</i> had entered.</p> + +<p>Beardsley gulped again, stood frozen for half a minute. None of the +techs seemed to notice; they had often chided him about it, but he was +used to that now. At last he broke the spell and made his legs move, +feeling cold sweat as he hurried along the length of ECAIAC toward +Arnold's office.</p> + +<p>There ... just about there ... by the rheostats, where the four red +lights and the two green made a baleful pattern against the black metal +skin. He felt it stronger than ever this time, something reaching and +sinister aimed solely at him. He skirted the place with a quick goosey +hop, stumbled a little and felt panic, but made it all right to the +office.</p> + +<p>Beardsley hated these moments. He was still trembling as he made a +hurried entrance. Sure enough, as if on cue Jeff Arnold glanced up from +his charts and grinned.</p> + +<p>"Ah, good morning, Beardsley! Now don't tell me our pet goo—uh—snapped +at you again?"</p> + +<p>It was the routine remark, but today Arnold was immediately contrite for +a change. "Sorry," he said, and a certain weariness replaced the grin. +He gestured to the alco-mech. "Can I dial you a drink? Feel in need of +one myself!"</p> + +<p>"Eleven-C," said Beardsley, and slumped into the pneumo-chair. Arnold +rose and dialled 11-C, handed him the drink and dialled 9-R for himself. +Sipping it, he moved around the desk.</p> + +<p>There was something very strange and preoccupied in his movements, +Beardsley thought, more than a mere tiredness. He had never seen Arnold +this way.</p> + +<p>"Yes sir, this is the day!" A muscle twitched in his corded neck; Arnold +eased his long frame into a chair, rubbed thumb and forefinger at his +eyes. "Been up half the night running off clearance tests. Can't afford +to foul up on this one!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley tossed off his drink and blinked at the fiery strength of it. +Now why should Arnold say that? When had ECAIAC ever fouled up? He +watched the man across the desk. Jeff Arnold was a vigorous, striking +specimen, handsome in an athletic way, with long stubborn jaw and +unhappy gray eyes beneath his unruly hair; the sort of face that +intrigues women, Beardsley catalogued from past experience. And, he +added, altogether too young a man to be operating a monster like ECAIAC.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Arnold indicated the empty glass. "Another?"</p> + +<p>"No, I think not," Beardsley replied carefully.</p> + +<p>Arnold hesitated, eyeing the briefcase in Beardsley's clutch. "It's been +rough on you, too, I imagine. Hope there aren't more than thirty +variants! We're set up for more, of course, but it'll necessitate—"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-two," Beardsley assured him. Carefully, he spread the coded and +sealed <i>persona-tapes</i> across the desk. "Fresh from Citizen-File +Augment, everything annotated and cross-checked. Blood-count, emotional +stasis, plethora, psycho-geneological index, neuro-thalamic +imbalance—every type factor is here. We really went to the Files on +this case."</p> + +<p>"Looks as if you did! How does it narrow down?"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen possibles, four Logicals and three Primes—" Beardsley stopped +abruptly. (That news-caster: how had he known there were three Primes? +This stuff was not supposed to leak!) "Twenty-two who <i>knew</i> Carmack," +he went on. "That includes associational as well as motive-opportunity +factors, with a probability sphere of .004...."</p> + +<p>Arnold nodded thoughtfully; his fingers moved unconscious and caressing +across the edge of the desk. "Yes, I see. That's close! Good job," he +said uncertainly.</p> + +<p>"Should be! Seven weeks for annotation and code." Beardsley was watching +Arnold's fingers; there was something aimless and fretful as they pushed +among the code-sealed tapes. Beardsley made his voice casual. "If it +interests you," he said, "yes—you are there."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He wanted a reaction and he got it.</p> + +<p>"Me!" Arnold stiffened, pulled his fingers away hastily.</p> + +<p>"That surprises you? Don't worry, you're not one of the Primes; probably +be rejected on the first run. It's just that you once knew Carmack +rather well. Cal Tech, wasn't it, when Carmack was doing his special +work on magnetronics? Naturally you've had contact since, due to the +nature of your job."</p> + +<p>Arnold nodded, frowning. "That's right. It just hadn't occurred to me +that—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley realized that he wasn't lying. <i>It was not the thought of his +own tape that bothered Arnold.</i></p> + +<p>"Oh, we're thorough over at 'Coördinates Division!'" Beardsley laughed, +making a minor joke of it. "Now here," he touched a spool labelled in +red, "is your Basic Invariant. Carmack—Amos T. Murdered man. Found +bludgeoned in library of his home, night of April 4. Age 56, held all +outstanding patents on ECAIAC, worth millions, and"—he looked up, +beaming—"leaves beautiful wife."</p> + +<p>He paused for the merest moment. Save for a soft drumming of fingers on +the desk, Arnold was silent.</p> + +<p>"And here's a sub-Basic: Mrs. Carmack will be a rich woman now. She was +considerably younger than Carmack—and she's been having an affair with +another man." Beardsley smiled at Jeff Arnold. "That's a sociological +note beyond our sphere, but we managed to get the data. I'll bet the +department was appalled that such a gorgeous woman could be resolved +into neo-Euclidian equations!"</p> + +<p>"Why?" Arnold was suddenly irritable. "It's been done a thousand times +before!"</p> + +<p>"Of course," shrugged Beardsley. "And it's really up to ECAIAC, isn't +it? A Prime can be negated, while on the other hand a variant can shift +from possible to Logical to Prime. Or am I wrong? I've never been up on +the mechanics."</p> + +<p>Arnold grunted. "There's bound to be some correlatory shift! The +Primes—how many did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Three as of now."</p> + +<p>Arnold rose abruptly, then strode to the alco-mech and dialled himself +another drink. He took an uncommonly long time about it. "Look," he +said, "we both know about these things! In a case like this there are +bound to be political repercussions—" He hit Beardsley with a gauging +glance. "Well," he blurted, "I have to admit I'm damn curious! Mind +telling me who are the three Primes? Ah—strictly off the record, you +understand."</p> + +<p>Beardsley had expected something like this, and he was quite ready to +answer; but he carefully removed his glasses, massaged the bridge of his +nose and frowned. "Well, now...."</p> + +<p>"Come on, give! I know it's against protocol and all that ... but hell! +We'll have the answer anyway in a matter of hours."</p> + +<p>Beardsley nodded with a show of thoughtfulness. "Yes, that's true, isn't +it? Very well. But strictly off the record! I warn you—not only will +the first Prime startle you, but the information could be dangerous!"</p> + +<p>He waited a moment, then he leaned forward and whispered: "Mandleco!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>For a moment Arnold didn't move. His face was ludicrous. Then Beardsley +saw his hands clench.</p> + +<p>"Mandleco!" the word jolted from his lips. "George Mandleco, Minister of +Justice? I don't believe you!"</p> + +<p>"It's a fact," Beardsley told him. "Right now he equates into an +uncertain Prime."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes ... but Mandleco! Good Lord...."</p> + +<p>"I said <i>uncertain</i> Prime. As you mentioned yourself, there is sure to +be a shift of variants. Surely you have faith in ECAIAC?"</p> + +<p>"Of course! But Mandleco, why Mandleco?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? He was a friend of Carmack's—or a business associate shall we +say? He worked with Carmack on the ECAIAC lobby, was largely responsible +for pushing it through."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I—say, that's right! It would be in C-F...."</p> + +<p>"There are things," murmured Beardsley, "in Central File that would +astound you."</p> + +<p>Arnold was staring at the coded tapes. "Mandleco," he breathed. "And +with elections coming up!" He shook himself out of the daze. "The—the +other two Primes?"</p> + +<p>"Next is not so startling. A really strong Recessive Factor there ... +Professor Karl Losch."</p> + +<p>Arnold jerked erect suddenly. "Losch? Say, I remember him! Now <i>there's</i> +a man pursued by bad luck. He was working along similar lines to +Carmack—in fact, wasn't he in Carmack's employ for a while?—but +Carmack was first with the patents. You don't suppose that Losch—"</p> + +<p>"I'm not supposed to suppose," Beardsley said softly. "But clinically, +it is interesting to note that motive factor alone equates Losch from +Logical into Prime. <i>Plus</i> a high neuro-thalamic imbalance—132 over 80 +on the last Index, with pronounced efforts at suppression."</p> + +<p>He watched Arnold absorb that, and went on: "Now for the third Prime. I +think it'll interest you...."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He waited deliberately. He looked at Jeff Arnold for a long moment and +saw that the man was calm. Too calm. So absolutely motionless that it +wasn't real.</p> + +<p>"Third Prime. A strong one, believe me. In a way most interesting of +all." He pressed the words out slowly and flatly. "The third Prime," +said Beardsley, "is ... Pederson."</p> + +<p>He watched Arnold relax ever so slowly, leaning back, the tension going +away as he uncoiled in the chair; but the young man's face wasn't so +much relieved as it was puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Pederson. Pederson? I don't seem to—You can't mean <i>Brook</i> Pederson, +the one-time tele-columnist?"</p> + +<p>"None other. I don't suppose you remember, but back in '60 he opposed +the ECAIAC lobby. I mean <i>opposed</i> it, <i>fought</i> it! Predicted that +Government installation of such a machine would not inspire confidence, +that the nation's crime rate would rise ... he saw nothing but chaos. +For a while there he was quite a man. Got himself a following. Had +ambitions."</p> + +<p>"But I do remember it!" Arnold thumped the desk. "Of course! Pederson +headed a bloc against 'Carmack's Folly,' but he backed the wrong horse, +and when the bubble burst he was out in the cold. Became a laughing +stock." Arnold paused, and his glance held something of shrewdness and a +livening challenge. "Actually, Pederson couldn't have been more wrong. +In those first two years ECAIAC reduced the crime-rate by some forty +percent."</p> + +<p>"So it's claimed!" This was a sore point and Beardsley rose to the bait. +"It couldn't be that crime was on the down-grade already? I could show +you plenty of statistics that—why, I could show you methods—"</p> + +<p>"I'll just bet you could." Arnold gave a thin tolerant smile. "I refuse +to enter <i>that argument</i> again, not with you, Beardsley. I for one trust +in machines not in evolution. I've told you before...."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And Beardsley found himself sitting there with a flush of heat at his +hair-roots, half-angry and half foolish as he realized how he had been +baited.</p> + +<p>Jeff Arnold was abruptly all business. He plunged his finger at a +button, spoke into the intercom. "Joe! How's that test-run coming?"</p> + +<p>"All-X so far! Give us ten minutes for clearance."</p> + +<p>"Take twenty, but make sure it's <i>clearance</i>. Checked Quantitative, have +you? How about feed-backs? ... yes ... what's that? Semantic circuits! +Hell yes, check <i>all</i> synaptics for clearance! I want no excess data +fouling up this run!"</p> + +<p>He clicked off and sat there moodily, and Beardsley watched him, noting +the quick nervous rhythm of Arnold's fingers. Arnold noticed it, too, +and desisted.</p> + +<p>"Look," he said. "Mandleco, Losch, Pederson. Those three Primes just +don't make sense to me!"</p> + +<p>"They don't?" Beardsley allowed just the proper note of resentment. +"Surely you are not questioning Coördinates...."</p> + +<p>"You know I'm not! But—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley waited, knowing it was coming now. The thing Arnold had been +aching to voice for the past five minutes.</p> + +<p>"But—well, damn it, there is <i>Mrs.</i> Carmack, for example. As you +pointed out yourself, she'll be a rich woman now! It would seem to me—"</p> + +<p>"That she'd be a Prime? I'm surprised at you, Jeff; that's ancient +thinking." If there was a trace of sarcasm, it was lost on Arnold. "Oh, +I grant you it used to hold true—principle beneficiary was always prime +suspect. Fiction especially was full of it. Queen, Dickson Carr, Boucher +you—know the ilk. But with ECAIAC we've gotten away from all that, +haven't we?"</p> + +<p>Arnold stared at him suspiciously, hesitated, then brought it out with +an effort. "Well—how <i>did</i> she equate?"</p> + +<p>"Who? Oh yes, the beautiful widow. She only made Logical, and even that +is borderline."</p> + +<p>"I see." Arnold rose, dialled himself another drink, then changed his +mind and put it down untouched. He turned to gather up the tapes, and +his voice was apologetic.</p> + +<p>"It's not that I'd ever questioned Coördinates Division! We're too +closely aligned for that, Raoul...." (<i>First time he's ever used my +first name</i>, thought Beardsley.) "You have a splendid record to uphold, +as we do here at Mechanical. That's why ... well, I want to get this off +as smoothly as possible!"</p> + +<p>Something indefinable, a queasy feeling, took Beardsley about the +middle. He said sharply: "Any reason why not?"</p> + +<p>"No, not really. But in recent weeks—I tell you this in strictest +confidence, understand!—in recent weeks it's been a rather ticklish +thing to get total synaptic clearance."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Synaptics? Beardsley began thinking back to the Crime-Central "Required +Annual Basic." The Mechanical had never been his strong point. He said +uncertainly, "But—that's serious!"</p> + +<p>"It's just that we've found ECAIAC holding back excess data from +previous runs. Fouls up the relays, takes hours to iron out the +clearance." Arnold gave him a keen look. "More of a nuisance really, +but the weirdest thing. Stubborn!"</p> + +<p><i>Stubborn.</i> Beardsley could have thought of a better word. Through the +panelled glass he glimpsed the black metal sheathe of the monster out +there, the shapeless crouching and malevolent winking lights, and he +felt himself going to pieces inside with a sudden shaking crumble; he +hated himself for it but he couldn't stop it; his hands clenched until +the knuckles showed white.</p> + +<p>"... matter of time until we find the cause," Arnold was saying, "but I +guarantee total clearance <i>today</i>. Shall we get on with it?" Hands +loaded with tapes, he moved for the door.</p> + +<p>"No!" Beardsley cried. "Arnold, if you don't mind, I—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, for God's sake, not again! Raoul, I swear I'm going to do something +about this phobia of yours; it's getting to be not so funny any more." +With a show of exasperation, Arnold propelled him through the door. "I +give you my absolute word our pet won't snap at you. Not today. It's +going to be far too busy for the likes of you!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And Jeff Arnold was right, Beardsley discovered. Those baleful overtones +were gone, replaced by a sustained soft whisper along the ninety-foot +hull—a rather impatient whisper but not at all unpleasant. Beardsley +relaxed by slow degrees, but kept a cautious distance, while Arnold +pointed out every light along the length flashing green for Total +Clearance.</p> + +<p>"She's rarin' to go," said Arnold with a display of good humor, "but +we'll let her wait a while, eh?" He clapped a friendly arm across +Beardsley's shoulder. "You just come along now and watch; I think your +trouble is, you've never been properly introduced! We'll have no more of +this feudin' and fussin' between you and ECAIAC."</p> + +<p>So Beardsley, showing more courage than he felt, trailed the +cyberneticist through every unit of final check-up. Much of it he knew +already from the "Required Annual Basic" ... or thought he knew. For +this was so different from the Manuals! He felt at once ashamed and awed +as he viewed at first hand the unfolding schematic structure. He was +thrilled at sight of the selectors and analyzers of processed beryllium, +the logic-and-semantic circuits in complex little bundles, the +sensitized variant-tapes waiting for transferral impress, all revealed +by a flick of Arnold's fingers that threw open entire sheathed sections +to bare the inner secrets. The thousands of tiny transistors amazed +Beardsley. The endless array of electric eyes startled him. And the +spongy centers of synaptic cell-clusters horrified him, recalling too +vividly to mind what he knew of the physical human brain.</p> + +<p>Along the monstrous length he trailed Jeff Arnold; he trailed and he +watched and he listened, not interfering once by word or gesture. And +before it was over his heart was surging with a great revelatory beat +because suddenly <i>he knew</i> ... <i>he knew</i>....</p> + +<p>Arnold seemed in high good humor as they paced back. "So," he nudged +Beardsley in the ribs, "we'll have no more of this nonsense between you +and ECAIAC. Eh? You're just <i>bound</i> to be good friends now."</p> + +<p>Beardsley didn't answer. The revelation was still too much with him. He +watched as Arnold conferred with a group of his techs about a +micro-chron, and the time was carefully noted for Central Record.</p> + +<p>Then the first of the tapes went in. The Basic Invariant—Amos Carmack.</p> + +<p>It reached synapse and a tiny blip registered on cue.</p> + +<p>The rest of the tapes fed in, razoring through the rollers, past the +selenic-sensitized tips of the relays. There was no progressive order. +After the Basic Invariant progression didn't matter. Possible or Logical +or Prime, all factors would correlate or cancel; any divergent +status-shift would be duly handled by transferral impress.</p> + +<p>Beardsley counted the tapes. Twenty ... twenty-one ... twenty-two.</p> + +<p>The techs dispersed, taking up their various posts where special +eject-tapes clicked out a second-by-second record of the progression.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Nothing much happened. The sound of ECAIAC became a steady inundant +drone; or did Beardsley just imagine that he detected something of the +<i>gleeful</i> in it? With an effort he put the thought from him, and keeping +a cautious distance he took a turn around the monster, up one side and +down the other.</p> + +<p>He stopped by Jeff Arnold, who was jotting down figures from the chrono. +That seemed silly, as nothing had happened yet.</p> + +<p>Arnold glanced up and grinned at him, as if totally unconcerned that +this was the most repercussive case in the entire history of +Crime-Central! A little disconcerted, Beardsley said, "What happens +first?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, plenty is <i>happening</i>. But the first you'll notice will be a total +reject. Watch when that happens. Complete silence, every light red for +exactly two and a half seconds—the reject, and then everything +continues."</p> + +<p>"How about Transferral Impress? You know—possible to Logical, or +Logical to Prime?"</p> + +<p>Arnold paused over his notes for the merest instant. "Why—it's +progressive, of course. <i>That</i> you won't notice!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley stared at him curiously, started to speak and then changed his +mind. He wandered again, watching the techs but not interfering. And +suddenly he was aware that the first total reject had come. It happened +with smooth and sudden silence just as Arnold had described, ECAIAC +breaking pace for mere seconds ... then all was clear again, and one of +the techs hurried down the aisle with the tape, which he handed to +Arnold.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Beardsley was aware of a wild pounding of pulse as he stared at the +anonymous tape. One of the fifteen "possibles"? It might even be a +rejected Logical. Mrs. Carmack? She was borderline. Or a Prime! It could +be Mandleco himself—or Losch or Pederson. No ... it was unlikely any +Primes would fall this early....</p> + +<p>But maybe they were no longer Primes! Maybe <i>right now</i> Transferral +Impress was at work, maybe one or more of them was being relegated to +lower coördinate-status somewhere there in the entrails....</p> + +<p>He felt a bounding excitement. And, as if reading his thoughts, Jeff +Arnold gave him an amused look.</p> + +<p>"Don't let it get to you, Raoul. I used to find it the same; we all do. +But then you get to thinking, hell, why try to guess? Identities don't +matter now!" He indicated the coded tape. "A total reject—anonymous. +ECAIAC's way of telling us <i>that</i> person could not possibly be the +murderer."</p> + +<p>"But—you're not even curious?"</p> + +<p>"At rejects? Why?" Arnold seemed perplexed. "Oh, you mean because <i>I'm</i> +among the 'possibles.' Frankly it doesn't bother me. I know I'm not the +murderer, and I have faith in ECAIAC. If this isn't my tape, the next +will be—or the eighth, or the fifteenth."</p> + +<p>Beardsley nodded slowly. With ECAIAC it was only the final equate that +mattered, the total result of Cumulative. He saw the truth in that, and +the perfection. Or—his eyes beneath the glasses came to a quick bright +focus—<i>was</i> it quite perfection? He watched in silence as Arnold +consulted the micro-chron and jotted more notes. <i>Rej. Q-9 (code): (.008 +synap. circ.): 11:23 A.M.</i></p> + +<p>Beardsley wandered again, watching the techs. A sudden shivering seized +him. How could they remain so calm? Were they so close to the forest +they couldn't notice? Something was about to happen ... to him it was +unmistakable, in the very atmosphere, sharpened and heightened by the +four walls—a pervading sense of <i>wrongness</i> and a pyramiding tension.</p> + +<p>Even Arnold wasn't aware; <i>audibly</i> nothing had changed, as ECAIAC +continued its soft-clicking whisper and the techs methodically checked +the progress tapes. Beardsley stood numbly for a moment, struggling +against a welter of panic. Palms sweating, he moved a safe distance away +and waited.</p> + +<p>Eight minutes later came another reject. Six minutes later, the third. +ECAIAC continued its blithe, soft-throated rhythm—but Beardsley was not +fooled.</p> + +<p>Someone sent out for coffee. It arrived in steaming thermo-containers. +Beardsley was on his first cup of coffee when rejects 4, 5 and 6 came +through.</p> + +<p>He was on his second cup when number 7 ejected, and he had just taken a +last swallow when all hell broke loose.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It wasn't much different from the other rejects. Total silence, every +light in every section red ... trouble was, they couldn't seem to get +together again. Some went back to green, others blinked with ominous +uncertainty, still others said "to hell with it" and exploded in vicious +shards of glass that sprayed across the room. That was only the +beginning. Twenty feet from Beardsley came a louder explosion, a sort of +muffled hissing. He ducked, as a complete bank of transistors zoomed +past his head. From a dozen places along the ninety-foot length angry +trails of smoke poured out. A tech yelled "Damn!" as he pulled back a +burned hand. Sheathes crashed open. Long strands of vari-colored wire +burst out and began a crazy aimless writhing, accompanied by an ominous +buzzing sound as if a swarm of angry metallic bees had escaped. Someone +was yelling, "Master-switch! The master-switch!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley saw Arnold leap to the master-switch, where he became +entangled with a tech who was screaming at him, "My God, sir, hurry! +It's <span class="smcap">breakdown</span>!"</p> + +<p>Cursing, Arnold shoved the man aside and pulled the controls.</p> + +<p>But now that it was roused, ECAIAC didn't want to give up so easily. +There came a staccato series of minor explosions—defiant gesture, +thought Beardsley!—before silence engulfed the room together with a +drift of acrid smoke.</p> + +<p>It was acrid and <i>angry</i> smoke. From a safe distance Beardsley adjusted +his glasses and observed the frantic, scurrying techs, many of them +nursing burned hands. Aside from a pounding heart he was amazed at his +own calm; nevertheless, he tread with caution as he approached Arnold, +who was on his haunches dolefully surveying the area of major damage.</p> + +<p>"Uh—is it something serious?"</p> + +<p>Arnold glared up at him. "Overload on the feed-backs. If that's <i>all</i> it +is, we can pull out the unit and replace it in a few hours."</p> + +<p>"Never happened before, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Not like this," Arnold groaned. "Lord—it just seemed to go berserk!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley glanced around nervously. "You see? You see? I didn't think +our beautiful friendship could last...."</p> + +<p>Arnold snarled, "Get out, Beardsley! What the hell you doing here +anyway? Go somewhere and read a book!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes, I—" Beardsley swallowed hastily. He then straightened, took +a last look around and pulled himself together. Without a word, he +turned and strode resolutely into Jeff Arnold's office; he closed the +door carefully, then hurried over to the stat and pushed the button for +priority.</p> + +<p>"Hello," he said. "Mandleco's office? ... this is Mechanical Division +... no, I want <i>Mandleco</i> ... I don't care, get him I said! This is +emergency! Put him on at once!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mandleco arrived twenty minutes later. The Minister of Justice was tall +and raw-boned with a long hook-nose, a shock of whitening hair, and more +than a suggestion of military arrogance. He paused for precisely one +second in the doorway, then strode straight over to Jeff Arnold. Before +saying a word he bent slightly and peered into the maze of mechanism.</p> + +<p>Beardsley wanted to say, "Do you find the cause of the trouble, sir?" +But he held his tongue.</p> + +<p>Mandleco straightened up, glaring. "Arnold, what is the meaning of +this?"</p> + +<p>"Breakdown, sir."</p> + +<p>"I can see that! The cause, man, the cause!"</p> + +<p>"I—it's only the feed-back, sir." Arnold struggled with the terminals, +most of which were a fused and tangled mess. "Not as bad as it looks, I +assure you. I've already contacted Maintenance; they're sending up a new +unit."</p> + +<p>"What precisely does that mean? Can you complete the run or not! This +has got to go through today!"</p> + +<p>Arnold touched a hot terminal, jerked back his hand and swore. "It will, +sir. Give us a few hours. We had seven total rejects, so I doubt the +tapes are at fault. More like a synaptic overload. Transferrals are +okay, so I want to try it with a stepped-up synaptic check; that'll +alleviate any overload without drain on the minor selective, which is +better than setting up complete new correlation-grams."</p> + +<p>It was too much for Mandleco. Grinding a fist in his palm, he stared +into the matrix and muttered, "Unprecedented. Absolutely unprecedented! +Arnold, I just can't understand <i>why</i>—"</p> + +<p>"Happened pretty suddenly," Beardsley intruded. His voice was low and +laden with meaning. "Almost as if it had gone berserk! And little +wonder, if you ask me...."</p> + +<p>Mandleco turned quickly. "Eh? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Well ... how would <i>you</i> feel if you had just been handed the news, out +of the blue, that someone you loved had been brutally murdered? ECAIAC +reacted, is all. She must have regarded Carmack as a father—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Arnold looked up in amazement. "Beardsley, will you stop that crazy +nonsense!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense?" Beardsley appeared hurt. "Why—you said yourself that you +wanted me and ECAIAC to become great friends!" He appealed to Mandleco. +"That's what he said, sir, and he even took pains to introduce me and +all, and—"</p> + +<p>"It was in the nature of a joke, sir!" Arnold's voice rose an octave. "A +private little joke, and he's trying to make it appear—"</p> + +<p>"Stop it, stop it!" Mandleco thundered. "Arnold—you get that new unit +installed on the double! Put your best men on it. That's an order! +Beardsley, I'm glad you had the presence of mind to contact me. +Commendable, most commendable."</p> + +<p>Arnold scowled, hit Beardsley with an accusing look.</p> + +<p>"Above all," said Mandleco, "not a word of this must leak! <i>Damn</i> it, +why should this have to happen <i>now</i>? Public confidence will be +undermined if they think ECAIAC is—is—"</p> + +<p>"Not infallible?" suggested Beardsley.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. You hear me, Arnold? Not a word of this must get out!"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it won't," Arnold glared venomously at Beardsley, "if you'll +just keep <i>him</i> away from the tele-stats."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Minister of Justice walked away, still muttering something about +public confidence and political repercussions. Beardsley kept pace +beside him until they were across the room. Then he spoke, timidly at +first.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, sir, but—I'd like to ask you something." His voice was low +and confidential. "If you'll just look around you...."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" Mandleco followed Beardsley's gesture, and for the first time he +seemed to see the room in total. Shards of glass lay everywhere. A great +tangle of wire was strewn half the length of ECAIAC, and a bank of +transistors reposed against the far wall in pitiful ruin. The techs had +already started a strip-down, their tools and units across the floor +adding to the general confusion.</p> + +<p>Mandleco said, "Well? What is it you—" His words stopped as if sliced +in two by his teeth. "Yes. Yes, by God, I see what you mean!"</p> + +<p>"Can you really conceive of operation in two hours? <i>Two hours</i>," Arnold +said. "Two days, maybe. More likely in two weeks!"</p> + +<p>Mandleco groaned as if in pain, staring around.</p> + +<p>Beardsley pressed his point. "You'll pardon my saying it, sir, but I +<i>do</i> realize what the Carmack Case means—to you personally. So much +build-up and publicity, and the people demanding a verdict ... why, if +the case were to snag now—"</p> + +<p>"Unthinkable!" A shudder touched Mandleco's long, lean frame. "Out with +it, man! What are you trying to say?"</p> + +<p>Beardsley was suddenly sweating. He felt as if a long tube were inside +of him, hot and throbbing, reaching up with a surge of pulse to his +temples. <i>It had to be now. He had to say it.</i></p> + +<p>"Well," he gulped. "Just this, sir. I think the case can be cracked +right now. Today. <i>Without</i> ECAIAC."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Without ECAIAC? Why, that's—"</p> + +<p>"Sure. You think it's crazy. But I tell you <i>I</i> can do it!" Beardsley's +words came fast and urgent. "I've followed this case from the beginning, +I processed it, I'm familiar with every angle. I tell you, <i>I can +deliver the killer</i>. Give me permission to try!"</p> + +<p>Mandleco stared at Beardsley as if he were some queer specimen under a +microscope; his mouth opened to speak, then he clamped his teeth tightly +and strode away.</p> + +<p>He turned back abruptly. "So you think you have the solution. You +actually—do—think it!" His eyes narrowed down, no longer amused, as he +fixed the little serologist with a peculiar gaze. "Go on, Beardsley. +Your suggestion at least has the novelty of imagination!"</p> + +<p>"The novelty of experience," Beardsley said bitterly. "<i>With your +permission and co-operation</i> I can solve this case, together with +positive evidence that will hold up in any court! What's more, I'll do +it today. A guarantee," Beardsley said pointedly, "which I dare say you +no longer have from ECAIAC."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mandleco stood quite motionless, trying to recall something. "Now I +remember! You were with New York Homicide, weren't you, before promotion +to Coördinates in '60? I recall passing on your record. Top record, too, +for those days."</p> + +<p>Beardsley gestured impatiently. "How about it, sir? I know every +pertinent fact of this case, plus a few of my own which haven't been +tested in a dozen years. Not indexes and tubes and tapes—just facts! +Fact and method! Let me apply them!"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, Beardsley. There <i>is</i> ECAIAC, +and public confidence must not be allowed—"</p> + +<p>"The public be damned," Beardsley caught himself. "All right—for +appearance sake you can say the solution <i>came</i> from ECAIAC. Let ECAIAC +verify me later if you wish. I'm not after headlines and glory ... by +heaven, sir, I'm offering you an <i>out</i>!"</p> + +<p>Mandleco pondered that. He glanced again at the confusion across the +room, and realization seemed to hit him. Quite suddenly, then, he threw +back his head and roared with laughter.</p> + +<p>"An out. And by heaven, Beardsley, I'm offering you a try! The idea +appeals to me! Beardsley versus ECAIAC ... socio-archaism opposed to the +<i>machina-ratiocinatrix</i>. Why, it's delicious!" He subsided to a rumble +of mirth and wiped tears from his eyes. "So! Just what do you propose?"</p> + +<p>Beardsley saw nothing amusing. "I propose first, sir, that we reach an +understanding. I'm to conduct the investigation my own way, without +interference?"</p> + +<p>"You have my word! I never violate it."</p> + +<p>"Good. Then start using your word right now. There are three persons I +want placed in temporary custody; they are to be brought over here at +once for questioning."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mandleco looked appalled. "Questioning? <i>Here?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, right here. Immediately! The three I want are Mrs. Carmack—I +happen to know she's still in the city. And Brook Pederson—you should +reach him easily at Central News Bureau. The third—"</p> + +<p>"Would that be Professor Losch?" Mandleco smugly asked. "Sorry, but +Losch happens to be in Bermuda right now."</p> + +<p>Beardsley said sharply: "How did you know that?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I—I'm acquainted with Losch, you know. He was planning a +vacation, and he mentioned Bermuda—"</p> + +<p>"No. I don't mean that. <i>How did you know Losch was my third person?</i>"</p> + +<p>Mandleco bristled a little, his face reddening as he groped for an +answer. "Never mind," Beardsley waved it aside. "If Losch is in Bermuda +at present we'll reach him by tele-stat right now!" He was suddenly +crisp as he propelled the Minister of Justice toward Jeff Arnold's +office.</p> + +<p>Mandleco stared at this little man, wondering if it were the same person +he had been talking to just minutes before. "Now see here, Beardsley—" +But he was interrupted.</p> + +<p>"I thought we had an understanding! Of course, if you'd prefer to count +on ECAIAC—"</p> + +<p>"Very well," Mandleco nodded grimly, "I gave you my word. But the +instant Arnold repairs the breakdown, your little experiment is over! Do +you understand that?"</p> + +<p>Beardsley nodded. He understood very well.</p> + +<p>"In the meantime, Beardsley, I warn you. I'll have no brow-beating of +these citizens, no—what was it called—third-degreeing tactics! I +understand that sort of thing used to be pretty prevalent."</p> + +<p>Beardsley snorted, as if that were beneath comment, and closed the +office door behind them. Mandleco hit him with a cagey glance. "The +Logicals and the Primes, eh? I suppose you know that I happen to be one +of those Primes."</p> + +<p>Beardsley looked straight at him. "Yes, I'm aware of it. My own approach +will be individualistic, of course, but I promise you won't be +over-looked!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It might have been fatal—but Beardsley had judged his man well. +Mandleco took it as a challenge. He was silent as he approached the +tele-stat, and he no longer seemed amused.</p> + +<p>He put through the directive to have Mrs. Sheila Carmack and Mr. Brook +Pederson brought in. "As my guests, that is," Mandleco told his +operative. "<i>Be sure they understand that.</i> They are to be brought to +Crime-Central, Mechanical Division, at once ... yes, I said Mechanical +Division! At once means <i>now</i>."</p> + +<p>Beardsley nodded approval. "And now Professor Losch, please?"</p> + +<p>Without a waste of motion, Mandleco put through to Bermuda on priority +beam. While they waited he gave Beardsley a look of puzzlement and new +respect. "Ah—I'm not implying that it's against protocol, of course, +but I assume you've already made some investigation along lines of your +own?"</p> + +<p>"Superficial only," Beardsley said.</p> + +<p>"I see. Well then, would you mind giving me some ... you know, just an +idea of how you plan to proceed?"</p> + +<p>Beardsley said bluntly: "Yes, I would mind."</p> + +<p>"Oh." Mandleco frowned and persisted. "Psychologic deduction. Wasn't +that your <i>forte</i>? I seem to recall—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley grunted. "I'll tell you this much, there are implications +about this case that fascinate me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh?" Mandleco found himself a chair, sat upon it and edged forward. "I +don't just quite—"</p> + +<p>"Look. To begin with, the case is unique; so much so that your entire +structure of approach is wrong. I mean top-heavy! Top-heavy with +gadgetry and assumption."</p> + +<p>"Assumption?" Mandleco bristled a little. "You of all people should know +better. Not <i>once</i> in the past dozen years has ECAIAC failed to arrive +at a conclusive and pin-point solution based on correlative factors!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley smiled thinly. "Ah, yes. But we were speaking of the <i>Carmack</i> +case. I repeat, it's not only unique but untenable; it became untenable +the moment you assigned ECAIAC the task of solving the murder of its own +creator! That," he said grimly, "is a mistake we wouldn't have made even +in '60...."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mandleco thought that over, shook his head and frowned. It was obvious +he missed the connotation. "So?" he urged.</p> + +<p>"So look at the murder itself. The <i>pattern</i>. You'll admit it does seem +odd and misplaced for these times—or hadn't you noticed?" Beardsley +leaned forward sharply. "But it strikes a familiar note with me! +Absolutely nothing in the way of material clues; not even the weapon; +and the <i>modus operandi</i> is one I haven't seen employed in years, the +old idea of the most direct and simple murder being the safest!"</p> + +<p>"I—I guess I just don't follow you."</p> + +<p>"I mean the <i>way</i> Carmack was struck down. Nothing cute and fancy, no +frills or improvisation—just the proverbial blunt instrument, after +which the killer simply walked out of there. Believe me, I know about +these things. The very simplicity is the killer's protection. You can +bet no trace will ever be found of that blunt instrument, and naturally +he left no evidence coming or going. But then," Beardsley said +obliquely, "your so-called 'Survey' men made a horrible botch of the +scene. In '60 we'd have sent them back to patrolling the freeways!"</p> + +<p>Mandleco started to protest, then closed his mouth quickly. "I see, I +see."</p> + +<p>"I can understand," Beardsley murmured, "how emphasis on basic +groundwork has become minimized. So much reliance on Indexes and +thalamic-imbalance and chart-sifts! It was only a matter of time until a +criminal, a really <i>clever</i> one, saw through the system—and reverted." +His fingers drummed the chair arm, then he looked up sharply. "And yet +of all places, I'd say that Carmack's estate was <i>least</i> ideally +situated for this type of murder; you know what I mean? You've been +there?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I—there have been occasions. Yes."</p> + +<p>Beardsley nodded. "I refer to Carmack's elaborate system against +invasion of his privacy. To put it bluntly, he had enemies, and his +estate was designed as a refuge against those enemies; electronic +barriers pitched at ultra-frequency to respond only to certain neural +vibrations. Must have taken years of research to come up with that!"</p> + +<p>Mandleco shifted impatiently. "Of course, but look here, Beardsley—"</p> + +<p>"So it leaves me right where I started, doesn't it? And yet I know this: +it was no <i>emotional</i> killing. It was all coldly planned. The killer was +someone Carmack trusted enough to have in his home; they were probably +having a quiet little chat together. And then precisely—on a +predetermined minute—the killer rose from his chair and struck."</p> + +<p>Mandleco lifted his heavy hands and then, as if conscious of them, let +them fall limply across the desk. "But—come now, Beardsley! Psychologic +deduction is all very well, but how can you possibly know that?"</p> + +<p>Beardsley gazed calmly at the Minister of Justice. For a moment he said +nothing. Mandleco seemed more alert than startled, more annoyed than +either.</p> + +<p>"That," said Beardsley softly, "I am not prepared to tell you."</p> + +<p>Mandleco seemed about to pursue the point, but there came an +interruption. Both men turned abruptly as the stat-screen gave its +warning blip.</p> + +<p>"Code C-C-Five!" came the remote voice. "Bermuda to Washington, +Priority. This is Priority. C-C-Five ... your party is ready now, sir!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was a pool-side scene, with hotel and tropical palms against an +unbelievable blue sky. Professor Emil Losch loomed on the screen; he was +in swimming trunks, a small gray man who seemed hard as nails, his lean +tanned body belying his years.</p> + +<p>"Hello?" Losch peered sharply and then pulled away, almost upsetting an +expensive decanter of liquor on the table beside him. He seemed to +blanch as he recognized the Minister of Justice. "Mandleco!"</p> + +<p>The latter raised a hand in greeting. "Don't be alarmed, Professor, this +is not official. Just a social call."</p> + +<p>"I want to correct that," Beardsley said bluntly as he thrust himself +into range. "Professor Losch, this <i>is</i> official; furthermore, I wish to +advise you that this stat is monitor-taped for both vis and audio, and +the resulting record is therefore admissible in any Court of Law. Being +so advised, is there any objection on your part to answering a brief +series of questions pertaining to the Carmack Case? I have been duly +authorized by George Mandleco, Minister of Justice," he added for the +record.</p> + +<p>Losch glanced bewilderedly from Beardsley to Mandleco, and seemed to +take courage from the latter.</p> + +<p>"Objection?" he said. "This is a bit unusual, but ... of course, I have +no objection."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I shall make a series of statements, and give you +opportunity to refute them either in part or <i>in toto</i>. Professor Losch, +some years ago you were engaged privately, in magnetronic cybernetic +research along similar lines to those later developed by Amos Carmack. +Shortly thereafter you claimed that Carmack had thwarted you, +out-maneuvered you, <i>out-stolen</i> you at every turn; I believe those are +pretty much your own words, as revealed by court records—"</p> + +<p>"Correct! I repeat them now!"</p> + +<p>"You filed against him, and litigation dragged through the courts for +several years before Carmack finally won out. Shortly thereafter you +disappeared; I believe you took up residence in Europe. About a year ago +you returned, and was hired as Research Consultant in the laboratories +of the Carmack Foundation. This is true?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>For a moment Losch avoided looking at the screen. It was obvious he was +considering his answer carefully.</p> + +<p>"It's true," he said.</p> + +<p>Beardsley said quickly, "It is my understanding that Mr. Mandleco +interceded with Carmack on your behalf—"</p> + +<p>"I protest the last statement!" Losch's words exploded from the screen. +"There was no intercession by anyone!" His head lifted defiantly. "Yes, +I came back. I don't mind admitting I came crawling back. Carmack +offered me the position and I accepted!"</p> + +<p>"Quite so. And he offered you a hundred thousand a year, didn't he? +Twice the salary of any other top man?"</p> + +<p>"You think that's out of line," Losch bristled, "but he must have +thought I was worth it—I think you know why! He owed me ten times as +much!"</p> + +<p>"You must have really hated Carmack," murmured Beardsley.</p> + +<p>Mandleco thrust forward angrily, gesturing. "Losch, let me caution you +not to answer that!"</p> + +<p>"But I will answer it! Yes, I hated him, but if you think I killed the +man you're wrong. Sure—I wanted to kill him—I thought about it often +enough, but I hadn't the courage." Losch glared at Beardsley from the +screen. "No doubt my Augment Index will bear it out," he said bitterly. +"Neuro-thalamic imbalance isn't it called? Pronounced efforts at +emotional suppression?"</p> + +<p>"Close enough," Beardsley nodded, refusing to be enticed from his query. +"And you were in Washington prior to and including the day of the +murder. You admit this?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course I admit it!" Losch sighed wearily and lifted his +hands. "Why deny the obvious? I'm resigned to the fact that my Index +probably makes me a prize Prime!"</p> + +<p>"Professor Losch. As a person closely associated with the Carmack +Laboratories, you must be aware of the—shall we say—elaborate +precautions Carmack took to ensure his privacy?"</p> + +<p>Losch sank back slowly, but his eyes couldn't conceal a livening +interest. "I don't know what you mean."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll tell you. I refer to the frequency barrier which Carmack +installed within the past year. The 'neuro-vibe' I think he called it. +That strikes a note?"</p> + +<p>Losch said sullenly, "Perhaps! What about it?"</p> + +<p>"Only this. Assuming the killer was a person Carmack had reason to +mistrust—or to fear—he had to solve the neuro-vibe in order to gain +access. Not many persons could have done that, Losch. But <i>you</i> could +have done it."</p> + +<p>Losch came up out of his chair with a heavy, angry look. "Now see here, +you—"</p> + +<p>"Which pretty well establishes motive, means and method. You were in +Washington the day of the murder! And you left for Bermuda the day +following! Is that substantially correct?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Totally</i> correct!" said Losch savagely. "Now may I ask what the hell +you're going to do about it?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Beardsley observed him for a prolonged second. "Remember it," he +answered softly.</p> + +<p>Losch opened his mouth to say more, but Beardsley lifted a palm at the +screen and smiled benignly. "Well, sir, I think that about covers it. I +want to thank you very much for the record, and—ah—have a nice +vacation! Goodbye."</p> + +<p>With that he clicked off abruptly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He turned to face Mandleco, who was struggling between anger and +distress as he paced away from the screen and back. He confronted +Beardsley with a sad and accusing look. "Now see here, Beardsley! If I'd +known your methods were ... don't you think that was all a bit +high-handed?"</p> + +<p>"What? No, not in the least. Didn't you notice?"</p> + +<p>"Notice what?"</p> + +<p>"Losch was an angry man, yes, indeed."</p> + +<p>"Angry," snapped Mandleco. "Good reason!"</p> + +<p>"No," Beardsley mused. "The <i>wrong</i> reason. Murder—at least the type +we're concerned with—is a form of release, you know. A killer may +commit his deed in anger, but once the thing is accomplished he never +retains that anger long." Beardsley gazed contemplatively at the screen. +"You know, I admire that man. I really do. He had the convictions at +least, if not the courage."</p> + +<p>Mandleco pounced on that. "Then you think Losch is innocent?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say that!" Beardsley paused in a strange hesitation; his eyes +had gone remote beneath the very thick glasses, and his words came slow +and isolated. "But he's part of the record. Yes, it should be quite a +record. In fact, I have a feeling—you know?—that this case is going to +stand as a <i>monument</i> in the annals of crime...."</p> + +<p>Mandleco stared at him, searched for the meaning there and then gave it +up. <i>Why had he ever committed himself to this situation anyway? Did +this little man really know as much as he pretended, or was he merely +fumbling around in the dregs of a forgotten past?</i> To be sure, Beardsley +was a pathetic enough figure; but the man had once been great in his +field, and there was something about him even now....</p> + +<p>There was the sudden way Beardsley had of losing his abstracted look, +the eyes beneath those ridiculous lenses coming to a sharp bright focus +with tiny livening flecks in the gray of the iris; and the way the +change lifted his features from mediocrity to the alertness of a +terrier. It was absurd, it was farcical ... and it was all very +disturbing.</p> + +<p>"You told <i>me</i>," Mandleco said testily, "that the killer was someone +Carmack trusted enough to have in his home. Then you bludgeon Losch with +the idea it was a person Carmack had reason to fear! It would seem to +me, Beardsley—"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I think my words to Losch were <i>assuming</i> the killer was such a +person." Beardsley looked up brightly, and even through those lenses +Mandleco could see the sharp focus.</p> + +<p>"Just the same, I fail to see what's to be gained by these outlandish +methods!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley seemed genuinely surprised. "But I've gained a great deal +already! And don't forget, Mrs. Carmack and Pederson should be here +soon."</p> + +<p>"<i>That's</i> a prospect I look forward to," Mandleco tried to salvage a +modicum of humor and failed miserably. He extracted a cigar, clamped his +teeth upon it, frowned and glanced at his watch. He strode over and +peered out at the operations room.</p> + +<p>Beardsley said innocuously, "I wouldn't count on ECAIAC just yet."</p> + +<p>It was Beardsley's first error. He realized it instantly. The remark +seemed to trigger something in Mandleco.</p> + +<p>The Minister of Justice turned slowly, rolling the cigar from one corner +of his mouth to the other. "But I may," he said. "You know, I just may! +It's barely possible, Beardsley, that with some luck we'll be able to +dispense with your talents!" He said it with considerable more relish +than conviction, and moved for the door. "I think I'll just see how +Arnold is making out!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Arnold was making out very well, much to Mandleco's delight. No longer +was there chaos and confusion. The new feed-back unit had arrived, and +installation was well under way. Blueprints were spread out as a crew of +techs worked feverishly at all damage areas.</p> + +<p>"It looks promising," Arnold hurried up to greet him. "Told you I had a +good crew here! Look—see this?" He indicated one of the variant-tapes +being slowly reversed across the relays.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"The number eight reject."</p> + +<p>"That what caused the trouble?"</p> + +<p>"Well ... we think so, but it's problematical. Whether it did or not, +we're safe in resuming the run without any shift in the correlation +total."</p> + +<p>Mandleco stared at the number eight. "Throw it out!" he snapped.</p> + +<p>"What—what did you say, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I said throw it out! Get this thing to functioning!"</p> + +<p>Arnold was aghast. "But," he gulped, "we just can't throw out data! +Sure, it was about to be a reject—but everything, even rejects, contain +a factor-balance! You know that, sir."</p> + +<p>Mandleco got control of himself with an effort. "Yes—yes, of course. I +know you're right. But damn it, man, those units cost something like +eighty thousand dollars! Suppose the same breakdown occurs?"</p> + +<p>"Not a chance of it this time. We'll merely continue with a stepped-up +synaptic check. Take longer for Cumulative, perhaps, but absolutely +fool-proof once we—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>For a long instant Mandleco stood musing. Then he nodded brusquely. "All +right. How long to get going?"</p> + +<p>"Why, we'll be ready in forty minutes at the most. I told you I had a +good crew, sir! Excuse me—" One of Arnold's techs was motioning to him. +"Excuse me," Arnold said again, and hurried away to consult with the +man.</p> + +<p>"Forty minutes!" Mandleco couldn't believe it. He chortled happily, and +swung about to greet Beardsley who approached at that moment. "Hear +that, Beardsley? Forty minutes! Excellent man, Arnold. I'm sorry I ever +doubted—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley wasn't listening. He stared about at the miracle of +reconstruction, and there was more of amazement on his face than +distress. Adjusting his glasses, he gazed thoughtfully at Jeff Arnold's +retreating figure.</p> + +<p>Mandleco was saying, "Just as well your little experiment didn't go any +further! Dangerous precedent ... don't know what possessed me ... you +realize that in the last analysis I'll have to put my faith in ECAIAC! +No bad feelings?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," Beardsley pronounced somberly. "No bad feelings, because I'm +holding you to your word. ECAIAC hasn't solved your case and it never +will."</p> + +<p>Mandleco stood still, open-mouthed. "What's that? Nonsense! Arnold just +assured me—"</p> + +<p>"He assured you of nothing! I'm more convinced than ever now. I'm the +only one who can solve this case, and I'm holding you to your word."</p> + +<p>Mandleco seemed undecided whether to laugh or censure. His heavy fingers +opened and closed aimlessly, as he stared across the room at Arnold and +back at Beardsley. Finally his teeth snapped together. "Beardsley," he +choked—"I warn you, if this is some sort of trickery—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley shook his head solemnly. "You'd do well to believe me, sir. I +was never more serious."</p> + +<p>"So you're determined to go on with it! Very well, Beardsley. You have +something like forty minutes, and believe me you'd better prove +yourself! May I remind you"—fraught with meaning, his voice bordered on +anticipation—"may I remind you, Beardsley, that already you've given +sufficient cause for a complete review of your qualifications as +Coördinator?"</p> + +<p>Beardsley looked at him and smiled. "Yes, sir. And may I remind <i>you</i>, +sir," he nodded toward the far door, "that your guests have arrived?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mrs. Carmack, Beardsley thought as he watched her, was that rare type of +woman who could defy all the current conventions of style and carry it +off successfully; her type of beauty was unostentatious and yet vibrant. +She was dressed impeccably in black and silver, her hair was authentic +honey-blonde in a coronet braid, and her face possessed that pure line +of profile together with the quality of translucence one sees in rare +porcelain.... Sheila Carmack was thirty-five, and she paid her +beauticians that many thousands annually to keep her looking fifteen +years younger. Just now she seemed in buoyant good spirits as she +greeted Mandleco.</p> + +<p>Not so the young man who accompanied her. The escort was a person +Beardsley had never seen before, quite handsome and quite aware of it, +with an impudent world-wisdom centered about his sharp eyes. He turned +immediately to Mandleco with a bluster as phony as it was towering:</p> + +<p>"This is an outrage, sir! A damned outrage! On Sheila's behalf I deplore +these tactics, and I question your right! Our entire afternoon perfectly +ruined...."</p> + +<p>"Correction, darling," purred Mrs. Carmack. "You mean our perfect +afternoon entirely ruined." She turned smiling to the Minister of +Justice. "You really mustn't mind Victor."</p> + +<p>"Hello, Sheila," Mandleco greeted her wanly. "I must apologize for the +inconvenience, but I assure you—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but this is thrilling! I mean really!" Mrs. Carmack was gazing +about ECAIAC's room with considerable more delight than suspicion, and +Beardsley watching her was thinking: <i>Thrilling! Can she really mean it? +She must surely be aware of ECAIAC's task for today—today of all +days....</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He glanced uneasily down the room, and saw that Jeff Arnold was much too +occupied to have noticed the newcomers. He gestured to Mandleco, who +finally took the hint and escorted the visitors into the privacy of the +office.</p> + +<p>There Mandleco offered drinks, but the young man named Victor refused +his, preferring to maintain his air of injured dignity. Mandleco sighed +and gave an accusing look at Beardsley. "I know this is unusual," he +apologized to Sheila, "but I—uh—I <i>am</i> rather hopeful that you may +find it entertaining!" He gave a slight sardonic emphasis to the last +word. "If you'll just bear with me until our other guest arrives."</p> + +<p>Victor had been awaiting his chance. "Another? <i>Really!</i> We're guests, +Sheila, do you hear that?" He looked at Mandleco with immense disdain, +gave a pert tilt of his head and surveyed the room with a grimace of +distaste. "And just how long are we to be detained in this—this—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley's fist itched to splatter those handsome features around a +little. Instead he strode forward, said bluntly: "That'll do it, sonny! +Who the hell are you anyway?"</p> + +<p>The handsome face sneered at him. "I am Victor d'Arlan! I am a good +friend of Sheila's—of the family," he corrected. "We were on our way to +the Concert when those—those <i>impertinent</i> men detained us. To think we +must forego Perro's Fifth Color-Concerto for Sub-Chromatics in favor of +<i>this</i>!"</p> + +<p>Sheila's eyes danced with tolerant amusement. "Victor, please. This +promises to be much more exciting; I'm sure Mr. Mandleco knows what he +is about, and...." Wide and curious, her gaze went to Beardsley and +lingered there.</p> + +<p>Belatedly, Mandleco made introductions. "Perhaps I should explain," he +gave an improvident laugh, "that Mr. Beardsley's role at the moment +is—ah—a little beyond the ordinary! That is, I—" He paused +miserably, and then was saved for the moment as all eyes turned toward +the door.</p> + +<p>Brook Pederson had arrived and the attention of everyone was drawn to +him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The effect was startling. The tele-columnist was a tall, dour and +bushy-browed man who took a perverse sort of pride in the impression he +gave of shabbiness. He slouched wordlessly into the room, hands thrust +deep in the pockets of a makeshift jacket. But there was nothing shabby +about the man's perceptive and analytic mind, Beardsley remembered; +true, Pederson had fallen from the heights since the ECAIAC debacle, but +his retirement from the limelight was more studied than sullen and could +only have been his own choosing. Lately he had emerged again, and with +all of his old news-sense and political acumen he was making his +presence felt ... he was a man of considered but lightning mood who, +when asked for an opinion invariably gave an argument.</p> + +<p>Beardsley observed him shrewdly. From the depths of his mind came a +warning, a restless unease that took root and blossomed into turbulence. +<i>This man will bear special watching....</i></p> + +<p>Pederson came on into the room, nodded dourly at Mandleco (no love lost +there!) and remained alertly silent; for the merest instant he met +Beardsley's gaze, and there was a definite challenge and something of +mockery. <i>Damn him</i>, thought Beardsley, <i>he knows why he's here ... but +how could he know? He's aware that he's on the tapes, too—even one of +the Primes—and he doesn't give a damn!</i></p> + +<p>Mandleco finished the introductions quickly and took over. It was plain +that he wanted to get through with this, but at the same time Beardsley +sensed that he was no longer <i>quite</i> so sure of Jeff Arnold and ECAIAC +... above all things, Mandleco had to avoid any hint of trouble with +ECAIAC.</p> + +<p>And he managed that with an adroitness that bordered on the cunning. +After some glowing comments on Beardsley's past esteemed record—with +pointed emphasis on the pre-ECAIAC era—he ended with a truly +inspirational touch:</p> + +<p>"Let us just say, then, that you have been invited here in the interests +of an experiment which Crime-Central has been contemplating for some +time. An inquiry into—ah—certain facets of past investigatory methods. +Crude as it may seem to you, certain factors may be forthcoming +here—psychologic and derivational—which may later be refined, analyzed +and integrated into the operational function of ECAIAC...."</p> + +<p>Beardsley stared at Mandleco. It was altogether a neat side-step, and he +almost admired him for it.</p> + +<p>"Please understand, this is a necessary adjunct to the true development +of ECAIAC. We shall have here two divergent lines of approach within +parallel fields. Actually, each of you will be an important co-aide in +this experiment! I would like you to cooperate fully with Mr. +Beardsley's line of approach. Uh—vintage '60," he added for their +amusement.</p> + +<p>The reaction was immediate and varied. Victor d'Arlan examined his +fingernails and registered aristocratic boredom. Pederson slouched up +against the desk, seeming amused at Mandleco's pitch ... but he wasn't +watching Mandleco. The gaze he fastened on Beardsley said plainer than +words that he was quite aware of the situation.</p> + +<p>Only Sheila Carmack seemed fascinated, as she sat a bit straighter in +her chair and peered brightly across her drink. It was obvious that she, +for one, was taken in.</p> + +<p>"Why, I wouldn't have missed it for the world!" she sparkled. "Just +like, you know, in those—what did they call them—<i>whodunits</i>? It's +actually thrilling!"</p> + +<p>"It's archaic!" d'Arlan sneered.</p> + +<p>"It's heroic," said Pederson, his gaze still on the little Coördinator. +"Beardsley, I hope you pull it off. I actually do. Always did think you +were twice the man ECAIAC is!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley moved forward, not smiling. "Thanks," he said. "In that case +you won't mind if I begin with you."</p> + +<p>"With <i>me</i>?" Pederson stared, then laughed suddenly and without mirth. +"Skip it, Beardsley! I know your methods, and I can tell you right now +it won't get you any—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley stopped him. "Pederson," he said, "as of now we agree on just +one thing. I also think I'm twice the man. The only difference is that +I'm man enough to <i>really</i> believe it." He paused and watched him absorb +that. "It's going to be ECAIAC or vintage '60, Pederson. Your choice!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was at once a rebuff and a challenge. Pederson then straightened up +slowly, a muscle in his face flinched and then he smiled—with all but +his eyes. "All right," he snapped, "we'll begin with me. I'll fill you +in plenty! You want to know if I saw Carmack the day of the murder? I +did! The louse put through a vis call to me. <i>Insisted</i> I come out and +see him—"</p> + +<p>"Whoa, now just a minute! You wouldn't say this was a friendly visit?"</p> + +<p>"I'll get to that!" Pederson's words came fast and clipped. "You know +how I fought the ECAIAC lobby. I fought it long and hard, and when I +lost it finished me with the public. But I wasn't through! I began +digging up every fact I could about Carmack. Took me a few years, but +worth it. Most of it smelled! Ask Professor Losch, he'll tell you—"</p> + +<p>"I've already spoken with Losch," Beardsley said quietly. "He managed to +convey his sentiments pretty thoroughly."</p> + +<p>"Good. Then try talking to <i>him</i>," Pederson nodded venomously at +<i>Mandleco</i>. "Ask Mandleco how the great Carmack managed to get those +patents through.... I can tell you he didn't do it alone! Oh, I've dug +plenty!"</p> + +<p>"Why, you—" Mandleco gave a snort of anger and started forward, but +Beardsley managed to forestall him. He gazed sternly at the +tele-columnist.</p> + +<p>"I think we're all aware of your considerable talent for digging, +Pederson. ECAIAC, too," he added pointedly, "for we already have it on +the tapes."</p> + +<p>Pederson bristled. "Sure. Sure, you have it! My past connection, my +opposition to the lobby, even my digging maybe. But you don't have it +all! How do you equate <i>hate</i>, Beardsley? Is <i>that</i> on your tapes?"</p> + +<p>Beardsley could have told him that it was, indeed, on the tapes. But he +only shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "we don't have it all. Not +ECAIAC nor I nor any of us, and that's the eternal pity of it. But I'd +like to try! The sum and the substance, Pederson ... don't you +understand me? Just once before I'm through—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was the voice, some secret and subtle thing in the voice that reached +out and gripped Pederson and bore meaning with it. He stood quite +motionless, staring at Beardsley; for a split second his eyes widened, +then disbelief gave way to something of comprehension, admiration.</p> + +<p>"Beardsley," he said softly. "You fool. You utter damned fool!"</p> + +<p>Oblivious of the others, then, he turned and began to pace. "All right. +Here it is. Carmack called me out to see him. He had gotten wind of what +I was up to, and offered to buy me off." Pederson laughed bitterly. +"Wasn't even subtle about it! Said he liked my stuff, and would like to +see me at the top again where I belonged. Said he could arrange for me +to step into a top job at Central Telecast. Providing, of course, I +could manage to—ah—'forget' certain little items I'd uncovered."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Pederson was doing all right. Beardsley gave him his lead.</p> + +<p>"He actually thought it would be that simple! I refused him outright, +and of course, he couldn't believe it. A man like that—We dropped all +pretense, there were some bitter words—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley said quickly, "Could you elaborate?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't remember exactly. He went venomous! I suppose there were +threats. I told him he hadn't enough money <i>or</i> influence to buy what I +knew, and that when I had it properly documented I intended to make a +national scandal of it." Pederson halted abruptly. "You know, it +occurred to me later that was a foolhardy thing to say!"</p> + +<p>"Ah? Why is that?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I had heard of that safeguard of his—the 'neuro-vibe'—and I +suppose there were other things, too. He was a cautious man, a dangerous +man. But," Pederson shrugged, "he let me into his home readily enough."</p> + +<p>Beardsley lifted a finger. "Because he was confident he was going to buy +you—wouldn't you say?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose that's it. Maybe I was lucky to get out of there so easily! +Anyway I did." Pederson stopped pacing, and his gaze bored into +Beardsley's. "So now to the big question. Yes, he was alive when I left +him. No, I never saw Carmack again. I went straight to my office and +worked until well past midnight; by the way, I have ample proof of +that—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm sure you do! What were your feelings at this point?"</p> + +<p>"My feelings? I knew my life was in danger now! Carmack would be out to +stop me. I don't mind admitting I was ... well, rather relieved, when I +heard the news."</p> + +<p>"Ah-h! And when did you hear it?"</p> + +<p>Pederson glared, but his answer was quick. "Late the next afternoon, of +course! By habit I work late hours and I sleep long." With an air of +finality he threw a challenging look around. "I want to congratulate +whoever did it, and I don't much care whether the answer comes from you +or ECAIAC!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley surveyed him solemnly. Pederson had little more than brushed +the surface, but it was enough, it served to set the pattern; he could +have sworn Pederson was aware of that. He said drily, "Thanks, Pederson. +Your story is—very pat."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He turned to the others. Mandleco rather surprised him, seeming not so +much disturbed as he was engrossed deep in thought; as for Mrs. Carmack, +Beardsley saw that the comedy had gone out of it for her, but she tried +to keep up the veneer.</p> + +<p>"This is all most interesting!" she sparkled, placing her glass down +carefully and turning to face him. "Am I to be next, Mr. Beardsley? +Shall I give both the questions and the answers as Mr. Pederson did?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Carmack. I'll do that! I took note a moment ago that you +mentioned the <i>whodunits</i>. You must be familiar with them? Say as a +hobby?"</p> + +<p>It wasn't at all what she expected. She stood wide-eyed and startled.</p> + +<p>"This is so thrilling, remember. Vintage '60! As the <i>whodunits</i> will +tell you, one of the prime requisites is an accounting and proof of your +whereabouts at the time of the deed! Well?"</p> + +<p>Beardsley's voice was just edged enough to throw her into confusion. +"Why, I—" she faltered. "You mean that night? I—I—"</p> + +<p>"What, no alibi? You don't even remember? According to vintage '60 that +could mean either complete innocence or extreme cunning; beware the +suspect who is clever enough to be ready with no alibi!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley saw her stiffen; there was a change across her face, a +struggle beneath the eyes. "But then," he shrugged, "it has always been +my conviction that <i>motive</i> rather than opportunity is the real +requisite. On that basis it's plain you couldn't have killed your +husband. You loved him! He was only fifty-eight, he only left you a +dozen million dollars, but you loved him and you were faithful! Anyone +can see that after seven weeks you're still all broken up over it!"</p> + +<p>The veneer was gone now; Sheila Carmack's eyes were vicious pools of +hate, her mouth a grimace. "Why, you—you ridiculous little monster!" +Victor d'Arlan stepped forward belligerently. "Say, now look here! This +is all very—" Beardsley placed a hand on d'Arlan's chest and shoved, +and the latter stumbled back with mouth agape. Pederson was gazing at +Beardsley with delight and admiration, seeming to visualize this little +man as material for his next tele-column. Mandleco stood transfixed, a +monument of agony, twisting a fist into his palm. "Beardsley, stop it! +This ridiculous farce has gone far enough! I warned you about these +tactics—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley said, "Shut up!" and Mandleco stood there with mouth opening +and closing soundlessly.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. Carmack? Answer me! You loved your husband, didn't you? For +the past ten minutes you've heard him maligned; I should think you'd +want to protect his very good name!"</p> + +<p>"Sheila, I must advise you against making <i>any</i> statement of whatever +nature!" Mandleco strode for the tele-stat, then turned back and pointed +a trembling finger at Beardsley. "This man," he choked—"this man is no +longer acting in any official capacity for Crime-Central!"</p> + +<p>With a quick step Pederson got himself between Mandleco and the +tele-stat; he strolled over to the instrument and leaned against it, +with a knowing look at Beardsley.</p> + +<p>Sheila Carmack tilted her chin in defiance. "But I <i>wish</i> to answer this +man. I insist on answering! Loved Amos Carmack? Love him?" Her voice +rose a full octave and broke in stridence. "For the past nine years I +have <i>hated—his—guts</i>!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>For a long moment the room was silent. No one moved. Beardsley's thick +glasses glinted eerily as he peered around at them, from Mandleco to +Sheila to Pederson and back to Mandleco.</p> + +<p>"Well now," he said, "this is remarkable. Most remarkable! Everyone +hated Carmack. Professor Losch—we know why. Pederson here—he's told us +why. His wife—I think it's obvious. Who else? Surely not you, Mandleco! +Carmack was a pal of yours! You backed his cause with ECAIAC, you +lobbied for him, you even stole patents for him.... I wonder what +persuasion he held over you to bring all that about. Or is <i>persuasion</i> +too mild a word? Vintage '60 had a better term for it!"</p> + +<p>Slowly, through the murk of his agitation Mandleco seized a measure of +control; he gazed at Beardsley out of cold incalculable eyes now hooded +with dire intention. "You're really trying hard, aren't you!" he grated. +"Well, make the most of it, because I guarantee <i>you</i> won't be around, +not after the next Annual Basic! Do you understand that—<i>Mister</i> +Coördinator?"</p> + +<p>But Beardsley was watching Pederson now, whose face took on a sudden +febrile gleam. "Blackmail ... by God, Beardsley, that's it! And I have +the proof! Sure, it was Carmack I was after, but I dug out a lot more—" +Pederson shot a challenging look at the Minister of Justice. "It goes +back some years, but I can prove that Amos Carmack had enough on +Mandleco to <i>finish him politically any time he chose</i>. You can bet your +life Mandleco hated him. Enough to warrant murder!"</p> + +<p>There was an odd, illogical delight in the way Pederson said it—and +something almost frightening the way Mandleco just stood there in cold +silence, gazing at the tele-columnist with a look of boundless regret.</p> + +<p>Beardsley said very softly, "Thanks, Pederson, but I'd suggest you save +it. It's scarcely pertinent now."</p> + +<p>"Not pertinent? But, man, I tell you I have proof! What better motive +would you—"</p> + +<p>"Motive?" Beardsley hit him with a pitying glance. "Why, I thought it +was obvious. We've progressed beyond <i>motives</i> now."</p> + +<p>Again there was an electric silence, and Beardsley let it assimilate. "I +have said," he went on, "that all this is most remarkable. But you know, +the <i>really</i> remarkable thing—" He paused and watched them. Mandleco +continued to grind a fist into his palm; Pederson straightened +attentively, and d'Arlan, sneery no longer, moved over to stand beside +Sheila Carmack.</p> + +<p>"—the really remarkable thing is this. I am now ready to state, +unequivocally, that the person who killed Amos Carmack ... <i>didn't hate +him at all</i>."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A thought was throbbing through the room like the seconds passing. Quick +and cumulative, almost embodied, it made transition from stunned mind +to startled mind as Beardsley stood there blinking at them. Beardsley +really didn't mind; they just couldn't know how subtly he worked into +his themes! Taking advantage of the lull, he went over to the door and +peered out into the Operations Room.</p> + +<p>He peered long and soberly, then turned. Mandleco had found his voice +first, perplexity pushing down his anger: "Beardsley, either you're +bereft of your senses or—Do you mean to say," he choked—"after going +to these preposterous lengths do you mean to say that no one <i>here</i>—"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment!" To everyone's surprise it was d'Arlan who broke in. +"I'm not sure what's going on here, not sure at all, but I want to make +one thing quite clear. <i>Sheila</i> had no complicity in this crime! I know, +because—" He hesitated, touched her gently on the arm. "Sorry, darling, +I've got to say it. I know because she was with <i>me</i> that night."</p> + +<p>Sheila was startled for a moment, then utterly scathing. "You needn't +lie for me, Victor! I appreciate your sense of the dramatic, and even +your motives, but I assure you they are both misplaced. I have never +heard such nonsense!"</p> + +<p>d'Arlan looked more desolate than abashed. As for Beardsley, he was only +a little amused. "Well, now, this is really more than I deserve; in all +my years on Homicide I wanted to experience this, but I finally put it +down as a myth. The Noble Alibi!" He peered sharply. "True vintage, +right out of the <i>whodunits</i>—wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Carmack?"</p> + +<p>The answer didn't come, and Beardsley went on sternly: "And you reject +his noble attempt on your behalf. That is interesting! Especially, as it +occurs to me that d'Arlan's effort is just a little delayed...." He +paused, gazing thoughtfully upward. "It's enough to make one wonder +whether his noble effort is designed to protect you—or himself!"</p> + +<p>d'Arlan suddenly paled, as if he had just been kicked in the stomach. He +gulped heavily and tried to speak. Beardsley watched stolidly for a +moment, then dismissed him with a gesture of complete disgust. "Oh, +hell, never mind! I would say neither. The lady is right, sonny, you'd +better watch those impulses. You just aren't the type!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mandleco had been hanging onto every word, grimly intent; he was sure +Beardsley was getting somewhere at last. Now he straightened, and his +grinding fist indicated that he'd had quite enough. Without a word, +without even a deigning glance at Beardsley, he traversed the office +with great purposeful strides and slammed through the outer door into +ECAIAC's room—</p> + +<p>And was back an instant later, trailing Jeff Arnold as the latter +brushed past him into the office. Mandleco was saying something +urgently, tugging at Arnold's arm. Arnold ignored him. His startled gaze +was on the little group.</p> + +<p>"Sheila!" He took a step forward. "Sheila, what are <i>you</i> doing here?"</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd tell me, Jeff. I wish <i>someone</i> would explain what this is +all about...."</p> + +<p>Beardsley watched the tableau in silence. Jeff Arnold's gaze flicked to +d'Arlan, who stared back with insolence, and there was no mistaking the +hostility that leaped between the two.</p> + +<p>Sheila noticed it, too, and there was an indecisive moment that mounted +toward panic. Beardsley watched her churning effort to control it. She +said quickly, an inflection of fear in her voice: "Mr. Beardsley, if it +<i>really</i> matters—my whereabouts that night—you'll understand my +reluctance to say it before! I was with Jeff. Truly! I'm sure he will +tell you—"</p> + +<p>The words were directed at Beardsley, but she was talking to Jeff +Arnold. And deliberately, almost brutally, Arnold refused to accept the +cue. Beardsley saw the pleading turn to apprehension in Sheila's eyes.</p> + +<p>"But, Jeff, you remember! Surely you do! Jeff, you don't understand—you +must tell them—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Arnold looked at her for a single comprehending instant, a pitying +instant, then his lips compressed tightly as he turned away.</p> + +<p>There was finality in it. Sheila's eyes were stark and unbelieving. She +stood there without motion, without a word, her mind groping in a shock +of blindness.</p> + +<p>Beardsley said gently, "It's all right, Mrs. Carmack. It's really all +right. Merely an experiment, an inquiry into comparative methods as +Mandleco said. I'm truly sorry if my methods seemed harsh, but"—he +shrugged—"I dare say my participation is over now."</p> + +<p>"You're damned right you may say it, Beardsley!" Arnold's eyes raked him +with venom, but he controlled himself and turned to Mandleco. "I only +came to tell you, sir, that we have ECAIAC ready. We'll be reaching +Cumulative very shortly now."</p> + +<p>"Jeff ... are you <i>sure</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure! Depend on it, there'll be no more trouble."</p> + +<p>More than relief took hold of Mandleco; it was transformation, it was as +if a spell had been snapped. He glanced once about the room, and +shuddered as his gaze encountered Beardsley.</p> + +<p>"Uh—yes. Fine!" he said. "That's fine, Jeff! Shall we proceed?" He +strode through the door, pausing only to fling back scathingly: "That +is, if Mr. Beardsley is quite sure it meets with <i>his</i> approval!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>ECAIAC was in finest fettle again as the tapes sped through. Circuits +were activated. Codes gave meaning. Synaptic cells summed and +integrated, cancelled and compared and with saucy assurance sent the +findings on toward Cumulative. The murmur was soft and sustained and +somehow apologetic, as if ECAIAC were quite aware that she had failed in +her duty but would be just pleased to make amends <i>this</i> time.</p> + +<p>So like a woman ... fractious, unfathomable, then fawning and +attrite—with a purpose! Beardsley cocked his head and listened, his +mien almost beatific. Purpose? This creature had none that could quite +match his! He was convinced of it now, and he had never been more happy +or self-assured.</p> + +<p>It was Pederson who was distressed, as he paced with long nervous +strides and watched the equate-panel where the mathematics were made +visible in a pattern of constantly changing lights. It had meaning only +for the techs, but Pederson couldn't seem to take his eyes from it. At +last he came over to Beardsley and managed to steer him aside.</p> + +<p>"Beardsley, I just don't get it! This whole thing—are you quite sure—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley blinked at him. "Sure of what, Pederson?"</p> + +<p>"Of what you're doing! Damn it, man, don't tell me that was all waste +effort in there! Look—I know what this means, and I'm with you all the +way. If only you could beat ECAIAC, I'll give it all the publicity it +can bear! Who knows—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley looked at him blankly, and Pederson gave a snort and a +gesture. "All right! I guess I'm wrong. For a while there I actually +thought you had it." Pederson surveyed him shrewdly. "Just the same, +that bit you exploded—about the person who killed Carmack didn't hate +him at all—you meant that, Beardsley!"</p> + +<p>"That's right, I meant it."</p> + +<p>"My choice is Jeff Arnold."</p> + +<p>"Ah? Now why do you say that?"</p> + +<p>"The way you built up to it, that's why. And you got your result! Sheila +Carmack's in love with Arnold, and she tried to cover up for him ... +sure, that's it! It's obvious! She thinks he's the killer, either thinks +or knows it—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes. The obvious," Beardsley said with a grimace. "But you know, I +learned a long time ago that the <i>obvious</i> can be a mighty tricky thing. +A dangerous thing. The forceps of the mind are greedy, and inclined to +crush a little in the seizing...."</p> + +<p>Pederson pondered that. "And you," he said slowly, "are not seizing. I +take that to mean you still have an angle!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley didn't answer at once. He glanced over at the equate-panel, at +the flux of dancing lights. Mandleco was bright-eyed and attentive, +chomping on the stub of a cigar, head thrust forward as he listened to +some detail of Arnold's. Sheila stood miserably near by, still in a +blind shock of disbelief; it was as if she had a need to be close to +Arnold, and he felt it, too, but they dared not look at each other.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Now let's suppose," said Beardsley, "just suppose that Arnold thinks +<i>Sheila</i> is the killer. Eh? Let us say they <i>suspect each other</i>. +Naturally, each has disclaimed any part of the deed. But the suspicion +is there, that tiny seed; and suspicion, particularly where love is +involved, has a habit of taking root and giving growth. Neither can be +<i>totally</i> sure of the other's innocence—eh?" He paused, peering up at +Pederson. "And Arnold would want to protect her from any possible +consequence. Now what would be his way of doing that? The only way he +knew?"</p> + +<p>He saw the idea take hold. Pederson was staring at the equate-panel with +an odd look of excitement.</p> + +<p>"Total reject," he gasped. "By God, if he should try <i>that</i>—to equate +her from Logical into reject—" He gestured helplessly. "No, it isn't +possible. Those tapes are coded! There's no way of tampering—" Pederson +stopped abruptly, as a great light dawned. "Wait a minute, though. It +needn't be the tapes! One thing I've always wondered—<i>would</i> it be +possible to negate a given factor beyond all reach of empirical +coördinates? You know, through operational technique or setup—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley peered at him. "I'd say anything was possible," he urged, +"given time and incentive."</p> + +<p>Pederson bobbed his head in facile agreement. "By God, you're right! For +example, I've always thought there wasn't sufficient control on +Cumulative! You can bet your life Arnold would know ... results at that +point <i>could</i> be juggled a little, say if the extrapolations were +just—"</p> + +<p>The forceps, the forceps of the mind. Already Pederson was reaching out +to seize and to crush; the man was a fool after all! Beardsley felt a +burgeoning disgust, but there was something more, a throbbing, +chest-filling sensation that he strove to hold rigidly in leash. He said +quickly: "Come to think of it, Arnold did mention that he was here most +of last night, working on setup."</p> + +<p>He watched Pederson absorb that, too; he saw the excitement grow. +"Beardsley, if you are <i>sure</i>—if you could prove that Arnold managed a +thing like that—"</p> + +<p>They were interrupted by the sudden quiet that engulfed the room. It was +so total as to be frightening. <span class="smcap">cumulative</span>—<span class="smcap">cumulative</span>—<span class="smcap">cumulative</span>. For +half-a-minute all operation ceased, as the words flashed bright across +the panel.</p> + +<p>But the techs had been waiting. It was a mere respite. Swiftly, they +checked their respective units against Cumulative Code, and at the end +of thirty seconds every light went green for total clearance as ECAIAC's +deep-throated power resumed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Beardsley had been waiting too. "Cumulative!" he breathed. He let his +breath out slowly, and made a sweeping gesture that seemed to encompass +all the latent delight, all the unleashed joy of his being.</p> + +<p>He was aware of Pederson again, a voice in panic: "Beardsley! Don't you +know what it means? If there's been an imbalance, it has passed through! +It will reach final equate!"</p> + +<p>"That's right, it's entirely in ECAIAC's lap. You wouldn't want to +deprive her of the chance, now would you?"</p> + +<p>"But—but what are you going to <i>do</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Me? I'm going to watch. I'm going to watch one of the epic events of +our time—" For a moment Beardsley was solemn, almost shocked, as a +thought struck him. "In a way it will be sad. Yes, it will! ECAIAC is +about to lose her first case."</p> + +<p>Now that was strange. Why should he have said such a thing? <i>Why ... now +that the game was over which had had to be played, and he felt the +bitter-sweet surge of victory that lay throbbing at his grasp!</i> About to +lose her first case....</p> + +<p>He shrugged in remote annoyance and strode away from Pederson. It would +be fast now! Already the rejects were falling, the irrelevants, as +ECAIAC with blithe unconcern brought the final equate toward conclusion. +He observed Jeff Arnold, standing silent and alert but so devoid of all +emotion that somehow it wasn't real ... and Mandleco, half crouched, +teeth gnawing away at the cigar, his heavy face rapacious and eager as +he awaited the final tape; that was all that mattered now; the +<span class="smcap">mathematics</span> would register, <span class="smcap">code</span> would add synaptic approval, and proof +indisputable would be on that tape in clean translated print—the name +of Carmack's killer.</p> + +<p>Indisputable? Bowing his head, Beardsley smiled, and listened to the +smooth rhythmic control. Nothing sinister now! No snapping malevolence! +All those other times ... his unreasoning panic, the askance remarks +from Arnold, the humiliation ... the very thought of it now was gibing +and obscene. How could he ever have been caught up in such a thrall of +terror?</p> + +<p>It wasn't terror he felt now. Something.... His smile turned to a giggle +as he felt a sudden compelling impulse to pat ECAIAC on the head!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Now how would one do <span class="smcap">that</span>? Never mind. Never mind, never mind, never +again are you going to snap at <i>me</i>, Ekky. We were introduced, remember? +We're really great friends now.</p> + +<p>For a moment Beardsley was suspended in astonishment, aware that he had +almost crooned the thought. He glanced around in embarrassment—</p> + +<p>Pederson was watching him. Pederson was at his side again, perplexed and +frowning. "Beardsley—this business of Sheila and Arnold. It wouldn't +happen that way, it couldn't! There's another answer, there's <i>got</i> to +be—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley stood unmoving, oblivious. Almost, he seemed suspended in +another dimension; almost, he caught the quivering of a mind but could +not separate it from the sudden tremor that rose in his own....</p> + +<p>He couldn't avoid it. It came unbidden, it battered through his reason, +it towered there and blotted out his thoughts until all that was left +was a tremulous regret, an attrite compassion.</p> + +<p>About to lose her first case ... <i>but one loses! And one survives it, +you know, one survives it! For twelve years now....</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>More than a tremor now. More than compassion now. A sense of betrayal +almost, illogical and nameless and yet palpable as the scent of fear. +There was a pulse of red darkness in Beardsley's brain as all the mental +and emotional equations of his being sang a sharp alarm. For subtly, +ever so subtly ECAIAC's deep-throated tone had changed ... nothing like +those other times, rather it was a halting stutter of puzzlement, +erratic and querulous, with overtones of immediacy as if some formless +presence were on the verge of unleashing.</p> + +<p>Beardsley looked down at his hands, and they were trembling. He could +not stop the trembling. A tightness took him about the heart, and behind +his eyes that pulse of red darkness presaged the beginning of a violent +headache.</p> + +<p>Even the others noticed it now, something amiss. Jeff Arnold especially. +He looked up in quick alarm at the equate-panel where the mathematics +seemed to have gone a little fitful, a little frantic, with stuttery +lapses in progression as if ECAIAC were unable or unwilling to confront.</p> + +<p>The flux of pattern dimmed, then hesitated; blanked out and heroically +began anew.</p> + +<p>It happened suddenly, then. It happened as the techs came crowding +around. There came a quivering, a sort of shudder, and ECAIAC subsided +with a final weary gasp. It was for all the world as if she were saying, +"This is it, boys. I've had it!"</p> + +<p>But it was there, it was there! All at once every symbol was constant, +static and livid upon the screen, enhanced by the words +<span class="smcap">equate</span>—<span class="smcap">complete</span>—<span class="smcap">equate</span>—<span class="smcap">complete</span>. In that moment every tech in the +room must have felt a touch of pride.</p> + +<p>A click, a whirr, and it was done. The fateful tape ejected.</p> + +<p>Both Mandleco and Arnold leaped for it, but Arnold was there first. He +ripped the tape clear and then paused, hand outflung, as if he could not +resist this final bit of drama.</p> + +<p>"Well? Well, Arnold?" Mandleco was hopping ludicrously about in an agony +of impatience.</p> + +<p>Arnold nodded. He brought the tape to his scrutiny. His mouth opened, +then shut again as a shudder seized him. Once more he read it, a look of +wild disbelief on his face ... he staggered, and seemed about to cry or +go hysterical or both.</p> + +<p>Mandleco gave a snort as he pounced, recovered the tape and with blunt +assurance read the words aloud:</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">solution : untenable : solution : untenable : sub-circuit referral : +ellery sherlock : sub-circuit referral: ellery sherlock—</span>"</p> + +<p>He sounded like a well-grooved parrot. Mandleco turned east, then south, +then south-by-east, like a compass on a binge; he looked as if he wanted +to roar, but his voice came out as a frantic bleat: "Why, this is crazy! +Goddam it, it's crazy! Do you realize what this will—" He confronted +Arnold wildly. "What the hell does it <span class="smcap">mean</span>, I say! Untenable? And who +the hell is <i>Ellery Sherlock...!</i>"</p> + +<p>He got no response; Jeff Arnold was oblivious to the moment, a man +utterly defeated, beyond solace or action or answer ... but already a +few of his techs were huddled about the panel, consulting, viewing the +Equate Constant and frantically taking notes. Mandleco shoved his way +through them. "I demand to know the meaning of this!" he yelped.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was Sheila Carmack who answered, her voice on the high edge of +hysteria. "<i>Meaning?</i> I think it might mean," she said, "that ECAIAC has +also had a recent indulgence for the <i>whodunits</i>. But with a smattering +of confusion, wouldn't you say? Or would you say a distortion of the +detectival? Perhaps a disenchantment," she murmured ... this was too +absurd, too delicious. "Ellery Sherlock!" she choked, and the thought of +it seemed to break her up.</p> + +<p>In the general hysteria they paid no heed to Raoul Beardsley. He had +regained his composure, and far down in his eyes something leaped into +rapt expression; he adjusted his glasses and peered around cautiously, +beaming. He beamed at them all, and had to suppress an inane glee....</p> + +<p>Not glee as he observed Pederson, who stood there scowling into space +as though at some incredible absurdity. Suddenly Pederson straightened, +and there was something strangely different ... his gaze as it met +Beardsley's was neither shocked nor accusing but held an expression of +boundless sadness.</p> + +<p><i>So Pederson knew. At last the poor fellow had found that other +answer....</i> Beardsley had been expecting it. He could almost sense the +man's thoughts going to and fro, like a shuttle, weaving all the facts +into fabric....</p> + +<p>And Pederson's voice, ineffably sad now, regretful now: "So I was right +the first time. The tapes. It <i>was</i> the tapes. But even without that I +ought to have known! The answer was there, you handed it to us, but it +was like looking straight into the sun—"</p> + +<p>He paused. Did he expect Beardsley to say something? Beardsley looked up +at him and blinked.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"<i>Motives</i>," Pederson said accusingly. "There was your theme from the +first! You were relentless, you pursued it to perfection, you laid our +motives bare and you beat them raw, each and every one. Oh, I grant you +it was masterful! It was the Beardsley of old! You managed to keep us +off balance every moment—" He wet his lips. "What was it, Beardsley? A +compulsion, some grotesque need to squeeze us all down to microscopic +size first? Oh, you enjoyed doing that! I watched you. You enjoyed it in +a way that—" He shook his head, glanced sorrowfully at the +equate-panel. "And this ... was it all for this? An achievement—an +absurdity. Ellery Sherlock!" he said with a shudder. "In Heaven's name, +<span class="smcap">why</span>? You didn't really expect to carry it off? No, don't answer! It's +not important now—"</p> + +<p>Beardsley shrugged in remote annoyance. Must the man use such puerile +methods?</p> + +<p>"Not important," Pederson repeated, and stood caught in a startled +wonderment. "Because you see, Beardsley, I just happen to remember +something from the <i>whodunits</i>! That surprises you? So long ago, I can't +quite recall who said it; but it was a rather good exposition of logic, +something to the effect that when you've exhausted the possible, all the +possible—that which remains—<i>no matter how impossible it may +seem</i>—must be the truth!"</p> + +<p>His head lifted; his gaze bored into Beardsley's and his voice was +tight with meaning. "And I'd say we have come full circle, wouldn't you? +You will have to admit, you did a <i>real good job of eliminating</i>!"</p> + +<p>Beardsley managed to smile, even as his mind jarred a little. Even as he +met Pederson's gaze and saw the compassion there, the acceptance there, +the understanding and boundless regret. For a split second something +leaped unspoken between them, as if doors in both their minds had opened +and closed again.</p> + +<p>He turned away wordlessly. Close as Pederson had come, even he was an +irrelevance now. <i>But ECAIAC didn't</i> know. Poor Ekky! Her first real +failure, a fiasco—she really deserved a better fate. Beardsley's heart +went out to her, as he observed Arnold in his defeat and Mandleco in his +frustration and the huddle of techs in their futile efforts.</p> + +<p>Suddenly then—"Code!" he heard one of them say, gesturing excitedly. +"Post-subjective synapse!" another tech yelled, and there was a sudden +scurry of activity about the screen. Without warning or appreciable +reason those symbols had begun to shift ... wild and elusive, ghost +patterns without semblance or sense, but so unmistakable that even Jeff +Arnold was jarred alert; Arnold stared, then suddenly was white as chalk +as he ploughed into the midst of his techs.</p> + +<p>Beardsley stood frozen, a fatuous smile about his lips; there was only +silence now, a silence that had a pulse in it—the beating of his heart. +Seconds only ... suddenly there was another pulse, from another heart. +ECAIAC wasn't quite finished! Unerring and resolute the sound came up, +slowly at first and then faster, gathering strength into a steady drone +as if every synapse were dredging, dredging deep into the sensitized +structure ... and even before the panel attained flux again, a tech was +waving his notes and yelling, "It's true! Post-subjective synapse! +Unbelievable ... Jeff, we now have a Constant!"</p> + +<p>But ECAIAC was telling them that. The sound went on, and on, wild and +lone and constant, ascending to the confines of the room, transcending +the confines of reason. It was crescendo incarnate; it was purpose gone +rife; it was human and more than human, with all the fears and hopes and +hates, as it attained a high-pitched scream with wailing overtones such +as even Arnold had never heard. There was sentience in it, there was +awareness in it, there was fury in it and who could say if there was +grief...? There might have been.</p> + +<p>Only Beardsley knew. He felt suddenly packed in ice, from his lips to +the pit of his belly; he revolved slowly away, took a few steps and +caught the edge of the panel. His whole body began to shake +uncontrollably and his lips moved in a soundless whisper that seemed to +say, "No, no ... don't you understand? ... we're friends now!"</p> + +<p>But no one heard; no one would have understood. Arnold handled the tape +as it came looping out. The words fell slowly at first, then faster and +faster in constant repeat: <span class="smcap">cancel last equate—solution tenable—cancel +last equate—solution tenable—</span></p> + +<p>Another word came, a single word. Arnold stiffened. One of the techs was +so indiscreet as to exclaim: "<i>Murderer?</i> Where did it pick up that +word! 'Final Equate' is proper...."</p> + +<p>A space, a whirr, and the rest of it came in a clicking rush against the +high-pitched scream: <span class="smcap">murderer—raoul beardsley—murderer—raoul +beardsley—murderer—raoul—murderer—murderer—</span>incessant, untiring.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There was no trial. Trial presupposes a modicum of doubt, and Beardsley +dispelled that readily enough. Once more the pathetic figure, it was as +if he were impelled by a dull and pitiless logic; he waived all defense; +his confession to the murder of Amos Carmack was straightforward and +factual, unvarying to the point of boredom, insistent with +repetition—and in the socio-legal aspect there was the rub! Whether it +was true psychic shock or mere cunning, there seemed to be a blind spot +in Beardsley's responses, a stumbling reticence to elaborative detail +that left the Citizen's Disposition Council with a problem on its hands +baffling as it was unprecedented. Judicially they were safe. There would +not even be need of null-censor. But actually, the problem here was of +far more vital consequence than murder and indeed more frightening; it +had to do with Beardsley <i>vs.</i> ECAIAC, the encompassing <i>modus operendi</i> +and all the implications of that grotesque denouement.</p> + +<p>At whatever cost, <i>these things had to be answered</i>.</p> + +<p>Oh, there was amusement, too. The fact that Minister-of-Justice +Mandleco had begged off, far from gracefully, and retired to the +isolation of his ten-thousand-acre Alaskan ranch (for an unspecified +time) had brought snickers from those in the know.</p> + +<p>The Chief-Counselor of Disposition looked as if he'd like to retire, +too. For the third time in as many days he took his place in the Private +Sessions chamber, glanced at Beardsley with shuddering disbelief and +then bent his head in pontifical guise as he leafed through his notes; +it wasn't as if he were unversed in the matter by now, but who was there +to question if his lips moved fretfully across the words "Ellery +Sherlock?" He was thinking: <i>yesterday wasted—covert regression, myself +included—no more of that</i>! And with that bolstering thought he brought +his head up sharply.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Our task for today—(<i>voice quavering, he saved it from the +upper registers</i>). Our task for today is to get at the aggregate +pattern. And I assure you, gentlemen, we are going to do that! Now. Mr. +Pederson, if you please....</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">pederson</span>: Yes, sir?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: I see that Mr. Beardsley made certain statements to you, and +to you alone, immediately after the—uh—ECAIAC incident—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">pederson</span>: You saw that three days ago! Must we go through it again?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: We must and we shall! Due to the unnatural tenor of the case, it is the opinion of the Council that these things must be fixed and +adjudged if we are to make a correct Disposition.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">pederson</span>: (<i>wearily</i>): Yes, sir. Well, the fact is he seemed to want to +confide in me. Nothing strange in that! He realized he had lost, poor +guy, and he—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Mr. Pederson! No diversions, please. We'd simply like to hear +from your own lips what Beardsley told you. (Glances at his notes.) Is +it true that he said—his sole motive in this affair was to prove he +could conduct an investigation as efficiently as ECAIAC—<i>or any damned +machine</i>?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">pederson</span>: (<i>hesitant, with a glance at Beardsley who sat remote and +vacuous</i>): Yes. He told me that.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Even to the point of committing a murder to prove it? And his +entire subsequent action was predicated upon that? We have extensive +reports here—from Mrs. Carmack, from Mandleco, from Jeff Arnold and +yourself. It is difficult to see how such a basically integrated and +well-functioning personality as Raoul Beardsley—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">pederson</span>: (<i>angrily</i>): No. What you fail to see is the facade! What man +has stronger reason than the man who has lost his reason? It is the only +outlet for aggression, a devious fulfillment, it brings psychological +satisfactions which cannot be obtained in any other way—call it the +self-destructive impulse if you will. I doubt if Beardsley rationalized +this—but he had come to his moment, his time of assertion, his way of +making fools of us all ... and my complete opinion, sir, is that his +actions from beginning to end were both a triumph and an inspiration!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: (<i>smugly</i>): Thank you, Mr. Pederson. These are the insights +you had not revealed before. (<i>Turns to member at far end of table.</i>) +Dr. Deobler. As psychologist assigned to Disposition Council, may I ask +if there is an area of concurrence?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">deobler</span> (<i>bored, but deigns to lift a hand</i>): Save for the rhetorics at +the very end, you have my official concurrence; it is obvious in every +aspect; this was a devious fulfillment of the self-destructive impulse.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Thank you, sir! It will be so noted. And now—(<i>Makes a +pretense of scanning his brief.</i>) Now we come to an area of vital +interest—an area demanding our most urgent attention, inasmuch as it +gives indication of threatening our basic fundamental of cybernetic +detection; believe me, I cannot place enough emphasis here; I refer, of +course, to Mr. Beardsley's process of manipulation of ECAIAC, and this +strange business of "Ellery Sherlock." (<i>Pause.</i>) Mr. Jeff Arnold, if +you please. I believe you were to be ready with some observations today?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">arnold</span>: Yes, sir. But more than observation, I am glad to report. We +have <i>solved</i> the "Ellery Sherlock" equate.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: This is wonderful! Will you proceed, sir?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">arnold</span>: A strange thing ... and yet so simple! We began by resurrecting +a huge number of "Summaries"; we dredged into Dead File for at least +three years back, re-ran them under a synapse intensifier. It's all +there, you know, every minute particle of every case that has gone +through ECAIAC; almost subliminal, some of it, but—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: One moment, sir. This reference to "synapse." Could +you—ah—clarify?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">arnold</span>: Why, a synapse is the primary adjunct to memory! The human brain +has billions of them, neuronically linked—sort of pathways that get +grooved deeper and deeper with constant repetition of thought, until +after a while they become completely permanent, retentive and +self-functioning. ECAIAC is similarly equipped—not to the degree of the +human brain, as yet, but amazingly.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span> (<i>dazed</i>): Ah—yes. Please continue, sir.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">arnold</span>: As I said, we revived a number of the old cases. And what we +discovered, was that Beardsley—for years past, mind you—had been +utilizing his capacity as Chief of Coördinates to introduce extraneous +material to ECAIAC <i>via</i> the tapes! In each and every case that came +before him! Oh, you can believe me, he was clever, he went about it by +slow and subtle degrees! And the substance of this material, +sir—(<i>Pauses, gulps and shakes his head, unable to go on.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Please control yourself, sir! The substance of this +extraneous material?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">arnold</span> (<i>again gulps</i>): De-detective fiction!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span> (<i>leans forward sharply</i>): Do I understand you correctly, Mr. +Arnold? You did say <i>detective fiction</i>?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">arnold</span>: Of two types. Ellery Queen and Sherlock Holmes—I presume it was +Beardsley's random choice. But there was nothing random about his +purpose! Don't you see, don't you see, it all fits! It explains the +trouble we were having in recent months in getting total synaptic +clearance! (<i>His voice borders on the frantic.</i>) I remember, now, I even +mentioned this to Beardsley—and oh, the smug way he took it. He knew, +damn him, he knew! He was getting there, he was reaching the synaptic, a +bit of fiction here and a bit there, ECAIAC was being conditioned, +unable to distinguish the real from the unreal—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Mr. Arnold! If you please, sir! (<i>Waits for Arnold to +subside.</i>) I can appreciate how this discovery distresses you, +both—ah—personally and in your official capacity, but be assured that +your findings will be of inestimable value to future security. In fact +(<i>smiles slightly</i>) Council has not been idle in its own pursuit of Mr. +Beardsley's vagaries! (<i>Rises, removes a small screen to reveal a +towering pile of tomes.</i>) And now, Mr. Beardsley. I must really ask you +to cooperate; I believe you fully capable. Are these your books?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">beardsley</span> (<i>adjusts his glasses, smiles at his books</i>): Yes.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: And these charts, these graphs that we found plastered to +every wall of your home. Obviously they are also yours.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">beardsley</span> (<i>adjusts his glasses, smiles at his graphs</i>): Yes.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Thank you, Mr. Beardsley. That's fine. And, Mr. Beardsley, +what did you use them for? These books, these graphs?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">beardsley</span> (<i>groping, bewildered</i>): I—I—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span> (<i>sees the futility of it</i>): Gentlemen, I believe we can +proceed on the grounds of self-evidence. Let me read you a few titles +from these books. "The Cybernetic Principle: Advanced Theory" ... "The +Synapse in Function" ... and here we have "Synaptics: Pattern and Flux." +There are more, many more in similar vein. (<i>Turns abruptly.</i>) Mr. +Arnold. I'm sure you are familiar with most of these volumes. On the +basis of the content, would you say that you could duplicate Beardsley's +feat?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">arnold</span> (<i>aghast</i>): No! I would not presume to say that, sir.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span> (<i>frowns; it was not the answer he wanted</i>): Very well, then. +Dr. Trstensky ... would you come forward, please? Dr. Trstensky ... you +are head of the Department of Advanced Cybernetics at Cal Tech. You have +had opportunity to study these graphs and charts in minutest detail—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">trstensky</span>: Oh, yes-s. Fascinating!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: I put the question: would it be possible for you to duplicate +the grotesque feat that Beardsley performed on ECAIAC?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">trstensky</span>: Yes-s, possibly. No, I will say definitely. You mean, of +course, cold, from the beginning? Yes-s ... but it would take me +approximately three-to-four years.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Yes, Mr. Beardsley? What is it? You would like to make a +pertinent statement?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">beardsley</span> (<i>abashed</i>): Oh. It—I only wanted to say it took me longer. +Four-to-five years.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span> (<i>wearily—just waits for laughter to subside</i>): Gentlemen, I +think we may safely wrap it up now. Our function here is Disposition. +Our choice is two-fold. One: the subject is sane, in which case he will +pay the supreme penalty for murder which he has freely admitted. Or two: +he is obviously insane, in which case he will be subjected to Psychic +Probe as provided by law, thus restoring a measure of normalcy +sufficient to place him again in society—restricted, of course—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">dr. doebler:</span> Sir, one moment, if you please! I simply do not understand +your language, and even less can I condone your haste! <i>Safely</i> wrap it +up, you said. What do you mean by that? Safe for whom? And "obviously" +insane—was that a slip of the tongue, sir, or are you trying to force +an issue here?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span> (<i>coldly</i>): I must remind you that we already have competent +reports on subject's status. Add to that the facts presented here; they +are overwhelming; the man's own admission and attitude are +substantiation. It is my considered opinion, and I'm sure the opinion of +Council, that the man is insane. Subjection to Psychic Probe will +restore him to—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">doebler:</span> Oh, yes, the Psychic Probe. I have no quarrel there. <i>But +suppose you were wrong?</i> Have you ever considered the effects of Probe +on the <i>sane</i> mind? Have you ever seen it? Once I saw it, only once. It +is worse than disaster—it is horrible—it results in a sort of psychic +tearing that heals and then tears and then heals in continuous +perpetuation. It—is indescribable. It is sub-human. Compared to that, +death or even insanity is a blessed relief. Now, gentlemen, listen! I +implore you not to be in error! True, it was my opinion that Beardsley +acted in fulfillment of the self-destructive impulse, but the man is +<i>sane—sane</i>, I tell you, and entitled to a humanitarian death! My +professional judgment—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span> (<i>again coldly, glancing around</i>): Is welcome, but does not +bear final weight, sir.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Silence closed down like a pall. Doebler's plea by its very impassioned +nature had gotten through. It was a moment of embarrassment and +indecision in which each man weighed his conscience, and found it +wanting ... in which every member of Council looked to his neighbor for +solution or solace, and finding neither, turned back to himself, aghast.</p> + +<p>Only one person looked to the true source and saw the solution as it +would be, as it had to be. Pederson. Heartsick with the knowing, he +observed Raoul Beardsley and remembered! This funny little man ... this +ridiculous man ... this proud man who had seized his fate and shoved it +through because it had to be done, because he obeyed the dictates, +because he had reached his Time of Assertion. Oh, Pederson remembered! +And most of all he remembered Beardsley there at the last, in that final +moment when ECAIAC had reached the wailing heights of sentience and +grief ... and how could he ever forget Beardsley's soundless whisper +that seemed to say, "<i>No, no ... don't you understand? ... we're friends +now!</i>"</p> + +<p>Pederson remembered. He remembered, and looking up saw that Council had +reached equitable agreement, and his heart was sick and his soul was +sick as he realized this was final, there could be no appeal. For the +last time he looked upon Beardsley's face and saw that the man was fully +cognizant.... Beardsley also knew.... Deobler had been right. Pederson +turned his face away.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">counselor</span>: Now we are agreed, gentlemen? (<i>waits for general approval.</i>) +Be it pronounced, then. Inasmuch as there exists a general area of doubt +as to Disposition; and inasmuch as it is agreed that further +deliberation would be prolonged and pointless; and inasmuch as our faith +in the ultimate function of ECAIAC remains inestimable, despite recent +vagaries which shall never occur again: be it therefore resolved, that +the problem pending shall be taped in all its detail and submitted to +ECAIAC for Final Disposition.</p> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">the end</span></h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of We're Friends, Now, by Henry Hasse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW *** + +***** This file should be named 29488-h.htm or 29488-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/8/29488/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: We're Friends, Now + +Author: Henry Hasse + +Illustrator: Varga + +Release Date: July 22, 2009 [EBook #29488] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + +This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories April 1960. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright +on this publication was renewed. + + + + _The little man stood in front of the + monstrous machine as the synaptic + drone heightened to a scream. No ... + no, he whispered. Don't you + understand...._ + + + + WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW + + + By HENRY HASSE + + + + ILLUSTRATED by VARGA + + * * * * * + + + + +Today more than other days Raoul Beardsley felt the burden, the dragging +sense of inevitability. He frowned; he glanced at his watch; he leaned +forward to speak to the copter pilot and then changed his mind. He +settled back, and from idle habit adjusted his chair-scope to the +familiar broad-spoked area of Washington just below. + +"I'll _not_ have it happening again today!" he told himself grimly ... +and at once his thoughts quavered off into many tangles of +self-reproach. "Blasted nonsense the way I've been acting. A _machine_, +a damned gutless machine like that! Why do I persist in letting it get +to me?" + +He pondered that and found no solace. "Delusion," he snorted. "Hyper +synapse-disorder ... that's how Jeff Arnold would explain _me_. I wish +he'd confine his diagnostics to the Mechanical Division where it +belongs! He's amused, they're all amused at me--but damn it they just +don't know!" + +Beardsley's rotund body sagged at the thought. Adjusting the +chair-scope, he fixed his gaze on the broad facade of Crime-Central +Building far across the city; again he felt the burgeoning embarrassment +and foreboding, but he put it down with an effort before it reached the +edge of fear. _Not today_, he thought fiercely. _No, by God, I just +won't permit it to happen._ + +There. So! He felt much better already. And he had really made good time +this morning. Today of _all_ days he mustn't keep ECAIAC waiting. + +[Illustration: Beardsley was the only one _not_ to panic when the +infallible machine broke down.] + +Mustn't.... Something triggered in Beardsley, and he was assailed with a +perverse rebellion at the thought. + + * * * * * + +Must not? But why not? Why shouldn't he just _once_ keep ECAIAC and Jeff +Arnold and his clique stewing in their own tangle of tubes and +electronic juice? And wouldn't _this_, he gloated, be the perfect day +for it! Arnold especially--just once to shatter that young man's +complacent routine.... + +No. Beardsley savored the thought tastily, and let it trickle away, and +the look of glee on his cherubic face was gone. For too many years his +job as serological "cooerdinator" (Crime-Central) had kept him pinned to +the concomitant routine. Pinned or crucified, it was all the same; in +crime analysis as in everything these days, personal sense of +achievement had been too unsubtly annihilated. Recalling his just +completed task--the Citizen Files and _persona-tapes_ and the endless +annotating--Beardsley felt himself sinking still further into that mire +of futility that encompassed neither excitement nor particular pride. + +He brought himself back with a grimace, aware that he was clutching the +briefcase of tapes possessively from long habit. The pilot had touched +the news-stat, and abruptly one of the new "commerciappeals" grated on +Beardsley's senses: + +"... we repeat, yes, PROT-O-SUDS is now available in _flake_ or _cake_ or +the new attachable _luxury-spray_. Remember, PROT-O-SUDS has _never_ been +laboratory-tested, it contains _no_ miracle ingredients, _no_ improved +scientific formula, and NO LANOLIN. Then what is the new PROT-O-SUDS? I +tell you frankly, friends, it is nothing but a lot of pure soft soap! +Remember ... we make no fabulous claims for PROT-O-SUDS ... we assume that +you are reasonably clean to start with! And now for your late breakfast +news, PROT-O-SUDS takes you direct to the Central News Bureau for a final +survey on the Carmack murder case...." + +Beardsley groaned. New voice in the background, while the screen presented +a slow montage. Cine-runs of the great Carmack himself, including those at +the International Cybernetics Congress a year ago ... survey of the murder +scene, the Carmack mansion ... close-up of ECAIAC ... diagrammatic detail +of ECAIAC ... then dramatically, the grim and imposing figure of George +Mandleco, Minister of Justice. + +And then the news-caster's voice: "... certain that final processing +will go forward today. It would be a gross understatement to say that +the Carmack Case has captured the attention of the nation, both +officialdom and public alike! _Never_ in the history of Crime-Central +has there been such an undercurrent of speculation and excitement...." + +"Excitement?" murmured Beardsley. + +"And now it is heightened, by no less an authority than the Minister of +Justice himself, who brought both plaudits and censure upon himself +today with the outright statement that _deep-rooted political issues_ +may well be involved. As you must know by now, it was the murdered man +himself--Amos Carmack--who some years ago carried on the incessant +lobbying that resulted in ECAIAC being accepted _pro bono publico_ by +Crime-Central. What devastating irony! For now it is ECAIAC itself that +must weigh each detail, correlate all factors, probe every motive and +machination leading to the _murder of its creator_...." + +"That's not entirely true, you know," muttered Beardsley. + +Quick flicker, again a close-up of ECAIAC, and the drama-laden voice: +"ECAIAC! Electronic Analysis Integrator and Computor. And now--an +exclusive! From a very reliable source this reporter has learned that +_three Primes_ are involved...." + +"Ha!" grated Beardsley. + +"... and they will be broken down in quotient. Two must ultimately be +eliminated--barring, of course, the possible emergence of any minor +factor to status of Prime, which at this stage seems unlikely. It is +estimated that by today or tomorrow at the latest Carmack's murderer +will be brought to justice...." + +Beardsley had taken as much as he could of this pseudo-factual mush. He +jerked forward violently, rapped the pilot on the shoulder. "DAMN IT! +WILL YOU SHUT THE DAMN THING OFF!" + + * * * * * + +He was immediately appalled at his outburst, and by the pilot's startled +glance, but the stat went off immediately. + +Beardsley leaned back muttering to himself. Carmack, Carmack! For seven +weeks now he had lived with it intricately and intimately, as the case +shoved everything else right off the news-stat. People took the latest +echoes to bed with them, commuters gobbled it with their breakfast +cereal. Thank God today would see the end, and they could once more have +the hot South Polar crisis with their cereal. + + * * * * * + +Seven weeks! He clutched the bulging briefcase with a wearisome horror. +Twenty-two persona-tapes from Central File, all neatly processed and +ready for ECAIAC. End result of the endless chart sifts, emphasis (as +always!) on parietosomatic recession, the slow emergence of minor +constants, the inexorable trend toward Price Factor and then +_verification_, _verification_, to each his own, with all the subtle and +shaded values of the Augment Index brought finally to focus on the +relevance-graph _Carmack_. + +Sure, thought Beardsley. A thing of augment-indexing and psych-tapes, +quite without possibility of error. Now in the _old_ days of crime +detection--it might have taken them seven months instead of weeks, not +to mention frustration and leg-work and false-leads and sweat, but-- + +His mouth pulled down bitterly. _Serological Cooerdinator. Glorified +file-clerk is more like it. High-salaried errand-boy._ + +"Here we are, sir!" The pilot's voice jarred him to reality as the +copter berthed. + +Beardsley hurried toward the roof entrance. His faded blue suit, a size +too large, flapped about him, and the outmoded felt hat seemed to sink +to the level of his thick-lensed glasses. The guard greeted him, but +suppressed a smile as the cherubic little man flashed his official pass. + +For there was something about Raoul Beardsley that eternally evoked +amusement--an air of vacuous innocence and a remote forlornness. He gave +the appearance of a person who sold shoes during the day, washed his +wife's dishes at night and then solved two or three galacti-gram puzzles +before turning off the light precisely at ten. Few, if any, remembered +that this nervous little man had once been top Inspector of New York +City's Homicide Bureau ... but that was a dozen long years ago. Since +then he had seen the antiquated detective methods of 1960 disappear, and +he had died a little, too, seeing his Homicide Bureau relegated to a +mere subsidiary with the growth of the Cooerdinate and Mechanical +Divisions. His appointment to Chief of Co-oerdinants, Federal, was +automatic and unquestioned; and Beardsley would have been the last to +know, or to care, that he had correlated some eight million miles of +serological data for the entrains of ECAIAC, a perfect record of not a +single unsolved case. + +And the penalty was in his eyes, if one cared to look beyond the +thick-lensed glasses. No one ever did. They were remote eyes, a little +bewildered, a little hurt ... a mirror gone dull from times remembered +but irretrievably lost. + + * * * * * + +Beardsley stepped onto the corridor slidewalk, coasted to the escalator +and rode it down. Still immersed in his thoughts, he pushed into +ECAIAC's room ... _and again it happened_. + +So shockingly sudden, there was not even time for remonstrance at +himself. The feeling hit him as always before, straight and unerring, a +surging impact that smashed forward and stopped him in his tracks, +literally paralyzed. + +He caught his breath convulsively. How often had he come here? And how +often had this happened, even when he'd sworn he wouldn't let it? There +was something about the sight and sound and feel of ECAIAC that got to +him, that seeped beneath flesh and bone and into his brain and sent his +senses singing. Beardsley managed to gulp, as he observed the shiny +black colossus that filled the entire length of the ninety-foot room; a +dozen techs scurried around it, taking notes, attentive to the flashing +lights in red-and-green and the faint clicking of thousands of relays +that rose in susurration. + +But more than that arose. It was something that pervaded the room, not a +pulsing but a _presence_, a sort of snapping intangible intelligence +that reached beyond the audible and sheared at Beardsley's nerve-ends. + +And it hadn't been there a moment before. That was the shocking thing. +Beardsley knew that it _knew_! It was sentient, it was alive and aware +and waiting, and it was listening. + +As always, it knew that _he_ had entered. + +Beardsley gulped again, stood frozen for half a minute. None of the +techs seemed to notice; they had often chided him about it, but he was +used to that now. At last he broke the spell and made his legs move, +feeling cold sweat as he hurried along the length of ECAIAC toward +Arnold's office. + +There ... just about there ... by the rheostats, where the four red +lights and the two green made a baleful pattern against the black metal +skin. He felt it stronger than ever this time, something reaching and +sinister aimed solely at him. He skirted the place with a quick goosey +hop, stumbled a little and felt panic, but made it all right to the +office. + +Beardsley hated these moments. He was still trembling as he made a +hurried entrance. Sure enough, as if on cue Jeff Arnold glanced up from +his charts and grinned. + +"Ah, good morning, Beardsley! Now don't tell me our pet goo--uh--snapped +at you again?" + +It was the routine remark, but today Arnold was immediately contrite for +a change. "Sorry," he said, and a certain weariness replaced the grin. +He gestured to the alco-mech. "Can I dial you a drink? Feel in need of +one myself!" + +"Eleven-C," said Beardsley, and slumped into the pneumo-chair. Arnold +rose and dialled 11-C, handed him the drink and dialled 9-R for himself. +Sipping it, he moved around the desk. + +There was something very strange and preoccupied in his movements, +Beardsley thought, more than a mere tiredness. He had never seen Arnold +this way. + +"Yes sir, this is the day!" A muscle twitched in his corded neck; Arnold +eased his long frame into a chair, rubbed thumb and forefinger at his +eyes. "Been up half the night running off clearance tests. Can't afford +to foul up on this one!" + +Beardsley tossed off his drink and blinked at the fiery strength of it. +Now why should Arnold say that? When had ECAIAC ever fouled up? He +watched the man across the desk. Jeff Arnold was a vigorous, striking +specimen, handsome in an athletic way, with long stubborn jaw and +unhappy gray eyes beneath his unruly hair; the sort of face that +intrigues women, Beardsley catalogued from past experience. And, he +added, altogether too young a man to be operating a monster like ECAIAC. + + * * * * * + +Arnold indicated the empty glass. "Another?" + +"No, I think not," Beardsley replied carefully. + +Arnold hesitated, eyeing the briefcase in Beardsley's clutch. "It's been +rough on you, too, I imagine. Hope there aren't more than thirty +variants! We're set up for more, of course, but it'll necessitate--" + +"Twenty-two," Beardsley assured him. Carefully, he spread the coded and +sealed _persona-tapes_ across the desk. "Fresh from Citizen-File +Augment, everything annotated and cross-checked. Blood-count, emotional +stasis, plethora, psycho-geneological index, neuro-thalamic +imbalance--every type factor is here. We really went to the Files on +this case." + +"Looks as if you did! How does it narrow down?" + +"Fifteen possibles, four Logicals and three Primes--" Beardsley stopped +abruptly. (That news-caster: how had he known there were three Primes? +This stuff was not supposed to leak!) "Twenty-two who _knew_ Carmack," +he went on. "That includes associational as well as motive-opportunity +factors, with a probability sphere of .004...." + +Arnold nodded thoughtfully; his fingers moved unconscious and caressing +across the edge of the desk. "Yes, I see. That's close! Good job," he +said uncertainly. + +"Should be! Seven weeks for annotation and code." Beardsley was watching +Arnold's fingers; there was something aimless and fretful as they pushed +among the code-sealed tapes. Beardsley made his voice casual. "If it +interests you," he said, "yes--you are there." + + * * * * * + +He wanted a reaction and he got it. + +"Me!" Arnold stiffened, pulled his fingers away hastily. + +"That surprises you? Don't worry, you're not one of the Primes; probably +be rejected on the first run. It's just that you once knew Carmack +rather well. Cal Tech, wasn't it, when Carmack was doing his special +work on magnetronics? Naturally you've had contact since, due to the +nature of your job." + +Arnold nodded, frowning. "That's right. It just hadn't occurred to me +that--" + +Beardsley realized that he wasn't lying. _It was not the thought of his +own tape that bothered Arnold._ + +"Oh, we're thorough over at 'Cooerdinates Division!'" Beardsley laughed, +making a minor joke of it. "Now here," he touched a spool labelled in +red, "is your Basic Invariant. Carmack--Amos T. Murdered man. Found +bludgeoned in library of his home, night of April 4. Age 56, held all +outstanding patents on ECAIAC, worth millions, and"--he looked up, +beaming--"leaves beautiful wife." + +He paused for the merest moment. Save for a soft drumming of fingers on +the desk, Arnold was silent. + +"And here's a sub-Basic: Mrs. Carmack will be a rich woman now. She was +considerably younger than Carmack--and she's been having an affair with +another man." Beardsley smiled at Jeff Arnold. "That's a sociological +note beyond our sphere, but we managed to get the data. I'll bet the +department was appalled that such a gorgeous woman could be resolved +into neo-Euclidian equations!" + +"Why?" Arnold was suddenly irritable. "It's been done a thousand times +before!" + +"Of course," shrugged Beardsley. "And it's really up to ECAIAC, isn't +it? A Prime can be negated, while on the other hand a variant can shift +from possible to Logical to Prime. Or am I wrong? I've never been up on +the mechanics." + +Arnold grunted. "There's bound to be some correlatory shift! The +Primes--how many did you say?" + +"Three as of now." + +Arnold rose abruptly, then strode to the alco-mech and dialled himself +another drink. He took an uncommonly long time about it. "Look," he +said, "we both know about these things! In a case like this there are +bound to be political repercussions--" He hit Beardsley with a gauging +glance. "Well," he blurted, "I have to admit I'm damn curious! Mind +telling me who are the three Primes? Ah--strictly off the record, you +understand." + +Beardsley had expected something like this, and he was quite ready to +answer; but he carefully removed his glasses, massaged the bridge of his +nose and frowned. "Well, now...." + +"Come on, give! I know it's against protocol and all that ... but hell! +We'll have the answer anyway in a matter of hours." + +Beardsley nodded with a show of thoughtfulness. "Yes, that's true, isn't +it? Very well. But strictly off the record! I warn you--not only will +the first Prime startle you, but the information could be dangerous!" + +He waited a moment, then he leaned forward and whispered: "Mandleco!" + + * * * * * + +For a moment Arnold didn't move. His face was ludicrous. Then Beardsley +saw his hands clench. + +"Mandleco!" the word jolted from his lips. "George Mandleco, Minister of +Justice? I don't believe you!" + +"It's a fact," Beardsley told him. "Right now he equates into an +uncertain Prime." + +"Yes, yes ... but Mandleco! Good Lord...." + +"I said _uncertain_ Prime. As you mentioned yourself, there is sure to +be a shift of variants. Surely you have faith in ECAIAC?" + +"Of course! But Mandleco, why Mandleco?" + +"Why not? He was a friend of Carmack's--or a business associate shall we +say? He worked with Carmack on the ECAIAC lobby, was largely responsible +for pushing it through." + +"Yes, I--say, that's right! It would be in C-F...." + +"There are things," murmured Beardsley, "in Central File that would +astound you." + +Arnold was staring at the coded tapes. "Mandleco," he breathed. "And +with elections coming up!" He shook himself out of the daze. "The--the +other two Primes?" + +"Next is not so startling. A really strong Recessive Factor there ... +Professor Karl Losch." + +Arnold jerked erect suddenly. "Losch? Say, I remember him! Now _there's_ +a man pursued by bad luck. He was working along similar lines to +Carmack--in fact, wasn't he in Carmack's employ for a while?--but +Carmack was first with the patents. You don't suppose that Losch--" + +"I'm not supposed to suppose," Beardsley said softly. "But clinically, +it is interesting to note that motive factor alone equates Losch from +Logical into Prime. _Plus_ a high neuro-thalamic imbalance--132 over 80 +on the last Index, with pronounced efforts at suppression." + +He watched Arnold absorb that, and went on: "Now for the third Prime. I +think it'll interest you...." + + * * * * * + +He waited deliberately. He looked at Jeff Arnold for a long moment and +saw that the man was calm. Too calm. So absolutely motionless that it +wasn't real. + +"Third Prime. A strong one, believe me. In a way most interesting of +all." He pressed the words out slowly and flatly. "The third Prime," +said Beardsley, "is ... Pederson." + +He watched Arnold relax ever so slowly, leaning back, the tension going +away as he uncoiled in the chair; but the young man's face wasn't so +much relieved as it was puzzled. + +"Pederson. Pederson? I don't seem to--You can't mean _Brook_ Pederson, +the one-time tele-columnist?" + +"None other. I don't suppose you remember, but back in '60 he opposed +the ECAIAC lobby. I mean _opposed_ it, _fought_ it! Predicted that +Government installation of such a machine would not inspire confidence, +that the nation's crime rate would rise ... he saw nothing but chaos. +For a while there he was quite a man. Got himself a following. Had +ambitions." + +"But I do remember it!" Arnold thumped the desk. "Of course! Pederson +headed a bloc against 'Carmack's Folly,' but he backed the wrong horse, +and when the bubble burst he was out in the cold. Became a laughing +stock." Arnold paused, and his glance held something of shrewdness and a +livening challenge. "Actually, Pederson couldn't have been more wrong. +In those first two years ECAIAC reduced the crime-rate by some forty +percent." + +"So it's claimed!" This was a sore point and Beardsley rose to the bait. +"It couldn't be that crime was on the down-grade already? I could show +you plenty of statistics that--why, I could show you methods--" + +"I'll just bet you could." Arnold gave a thin tolerant smile. "I refuse +to enter _that argument_ again, not with you, Beardsley. I for one trust +in machines not in evolution. I've told you before...." + + * * * * * + +And Beardsley found himself sitting there with a flush of heat at his +hair-roots, half-angry and half foolish as he realized how he had been +baited. + +Jeff Arnold was abruptly all business. He plunged his finger at a +button, spoke into the intercom. "Joe! How's that test-run coming?" + +"All-X so far! Give us ten minutes for clearance." + +"Take twenty, but make sure it's _clearance_. Checked Quantitative, have +you? How about feed-backs? ... yes ... what's that? Semantic circuits! +Hell yes, check _all_ synaptics for clearance! I want no excess data +fouling up this run!" + +He clicked off and sat there moodily, and Beardsley watched him, noting +the quick nervous rhythm of Arnold's fingers. Arnold noticed it, too, +and desisted. + +"Look," he said. "Mandleco, Losch, Pederson. Those three Primes just +don't make sense to me!" + +"They don't?" Beardsley allowed just the proper note of resentment. +"Surely you are not questioning Cooerdinates...." + +"You know I'm not! But--" + +Beardsley waited, knowing it was coming now. The thing Arnold had been +aching to voice for the past five minutes. + +"But--well, damn it, there is _Mrs._ Carmack, for example. As you +pointed out yourself, she'll be a rich woman now! It would seem to me--" + +"That she'd be a Prime? I'm surprised at you, Jeff; that's ancient +thinking." If there was a trace of sarcasm, it was lost on Arnold. "Oh, +I grant you it used to hold true--principle beneficiary was always prime +suspect. Fiction especially was full of it. Queen, Dickson Carr, Boucher +you--know the ilk. But with ECAIAC we've gotten away from all that, +haven't we?" + +Arnold stared at him suspiciously, hesitated, then brought it out with +an effort. "Well--how _did_ she equate?" + +"Who? Oh yes, the beautiful widow. She only made Logical, and even that +is borderline." + +"I see." Arnold rose, dialled himself another drink, then changed his +mind and put it down untouched. He turned to gather up the tapes, and +his voice was apologetic. + +"It's not that I'd ever questioned Cooerdinates Division! We're too +closely aligned for that, Raoul...." (_First time he's ever used my +first name_, thought Beardsley.) "You have a splendid record to uphold, +as we do here at Mechanical. That's why ... well, I want to get this off +as smoothly as possible!" + +Something indefinable, a queasy feeling, took Beardsley about the +middle. He said sharply: "Any reason why not?" + +"No, not really. But in recent weeks--I tell you this in strictest +confidence, understand!--in recent weeks it's been a rather ticklish +thing to get total synaptic clearance." + + * * * * * + +Synaptics? Beardsley began thinking back to the Crime-Central "Required +Annual Basic." The Mechanical had never been his strong point. He said +uncertainly, "But--that's serious!" + +"It's just that we've found ECAIAC holding back excess data from +previous runs. Fouls up the relays, takes hours to iron out the +clearance." Arnold gave him a keen look. "More of a nuisance really, +but the weirdest thing. Stubborn!" + +_Stubborn._ Beardsley could have thought of a better word. Through the +panelled glass he glimpsed the black metal sheathe of the monster out +there, the shapeless crouching and malevolent winking lights, and he +felt himself going to pieces inside with a sudden shaking crumble; he +hated himself for it but he couldn't stop it; his hands clenched until +the knuckles showed white. + +"... matter of time until we find the cause," Arnold was saying, "but I +guarantee total clearance _today_. Shall we get on with it?" Hands +loaded with tapes, he moved for the door. + +"No!" Beardsley cried. "Arnold, if you don't mind, I--" + +"Oh, for God's sake, not again! Raoul, I swear I'm going to do something +about this phobia of yours; it's getting to be not so funny any more." +With a show of exasperation, Arnold propelled him through the door. "I +give you my absolute word our pet won't snap at you. Not today. It's +going to be far too busy for the likes of you!" + + * * * * * + +And Jeff Arnold was right, Beardsley discovered. Those baleful overtones +were gone, replaced by a sustained soft whisper along the ninety-foot +hull--a rather impatient whisper but not at all unpleasant. Beardsley +relaxed by slow degrees, but kept a cautious distance, while Arnold +pointed out every light along the length flashing green for Total +Clearance. + +"She's rarin' to go," said Arnold with a display of good humor, "but +we'll let her wait a while, eh?" He clapped a friendly arm across +Beardsley's shoulder. "You just come along now and watch; I think your +trouble is, you've never been properly introduced! We'll have no more of +this feudin' and fussin' between you and ECAIAC." + +So Beardsley, showing more courage than he felt, trailed the +cyberneticist through every unit of final check-up. Much of it he knew +already from the "Required Annual Basic" ... or thought he knew. For +this was so different from the Manuals! He felt at once ashamed and awed +as he viewed at first hand the unfolding schematic structure. He was +thrilled at sight of the selectors and analyzers of processed beryllium, +the logic-and-semantic circuits in complex little bundles, the +sensitized variant-tapes waiting for transferral impress, all revealed +by a flick of Arnold's fingers that threw open entire sheathed sections +to bare the inner secrets. The thousands of tiny transistors amazed +Beardsley. The endless array of electric eyes startled him. And the +spongy centers of synaptic cell-clusters horrified him, recalling too +vividly to mind what he knew of the physical human brain. + +Along the monstrous length he trailed Jeff Arnold; he trailed and he +watched and he listened, not interfering once by word or gesture. And +before it was over his heart was surging with a great revelatory beat +because suddenly _he knew_ ... _he knew_.... + +Arnold seemed in high good humor as they paced back. "So," he nudged +Beardsley in the ribs, "we'll have no more of this nonsense between you +and ECAIAC. Eh? You're just _bound_ to be good friends now." + +Beardsley didn't answer. The revelation was still too much with him. He +watched as Arnold conferred with a group of his techs about a +micro-chron, and the time was carefully noted for Central Record. + +Then the first of the tapes went in. The Basic Invariant--Amos Carmack. + +It reached synapse and a tiny blip registered on cue. + +The rest of the tapes fed in, razoring through the rollers, past the +selenic-sensitized tips of the relays. There was no progressive order. +After the Basic Invariant progression didn't matter. Possible or Logical +or Prime, all factors would correlate or cancel; any divergent +status-shift would be duly handled by transferral impress. + +Beardsley counted the tapes. Twenty ... twenty-one ... twenty-two. + +The techs dispersed, taking up their various posts where special +eject-tapes clicked out a second-by-second record of the progression. + + * * * * * + +Nothing much happened. The sound of ECAIAC became a steady inundant +drone; or did Beardsley just imagine that he detected something of the +_gleeful_ in it? With an effort he put the thought from him, and keeping +a cautious distance he took a turn around the monster, up one side and +down the other. + +He stopped by Jeff Arnold, who was jotting down figures from the chrono. +That seemed silly, as nothing had happened yet. + +Arnold glanced up and grinned at him, as if totally unconcerned that +this was the most repercussive case in the entire history of +Crime-Central! A little disconcerted, Beardsley said, "What happens +first?" + +"Oh, plenty is _happening_. But the first you'll notice will be a total +reject. Watch when that happens. Complete silence, every light red for +exactly two and a half seconds--the reject, and then everything +continues." + +"How about Transferral Impress? You know--possible to Logical, or +Logical to Prime?" + +Arnold paused over his notes for the merest instant. "Why--it's +progressive, of course. _That_ you won't notice!" + +Beardsley stared at him curiously, started to speak and then changed his +mind. He wandered again, watching the techs but not interfering. And +suddenly he was aware that the first total reject had come. It happened +with smooth and sudden silence just as Arnold had described, ECAIAC +breaking pace for mere seconds ... then all was clear again, and one of +the techs hurried down the aisle with the tape, which he handed to +Arnold. + + * * * * * + +Beardsley was aware of a wild pounding of pulse as he stared at the +anonymous tape. One of the fifteen "possibles"? It might even be a +rejected Logical. Mrs. Carmack? She was borderline. Or a Prime! It could +be Mandleco himself--or Losch or Pederson. No ... it was unlikely any +Primes would fall this early.... + +But maybe they were no longer Primes! Maybe _right now_ Transferral +Impress was at work, maybe one or more of them was being relegated to +lower cooerdinate-status somewhere there in the entrails.... + +He felt a bounding excitement. And, as if reading his thoughts, Jeff +Arnold gave him an amused look. + +"Don't let it get to you, Raoul. I used to find it the same; we all do. +But then you get to thinking, hell, why try to guess? Identities don't +matter now!" He indicated the coded tape. "A total reject--anonymous. +ECAIAC's way of telling us _that_ person could not possibly be the +murderer." + +"But--you're not even curious?" + +"At rejects? Why?" Arnold seemed perplexed. "Oh, you mean because _I'm_ +among the 'possibles.' Frankly it doesn't bother me. I know I'm not the +murderer, and I have faith in ECAIAC. If this isn't my tape, the next +will be--or the eighth, or the fifteenth." + +Beardsley nodded slowly. With ECAIAC it was only the final equate that +mattered, the total result of Cumulative. He saw the truth in that, and +the perfection. Or--his eyes beneath the glasses came to a quick bright +focus--_was_ it quite perfection? He watched in silence as Arnold +consulted the micro-chron and jotted more notes. _Rej. Q-9 (code): (.008 +synap. circ.): 11:23 A.M._ + +Beardsley wandered again, watching the techs. A sudden shivering seized +him. How could they remain so calm? Were they so close to the forest +they couldn't notice? Something was about to happen ... to him it was +unmistakable, in the very atmosphere, sharpened and heightened by the +four walls--a pervading sense of _wrongness_ and a pyramiding tension. + +Even Arnold wasn't aware; _audibly_ nothing had changed, as ECAIAC +continued its soft-clicking whisper and the techs methodically checked +the progress tapes. Beardsley stood numbly for a moment, struggling +against a welter of panic. Palms sweating, he moved a safe distance away +and waited. + +Eight minutes later came another reject. Six minutes later, the third. +ECAIAC continued its blithe, soft-throated rhythm--but Beardsley was not +fooled. + +Someone sent out for coffee. It arrived in steaming thermo-containers. +Beardsley was on his first cup of coffee when rejects 4, 5 and 6 came +through. + +He was on his second cup when number 7 ejected, and he had just taken a +last swallow when all hell broke loose. + + * * * * * + +It wasn't much different from the other rejects. Total silence, every +light in every section red ... trouble was, they couldn't seem to get +together again. Some went back to green, others blinked with ominous +uncertainty, still others said "to hell with it" and exploded in vicious +shards of glass that sprayed across the room. That was only the +beginning. Twenty feet from Beardsley came a louder explosion, a sort of +muffled hissing. He ducked, as a complete bank of transistors zoomed +past his head. From a dozen places along the ninety-foot length angry +trails of smoke poured out. A tech yelled "Damn!" as he pulled back a +burned hand. Sheathes crashed open. Long strands of vari-colored wire +burst out and began a crazy aimless writhing, accompanied by an ominous +buzzing sound as if a swarm of angry metallic bees had escaped. Someone +was yelling, "Master-switch! The master-switch!" + +Beardsley saw Arnold leap to the master-switch, where he became +entangled with a tech who was screaming at him, "My God, sir, hurry! +It's BREAKDOWN!" + +Cursing, Arnold shoved the man aside and pulled the controls. + +But now that it was roused, ECAIAC didn't want to give up so easily. +There came a staccato series of minor explosions--defiant gesture, +thought Beardsley!--before silence engulfed the room together with a +drift of acrid smoke. + +It was acrid and _angry_ smoke. From a safe distance Beardsley adjusted +his glasses and observed the frantic, scurrying techs, many of them +nursing burned hands. Aside from a pounding heart he was amazed at his +own calm; nevertheless, he tread with caution as he approached Arnold, +who was on his haunches dolefully surveying the area of major damage. + +"Uh--is it something serious?" + +Arnold glared up at him. "Overload on the feed-backs. If that's _all_ it +is, we can pull out the unit and replace it in a few hours." + +"Never happened before, eh?" + +"Not like this," Arnold groaned. "Lord--it just seemed to go berserk!" + +Beardsley glanced around nervously. "You see? You see? I didn't think +our beautiful friendship could last...." + +Arnold snarled, "Get out, Beardsley! What the hell you doing here +anyway? Go somewhere and read a book!" + +"Yes. Yes, I--" Beardsley swallowed hastily. He then straightened, took +a last look around and pulled himself together. Without a word, he +turned and strode resolutely into Jeff Arnold's office; he closed the +door carefully, then hurried over to the stat and pushed the button for +priority. + +"Hello," he said. "Mandleco's office? ... this is Mechanical Division ... +no, I want _Mandleco_ ... I don't care, get him I said! This is emergency! +Put him on at once!" + + * * * * * + +Mandleco arrived twenty minutes later. The Minister of Justice was tall +and raw-boned with a long hook-nose, a shock of whitening hair, and more +than a suggestion of military arrogance. He paused for precisely one +second in the doorway, then strode straight over to Jeff Arnold. Before +saying a word he bent slightly and peered into the maze of mechanism. + +Beardsley wanted to say, "Do you find the cause of the trouble, sir?" +But he held his tongue. + +Mandleco straightened up, glaring. "Arnold, what is the meaning of +this?" + +"Breakdown, sir." + +"I can see that! The cause, man, the cause!" + +"I--it's only the feed-back, sir." Arnold struggled with the terminals, +most of which were a fused and tangled mess. "Not as bad as it looks, I +assure you. I've already contacted Maintenance; they're sending up a new +unit." + +"What precisely does that mean? Can you complete the run or not! This +has got to go through today!" + +Arnold touched a hot terminal, jerked back his hand and swore. "It will, +sir. Give us a few hours. We had seven total rejects, so I doubt the +tapes are at fault. More like a synaptic overload. Transferrals are +okay, so I want to try it with a stepped-up synaptic check; that'll +alleviate any overload without drain on the minor selective, which is +better than setting up complete new correlation-grams." + +It was too much for Mandleco. Grinding a fist in his palm, he stared +into the matrix and muttered, "Unprecedented. Absolutely unprecedented! +Arnold, I just can't understand _why_--" + +"Happened pretty suddenly," Beardsley intruded. His voice was low and +laden with meaning. "Almost as if it had gone berserk! And little +wonder, if you ask me...." + +Mandleco turned quickly. "Eh? What do you mean?" + +"Well ... how would _you_ feel if you had just been handed the news, out +of the blue, that someone you loved had been brutally murdered? ECAIAC +reacted, is all. She must have regarded Carmack as a father--" + + * * * * * + +Arnold looked up in amazement. "Beardsley, will you stop that crazy +nonsense!" + +"Nonsense?" Beardsley appeared hurt. "Why--you said yourself that you +wanted me and ECAIAC to become great friends!" He appealed to Mandleco. +"That's what he said, sir, and he even took pains to introduce me and +all, and--" + +"It was in the nature of a joke, sir!" Arnold's voice rose an octave. "A +private little joke, and he's trying to make it appear--" + +"Stop it, stop it!" Mandleco thundered. "Arnold--you get that new unit +installed on the double! Put your best men on it. That's an order! +Beardsley, I'm glad you had the presence of mind to contact me. +Commendable, most commendable." + +Arnold scowled, hit Beardsley with an accusing look. + +"Above all," said Mandleco, "not a word of this must leak! _Damn_ it, +why should this have to happen _now_? Public confidence will be +undermined if they think ECAIAC is--is--" + +"Not infallible?" suggested Beardsley. + +"Exactly. You hear me, Arnold? Not a word of this must get out!" + +"I'm sure it won't," Arnold glared venomously at Beardsley, "if you'll +just keep _him_ away from the tele-stats." + + * * * * * + +The Minister of Justice walked away, still muttering something about +public confidence and political repercussions. Beardsley kept pace +beside him until they were across the room. Then he spoke, timidly at +first. + +"Pardon me, sir, but--I'd like to ask you something." His voice was low +and confidential. "If you'll just look around you...." + +"Eh?" Mandleco followed Beardsley's gesture, and for the first time he +seemed to see the room in total. Shards of glass lay everywhere. A great +tangle of wire was strewn half the length of ECAIAC, and a bank of +transistors reposed against the far wall in pitiful ruin. The techs had +already started a strip-down, their tools and units across the floor +adding to the general confusion. + +Mandleco said, "Well? What is it you--" His words stopped as if sliced +in two by his teeth. "Yes. Yes, by God, I see what you mean!" + +"Can you really conceive of operation in two hours? _Two hours_," Arnold +said. "Two days, maybe. More likely in two weeks!" + +Mandleco groaned as if in pain, staring around. + +Beardsley pressed his point. "You'll pardon my saying it, sir, but I +_do_ realize what the Carmack Case means--to you personally. So much +build-up and publicity, and the people demanding a verdict ... why, if +the case were to snag now--" + +"Unthinkable!" A shudder touched Mandleco's long, lean frame. "Out with +it, man! What are you trying to say?" + +Beardsley was suddenly sweating. He felt as if a long tube were inside +of him, hot and throbbing, reaching up with a surge of pulse to his +temples. _It had to be now. He had to say it._ + +"Well," he gulped. "Just this, sir. I think the case can be cracked +right now. Today. _Without_ ECAIAC." + +"Nonsense! Without ECAIAC? Why, that's--" + +"Sure. You think it's crazy. But I tell you _I_ can do it!" Beardsley's +words came fast and urgent. "I've followed this case from the beginning, +I processed it, I'm familiar with every angle. I tell you, _I can +deliver the killer_. Give me permission to try!" + +Mandleco stared at Beardsley as if he were some queer specimen under a +microscope; his mouth opened to speak, then he clamped his teeth tightly +and strode away. + +He turned back abruptly. "So you think you have the solution. You +actually--do--think it!" His eyes narrowed down, no longer amused, as he +fixed the little serologist with a peculiar gaze. "Go on, Beardsley. +Your suggestion at least has the novelty of imagination!" + +"The novelty of experience," Beardsley said bitterly. "_With your +permission and co-operation_ I can solve this case, together with +positive evidence that will hold up in any court! What's more, I'll do +it today. A guarantee," Beardsley said pointedly, "which I dare say you +no longer have from ECAIAC." + + * * * * * + +Mandleco stood quite motionless, trying to recall something. "Now I +remember! You were with New York Homicide, weren't you, before promotion +to Cooerdinates in '60? I recall passing on your record. Top record, too, +for those days." + +Beardsley gestured impatiently. "How about it, sir? I know every +pertinent fact of this case, plus a few of my own which haven't been +tested in a dozen years. Not indexes and tubes and tapes--just facts! +Fact and method! Let me apply them!" + +"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, Beardsley. There _is_ ECAIAC, +and public confidence must not be allowed--" + +"The public be damned," Beardsley caught himself. "All right--for +appearance sake you can say the solution _came_ from ECAIAC. Let ECAIAC +verify me later if you wish. I'm not after headlines and glory ... by +heaven, sir, I'm offering you an _out_!" + +Mandleco pondered that. He glanced again at the confusion across the +room, and realization seemed to hit him. Quite suddenly, then, he threw +back his head and roared with laughter. + +"An out. And by heaven, Beardsley, I'm offering you a try! The idea +appeals to me! Beardsley versus ECAIAC ... socio-archaism opposed to the +_machina-ratiocinatrix_. Why, it's delicious!" He subsided to a rumble +of mirth and wiped tears from his eyes. "So! Just what do you propose?" + +Beardsley saw nothing amusing. "I propose first, sir, that we reach an +understanding. I'm to conduct the investigation my own way, without +interference?" + +"You have my word! I never violate it." + +"Good. Then start using your word right now. There are three persons I +want placed in temporary custody; they are to be brought over here at +once for questioning." + + * * * * * + +Mandleco looked appalled. "Questioning? _Here?_" + +"Yes, right here. Immediately! The three I want are Mrs. Carmack--I +happen to know she's still in the city. And Brook Pederson--you should +reach him easily at Central News Bureau. The third--" + +"Would that be Professor Losch?" Mandleco smugly asked. "Sorry, but +Losch happens to be in Bermuda right now." + +Beardsley said sharply: "How did you know that?" + +"Why, I--I'm acquainted with Losch, you know. He was planning a +vacation, and he mentioned Bermuda--" + +"No. I don't mean that. _How did you know Losch was my third person?_" + +Mandleco bristled a little, his face reddening as he groped for an +answer. "Never mind," Beardsley waved it aside. "If Losch is in Bermuda +at present we'll reach him by tele-stat right now!" He was suddenly +crisp as he propelled the Minister of Justice toward Jeff Arnold's +office. + +Mandleco stared at this little man, wondering if it were the same person +he had been talking to just minutes before. "Now see here, Beardsley--" +But he was interrupted. + +"I thought we had an understanding! Of course, if you'd prefer to count +on ECAIAC--" + +"Very well," Mandleco nodded grimly, "I gave you my word. But the +instant Arnold repairs the breakdown, your little experiment is over! Do +you understand that?" + +Beardsley nodded. He understood very well. + +"In the meantime, Beardsley, I warn you. I'll have no brow-beating of +these citizens, no--what was it called--third-degreeing tactics! I +understand that sort of thing used to be pretty prevalent." + +Beardsley snorted, as if that were beneath comment, and closed the +office door behind them. Mandleco hit him with a cagey glance. "The +Logicals and the Primes, eh? I suppose you know that I happen to be one +of those Primes." + +Beardsley looked straight at him. "Yes, I'm aware of it. My own approach +will be individualistic, of course, but I promise you won't be +over-looked!" + + * * * * * + +It might have been fatal--but Beardsley had judged his man well. +Mandleco took it as a challenge. He was silent as he approached the +tele-stat, and he no longer seemed amused. + +He put through the directive to have Mrs. Sheila Carmack and Mr. Brook +Pederson brought in. "As my guests, that is," Mandleco told his +operative. "_Be sure they understand that._ They are to be brought to +Crime-Central, Mechanical Division, at once ... yes, I said Mechanical +Division! At once means _now_." + +Beardsley nodded approval. "And now Professor Losch, please?" + +Without a waste of motion, Mandleco put through to Bermuda on priority +beam. While they waited he gave Beardsley a look of puzzlement and new +respect. "Ah--I'm not implying that it's against protocol, of course, +but I assume you've already made some investigation along lines of your +own?" + +"Superficial only," Beardsley said. + +"I see. Well then, would you mind giving me some ... you know, just an +idea of how you plan to proceed?" + +Beardsley said bluntly: "Yes, I would mind." + +"Oh." Mandleco frowned and persisted. "Psychologic deduction. Wasn't +that your _forte_? I seem to recall--" + +Beardsley grunted. "I'll tell you this much, there are implications +about this case that fascinate me!" + +"Oh?" Mandleco found himself a chair, sat upon it and edged forward. "I +don't just quite--" + +"Look. To begin with, the case is unique; so much so that your entire +structure of approach is wrong. I mean top-heavy! Top-heavy with +gadgetry and assumption." + +"Assumption?" Mandleco bristled a little. "You of all people should know +better. Not _once_ in the past dozen years has ECAIAC failed to arrive +at a conclusive and pin-point solution based on correlative factors!" + +Beardsley smiled thinly. "Ah, yes. But we were speaking of the _Carmack_ +case. I repeat, it's not only unique but untenable; it became untenable +the moment you assigned ECAIAC the task of solving the murder of its own +creator! That," he said grimly, "is a mistake we wouldn't have made even +in '60...." + + * * * * * + +Mandleco thought that over, shook his head and frowned. It was obvious +he missed the connotation. "So?" he urged. + +"So look at the murder itself. The _pattern_. You'll admit it does seem +odd and misplaced for these times--or hadn't you noticed?" Beardsley +leaned forward sharply. "But it strikes a familiar note with me! +Absolutely nothing in the way of material clues; not even the weapon; +and the _modus operandi_ is one I haven't seen employed in years, the +old idea of the most direct and simple murder being the safest!" + +"I--I guess I just don't follow you." + +"I mean the _way_ Carmack was struck down. Nothing cute and fancy, no +frills or improvisation--just the proverbial blunt instrument, after +which the killer simply walked out of there. Believe me, I know about +these things. The very simplicity is the killer's protection. You can +bet no trace will ever be found of that blunt instrument, and naturally +he left no evidence coming or going. But then," Beardsley said +obliquely, "your so-called 'Survey' men made a horrible botch of the +scene. In '60 we'd have sent them back to patrolling the freeways!" + +Mandleco started to protest, then closed his mouth quickly. "I see, I +see." + +"I can understand," Beardsley murmured, "how emphasis on basic +groundwork has become minimized. So much reliance on Indexes and +thalamic-imbalance and chart-sifts! It was only a matter of time until a +criminal, a really _clever_ one, saw through the system--and reverted." +His fingers drummed the chair arm, then he looked up sharply. "And yet +of all places, I'd say that Carmack's estate was _least_ ideally +situated for this type of murder; you know what I mean? You've been +there?" + +"Well, I--there have been occasions. Yes." + +Beardsley nodded. "I refer to Carmack's elaborate system against +invasion of his privacy. To put it bluntly, he had enemies, and his +estate was designed as a refuge against those enemies; electronic +barriers pitched at ultra-frequency to respond only to certain neural +vibrations. Must have taken years of research to come up with that!" + +Mandleco shifted impatiently. "Of course, but look here, Beardsley--" + +"So it leaves me right where I started, doesn't it? And yet I know this: +it was no _emotional_ killing. It was all coldly planned. The killer was +someone Carmack trusted enough to have in his home; they were probably +having a quiet little chat together. And then precisely--on a +predetermined minute--the killer rose from his chair and struck." + +Mandleco lifted his heavy hands and then, as if conscious of them, let +them fall limply across the desk. "But--come now, Beardsley! Psychologic +deduction is all very well, but how can you possibly know that?" + +Beardsley gazed calmly at the Minister of Justice. For a moment he said +nothing. Mandleco seemed more alert than startled, more annoyed than +either. + +"That," said Beardsley softly, "I am not prepared to tell you." + +Mandleco seemed about to pursue the point, but there came an +interruption. Both men turned abruptly as the stat-screen gave its +warning blip. + +"Code C-C-Five!" came the remote voice. "Bermuda to Washington, +Priority. This is Priority. C-C-Five ... your party is ready now, sir!" + + * * * * * + +It was a pool-side scene, with hotel and tropical palms against an +unbelievable blue sky. Professor Emil Losch loomed on the screen; he was +in swimming trunks, a small gray man who seemed hard as nails, his lean +tanned body belying his years. + +"Hello?" Losch peered sharply and then pulled away, almost upsetting an +expensive decanter of liquor on the table beside him. He seemed to +blanch as he recognized the Minister of Justice. "Mandleco!" + +The latter raised a hand in greeting. "Don't be alarmed, Professor, this +is not official. Just a social call." + +"I want to correct that," Beardsley said bluntly as he thrust himself +into range. "Professor Losch, this _is_ official; furthermore, I wish to +advise you that this stat is monitor-taped for both vis and audio, and +the resulting record is therefore admissible in any Court of Law. Being +so advised, is there any objection on your part to answering a brief +series of questions pertaining to the Carmack Case? I have been duly +authorized by George Mandleco, Minister of Justice," he added for the +record. + +Losch glanced bewilderedly from Beardsley to Mandleco, and seemed to +take courage from the latter. + +"Objection?" he said. "This is a bit unusual, but ... of course, I have +no objection." + +"Very well. I shall make a series of statements, and give you +opportunity to refute them either in part or _in toto_. Professor Losch, +some years ago you were engaged privately, in magnetronic cybernetic +research along similar lines to those later developed by Amos Carmack. +Shortly thereafter you claimed that Carmack had thwarted you, +out-maneuvered you, _out-stolen_ you at every turn; I believe those are +pretty much your own words, as revealed by court records--" + +"Correct! I repeat them now!" + +"You filed against him, and litigation dragged through the courts for +several years before Carmack finally won out. Shortly thereafter you +disappeared; I believe you took up residence in Europe. About a year ago +you returned, and was hired as Research Consultant in the laboratories +of the Carmack Foundation. This is true?" + + * * * * * + +For a moment Losch avoided looking at the screen. It was obvious he was +considering his answer carefully. + +"It's true," he said. + +Beardsley said quickly, "It is my understanding that Mr. Mandleco +interceded with Carmack on your behalf--" + +"I protest the last statement!" Losch's words exploded from the screen. +"There was no intercession by anyone!" His head lifted defiantly. "Yes, +I came back. I don't mind admitting I came crawling back. Carmack +offered me the position and I accepted!" + +"Quite so. And he offered you a hundred thousand a year, didn't he? +Twice the salary of any other top man?" + +"You think that's out of line," Losch bristled, "but he must have +thought I was worth it--I think you know why! He owed me ten times as +much!" + +"You must have really hated Carmack," murmured Beardsley. + +Mandleco thrust forward angrily, gesturing. "Losch, let me caution you +not to answer that!" + +"But I will answer it! Yes, I hated him, but if you think I killed the +man you're wrong. Sure--I wanted to kill him--I thought about it often +enough, but I hadn't the courage." Losch glared at Beardsley from the +screen. "No doubt my Augment Index will bear it out," he said bitterly. +"Neuro-thalamic imbalance isn't it called? Pronounced efforts at +emotional suppression?" + +"Close enough," Beardsley nodded, refusing to be enticed from his query. +"And you were in Washington prior to and including the day of the +murder. You admit this?" + +"Of course, of course I admit it!" Losch sighed wearily and lifted his +hands. "Why deny the obvious? I'm resigned to the fact that my Index +probably makes me a prize Prime!" + +"Professor Losch. As a person closely associated with the Carmack +Laboratories, you must be aware of the--shall we say--elaborate +precautions Carmack took to ensure his privacy?" + +Losch sank back slowly, but his eyes couldn't conceal a livening +interest. "I don't know what you mean." + +"Then I'll tell you. I refer to the frequency barrier which Carmack +installed within the past year. The 'neuro-vibe' I think he called it. +That strikes a note?" + +Losch said sullenly, "Perhaps! What about it?" + +"Only this. Assuming the killer was a person Carmack had reason to +mistrust--or to fear--he had to solve the neuro-vibe in order to gain +access. Not many persons could have done that, Losch. But _you_ could +have done it." + +Losch came up out of his chair with a heavy, angry look. "Now see here, +you--" + +"Which pretty well establishes motive, means and method. You were in +Washington the day of the murder! And you left for Bermuda the day +following! Is that substantially correct?" + +"_Totally_ correct!" said Losch savagely. "Now may I ask what the hell +you're going to do about it?" + + * * * * * + +Beardsley observed him for a prolonged second. "Remember it," he +answered softly. + +Losch opened his mouth to say more, but Beardsley lifted a palm at the +screen and smiled benignly. "Well, sir, I think that about covers it. I +want to thank you very much for the record, and--ah--have a nice +vacation! Goodbye." + +With that he clicked off abruptly. + + * * * * * + +He turned to face Mandleco, who was struggling between anger and +distress as he paced away from the screen and back. He confronted +Beardsley with a sad and accusing look. "Now see here, Beardsley! If I'd +known your methods were ... don't you think that was all a bit +high-handed?" + +"What? No, not in the least. Didn't you notice?" + +"Notice what?" + +"Losch was an angry man, yes, indeed." + +"Angry," snapped Mandleco. "Good reason!" + +"No," Beardsley mused. "The _wrong_ reason. Murder--at least the type +we're concerned with--is a form of release, you know. A killer may +commit his deed in anger, but once the thing is accomplished he never +retains that anger long." Beardsley gazed contemplatively at the screen. +"You know, I admire that man. I really do. He had the convictions at +least, if not the courage." + +Mandleco pounced on that. "Then you think Losch is innocent?" + +"I didn't say that!" Beardsley paused in a strange hesitation; his eyes +had gone remote beneath the very thick glasses, and his words came slow +and isolated. "But he's part of the record. Yes, it should be quite a +record. In fact, I have a feeling--you know?--that this case is going to +stand as a _monument_ in the annals of crime...." + +Mandleco stared at him, searched for the meaning there and then gave it +up. _Why had he ever committed himself to this situation anyway? Did +this little man really know as much as he pretended, or was he merely +fumbling around in the dregs of a forgotten past?_ To be sure, Beardsley +was a pathetic enough figure; but the man had once been great in his +field, and there was something about him even now.... + +There was the sudden way Beardsley had of losing his abstracted look, +the eyes beneath those ridiculous lenses coming to a sharp bright focus +with tiny livening flecks in the gray of the iris; and the way the +change lifted his features from mediocrity to the alertness of a +terrier. It was absurd, it was farcical ... and it was all very +disturbing. + +"You told _me_," Mandleco said testily, "that the killer was someone +Carmack trusted enough to have in his home. Then you bludgeon Losch with +the idea it was a person Carmack had reason to fear! It would seem to +me, Beardsley--" + +"No, no. I think my words to Losch were _assuming_ the killer was such a +person." Beardsley looked up brightly, and even through those lenses +Mandleco could see the sharp focus. + +"Just the same, I fail to see what's to be gained by these outlandish +methods!" + +Beardsley seemed genuinely surprised. "But I've gained a great deal +already! And don't forget, Mrs. Carmack and Pederson should be here +soon." + +"_That's_ a prospect I look forward to," Mandleco tried to salvage a +modicum of humor and failed miserably. He extracted a cigar, clamped his +teeth upon it, frowned and glanced at his watch. He strode over and +peered out at the operations room. + +Beardsley said innocuously, "I wouldn't count on ECAIAC just yet." + +It was Beardsley's first error. He realized it instantly. The remark +seemed to trigger something in Mandleco. + +The Minister of Justice turned slowly, rolling the cigar from one corner +of his mouth to the other. "But I may," he said. "You know, I just may! +It's barely possible, Beardsley, that with some luck we'll be able to +dispense with your talents!" He said it with considerable more relish +than conviction, and moved for the door. "I think I'll just see how +Arnold is making out!" + + * * * * * + +Arnold was making out very well, much to Mandleco's delight. No longer +was there chaos and confusion. The new feed-back unit had arrived, and +installation was well under way. Blueprints were spread out as a crew of +techs worked feverishly at all damage areas. + +"It looks promising," Arnold hurried up to greet him. "Told you I had a +good crew here! Look--see this?" He indicated one of the variant-tapes +being slowly reversed across the relays. + +"What is it?" + +"The number eight reject." + +"That what caused the trouble?" + +"Well ... we think so, but it's problematical. Whether it did or not, +we're safe in resuming the run without any shift in the correlation +total." + +Mandleco stared at the number eight. "Throw it out!" he snapped. + +"What--what did you say, sir?" + +"I said throw it out! Get this thing to functioning!" + +Arnold was aghast. "But," he gulped, "we just can't throw out data! +Sure, it was about to be a reject--but everything, even rejects, contain +a factor-balance! You know that, sir." + +Mandleco got control of himself with an effort. "Yes--yes, of course. I +know you're right. But damn it, man, those units cost something like +eighty thousand dollars! Suppose the same breakdown occurs?" + +"Not a chance of it this time. We'll merely continue with a stepped-up +synaptic check. Take longer for Cumulative, perhaps, but absolutely +fool-proof once we--" + + * * * * * + +For a long instant Mandleco stood musing. Then he nodded brusquely. "All +right. How long to get going?" + +"Why, we'll be ready in forty minutes at the most. I told you I had a +good crew, sir! Excuse me--" One of Arnold's techs was motioning to him. +"Excuse me," Arnold said again, and hurried away to consult with the +man. + +"Forty minutes!" Mandleco couldn't believe it. He chortled happily, and +swung about to greet Beardsley who approached at that moment. "Hear +that, Beardsley? Forty minutes! Excellent man, Arnold. I'm sorry I ever +doubted--" + +Beardsley wasn't listening. He stared about at the miracle of +reconstruction, and there was more of amazement on his face than +distress. Adjusting his glasses, he gazed thoughtfully at Jeff Arnold's +retreating figure. + +Mandleco was saying, "Just as well your little experiment didn't go any +further! Dangerous precedent ... don't know what possessed me ... you +realize that in the last analysis I'll have to put my faith in ECAIAC! +No bad feelings?" + +"No, sir," Beardsley pronounced somberly. "No bad feelings, because I'm +holding you to your word. ECAIAC hasn't solved your case and it never +will." + +Mandleco stood still, open-mouthed. "What's that? Nonsense! Arnold just +assured me--" + +"He assured you of nothing! I'm more convinced than ever now. I'm the +only one who can solve this case, and I'm holding you to your word." + +Mandleco seemed undecided whether to laugh or censure. His heavy fingers +opened and closed aimlessly, as he stared across the room at Arnold and +back at Beardsley. Finally his teeth snapped together. "Beardsley," he +choked--"I warn you, if this is some sort of trickery--" + +Beardsley shook his head solemnly. "You'd do well to believe me, sir. I +was never more serious." + +"So you're determined to go on with it! Very well, Beardsley. You have +something like forty minutes, and believe me you'd better prove +yourself! May I remind you"--fraught with meaning, his voice bordered on +anticipation--"may I remind you, Beardsley, that already you've given +sufficient cause for a complete review of your qualifications as +Cooerdinator?" + +Beardsley looked at him and smiled. "Yes, sir. And may I remind _you_, +sir," he nodded toward the far door, "that your guests have arrived?" + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Carmack, Beardsley thought as he watched her, was that rare type of +woman who could defy all the current conventions of style and carry it +off successfully; her type of beauty was unostentatious and yet vibrant. +She was dressed impeccably in black and silver, her hair was authentic +honey-blonde in a coronet braid, and her face possessed that pure line +of profile together with the quality of translucence one sees in rare +porcelain.... Sheila Carmack was thirty-five, and she paid her +beauticians that many thousands annually to keep her looking fifteen +years younger. Just now she seemed in buoyant good spirits as she +greeted Mandleco. + +Not so the young man who accompanied her. The escort was a person +Beardsley had never seen before, quite handsome and quite aware of it, +with an impudent world-wisdom centered about his sharp eyes. He turned +immediately to Mandleco with a bluster as phony as it was towering: + +"This is an outrage, sir! A damned outrage! On Sheila's behalf I deplore +these tactics, and I question your right! Our entire afternoon perfectly +ruined...." + +"Correction, darling," purred Mrs. Carmack. "You mean our perfect +afternoon entirely ruined." She turned smiling to the Minister of +Justice. "You really mustn't mind Victor." + +"Hello, Sheila," Mandleco greeted her wanly. "I must apologize for the +inconvenience, but I assure you--" + +"Oh, but this is thrilling! I mean really!" Mrs. Carmack was gazing +about ECAIAC's room with considerable more delight than suspicion, and +Beardsley watching her was thinking: _Thrilling! Can she really mean it? +She must surely be aware of ECAIAC's task for today--today of all +days...._ + + * * * * * + +He glanced uneasily down the room, and saw that Jeff Arnold was much too +occupied to have noticed the newcomers. He gestured to Mandleco, who +finally took the hint and escorted the visitors into the privacy of the +office. + +There Mandleco offered drinks, but the young man named Victor refused +his, preferring to maintain his air of injured dignity. Mandleco sighed +and gave an accusing look at Beardsley. "I know this is unusual," he +apologized to Sheila, "but I--uh--I _am_ rather hopeful that you may +find it entertaining!" He gave a slight sardonic emphasis to the last +word. "If you'll just bear with me until our other guest arrives." + +Victor had been awaiting his chance. "Another? _Really!_ We're guests, +Sheila, do you hear that?" He looked at Mandleco with immense disdain, +gave a pert tilt of his head and surveyed the room with a grimace of +distaste. "And just how long are we to be detained in this--this--" + +Beardsley's fist itched to splatter those handsome features around a +little. Instead he strode forward, said bluntly: "That'll do it, sonny! +Who the hell are you anyway?" + +The handsome face sneered at him. "I am Victor d'Arlan! I am a good +friend of Sheila's--of the family," he corrected. "We were on our way to +the Concert when those--those _impertinent_ men detained us. To think we +must forego Perro's Fifth Color-Concerto for Sub-Chromatics in favor of +_this_!" + +Sheila's eyes danced with tolerant amusement. "Victor, please. This +promises to be much more exciting; I'm sure Mr. Mandleco knows what he +is about, and...." Wide and curious, her gaze went to Beardsley and +lingered there. + +Belatedly, Mandleco made introductions. "Perhaps I should explain," he +gave an improvident laugh, "that Mr. Beardsley's role at the moment +is--ah--a little beyond the ordinary! That is, I--" He paused +miserably, and then was saved for the moment as all eyes turned toward +the door. + +Brook Pederson had arrived and the attention of everyone was drawn to +him. + + * * * * * + +The effect was startling. The tele-columnist was a tall, dour and +bushy-browed man who took a perverse sort of pride in the impression he +gave of shabbiness. He slouched wordlessly into the room, hands thrust +deep in the pockets of a makeshift jacket. But there was nothing shabby +about the man's perceptive and analytic mind, Beardsley remembered; +true, Pederson had fallen from the heights since the ECAIAC debacle, but +his retirement from the limelight was more studied than sullen and could +only have been his own choosing. Lately he had emerged again, and with +all of his old news-sense and political acumen he was making his +presence felt ... he was a man of considered but lightning mood who, +when asked for an opinion invariably gave an argument. + +Beardsley observed him shrewdly. From the depths of his mind came a +warning, a restless unease that took root and blossomed into turbulence. +_This man will bear special watching...._ + +Pederson came on into the room, nodded dourly at Mandleco (no love lost +there!) and remained alertly silent; for the merest instant he met +Beardsley's gaze, and there was a definite challenge and something of +mockery. _Damn him_, thought Beardsley, _he knows why he's here ... but +how could he know? He's aware that he's on the tapes, too--even one of +the Primes--and he doesn't give a damn!_ + +Mandleco finished the introductions quickly and took over. It was plain +that he wanted to get through with this, but at the same time Beardsley +sensed that he was no longer _quite_ so sure of Jeff Arnold and ECAIAC ... +above all things, Mandleco had to avoid any hint of trouble with ECAIAC. + +And he managed that with an adroitness that bordered on the cunning. +After some glowing comments on Beardsley's past esteemed record--with +pointed emphasis on the pre-ECAIAC era--he ended with a truly +inspirational touch: + +"Let us just say, then, that you have been invited here in the interests +of an experiment which Crime-Central has been contemplating for some +time. An inquiry into--ah--certain facets of past investigatory methods. +Crude as it may seem to you, certain factors may be forthcoming +here--psychologic and derivational--which may later be refined, analyzed +and integrated into the operational function of ECAIAC...." + +Beardsley stared at Mandleco. It was altogether a neat side-step, and he +almost admired him for it. + +"Please understand, this is a necessary adjunct to the true development +of ECAIAC. We shall have here two divergent lines of approach within +parallel fields. Actually, each of you will be an important co-aide in +this experiment! I would like you to cooperate fully with Mr. +Beardsley's line of approach. Uh--vintage '60," he added for their +amusement. + +The reaction was immediate and varied. Victor d'Arlan examined his +fingernails and registered aristocratic boredom. Pederson slouched up +against the desk, seeming amused at Mandleco's pitch ... but he wasn't +watching Mandleco. The gaze he fastened on Beardsley said plainer than +words that he was quite aware of the situation. + +Only Sheila Carmack seemed fascinated, as she sat a bit straighter in +her chair and peered brightly across her drink. It was obvious that she, +for one, was taken in. + +"Why, I wouldn't have missed it for the world!" she sparkled. "Just +like, you know, in those--what did they call them--_whodunits_? It's +actually thrilling!" + +"It's archaic!" d'Arlan sneered. + +"It's heroic," said Pederson, his gaze still on the little Cooerdinator. +"Beardsley, I hope you pull it off. I actually do. Always did think you +were twice the man ECAIAC is!" + +Beardsley moved forward, not smiling. "Thanks," he said. "In that case +you won't mind if I begin with you." + +"With _me_?" Pederson stared, then laughed suddenly and without mirth. +"Skip it, Beardsley! I know your methods, and I can tell you right now +it won't get you any--" + +Beardsley stopped him. "Pederson," he said, "as of now we agree on just +one thing. I also think I'm twice the man. The only difference is that +I'm man enough to _really_ believe it." He paused and watched him absorb +that. "It's going to be ECAIAC or vintage '60, Pederson. Your choice!" + + * * * * * + +It was at once a rebuff and a challenge. Pederson then straightened up +slowly, a muscle in his face flinched and then he smiled--with all but +his eyes. "All right," he snapped, "we'll begin with me. I'll fill you +in plenty! You want to know if I saw Carmack the day of the murder? I +did! The louse put through a vis call to me. _Insisted_ I come out and +see him--" + +"Whoa, now just a minute! You wouldn't say this was a friendly visit?" + +"I'll get to that!" Pederson's words came fast and clipped. "You know +how I fought the ECAIAC lobby. I fought it long and hard, and when I +lost it finished me with the public. But I wasn't through! I began +digging up every fact I could about Carmack. Took me a few years, but +worth it. Most of it smelled! Ask Professor Losch, he'll tell you--" + +"I've already spoken with Losch," Beardsley said quietly. "He managed to +convey his sentiments pretty thoroughly." + +"Good. Then try talking to _him_," Pederson nodded venomously at +_Mandleco_. "Ask Mandleco how the great Carmack managed to get those +patents through.... I can tell you he didn't do it alone! Oh, I've dug +plenty!" + +"Why, you--" Mandleco gave a snort of anger and started forward, but +Beardsley managed to forestall him. He gazed sternly at the +tele-columnist. + +"I think we're all aware of your considerable talent for digging, +Pederson. ECAIAC, too," he added pointedly, "for we already have it on +the tapes." + +Pederson bristled. "Sure. Sure, you have it! My past connection, my +opposition to the lobby, even my digging maybe. But you don't have it +all! How do you equate _hate_, Beardsley? Is _that_ on your tapes?" + +Beardsley could have told him that it was, indeed, on the tapes. But he +only shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "we don't have it all. Not +ECAIAC nor I nor any of us, and that's the eternal pity of it. But I'd +like to try! The sum and the substance, Pederson ... don't you +understand me? Just once before I'm through--" + + * * * * * + +It was the voice, some secret and subtle thing in the voice that reached +out and gripped Pederson and bore meaning with it. He stood quite +motionless, staring at Beardsley; for a split second his eyes widened, +then disbelief gave way to something of comprehension, admiration. + +"Beardsley," he said softly. "You fool. You utter damned fool!" + +Oblivious of the others, then, he turned and began to pace. "All right. +Here it is. Carmack called me out to see him. He had gotten wind of what +I was up to, and offered to buy me off." Pederson laughed bitterly. +"Wasn't even subtle about it! Said he liked my stuff, and would like to +see me at the top again where I belonged. Said he could arrange for me +to step into a top job at Central Telecast. Providing, of course, I +could manage to--ah--'forget' certain little items I'd uncovered." + + * * * * * + +Pederson was doing all right. Beardsley gave him his lead. + +"He actually thought it would be that simple! I refused him outright, +and of course, he couldn't believe it. A man like that--We dropped all +pretense, there were some bitter words--" + +Beardsley said quickly, "Could you elaborate?" + +"Oh, I don't remember exactly. He went venomous! I suppose there were +threats. I told him he hadn't enough money _or_ influence to buy what I +knew, and that when I had it properly documented I intended to make a +national scandal of it." Pederson halted abruptly. "You know, it +occurred to me later that was a foolhardy thing to say!" + +"Ah? Why is that?" + +"Well, I had heard of that safeguard of his--the 'neuro-vibe'--and I +suppose there were other things, too. He was a cautious man, a dangerous +man. But," Pederson shrugged, "he let me into his home readily enough." + +Beardsley lifted a finger. "Because he was confident he was going to buy +you--wouldn't you say?" + +"I suppose that's it. Maybe I was lucky to get out of there so easily! +Anyway I did." Pederson stopped pacing, and his gaze bored into +Beardsley's. "So now to the big question. Yes, he was alive when I left +him. No, I never saw Carmack again. I went straight to my office and +worked until well past midnight; by the way, I have ample proof of +that--" + +"Yes, I'm sure you do! What were your feelings at this point?" + +"My feelings? I knew my life was in danger now! Carmack would be out to +stop me. I don't mind admitting I was ... well, rather relieved, when I +heard the news." + +"Ah-h! And when did you hear it?" + +Pederson glared, but his answer was quick. "Late the next afternoon, of +course! By habit I work late hours and I sleep long." With an air of +finality he threw a challenging look around. "I want to congratulate +whoever did it, and I don't much care whether the answer comes from you +or ECAIAC!" + +Beardsley surveyed him solemnly. Pederson had little more than brushed +the surface, but it was enough, it served to set the pattern; he could +have sworn Pederson was aware of that. He said drily, "Thanks, Pederson. +Your story is--very pat." + + * * * * * + +He turned to the others. Mandleco rather surprised him, seeming not so +much disturbed as he was engrossed deep in thought; as for Mrs. Carmack, +Beardsley saw that the comedy had gone out of it for her, but she tried +to keep up the veneer. + +"This is all most interesting!" she sparkled, placing her glass down +carefully and turning to face him. "Am I to be next, Mr. Beardsley? +Shall I give both the questions and the answers as Mr. Pederson did?" + +"No, Mrs. Carmack. I'll do that! I took note a moment ago that you +mentioned the _whodunits_. You must be familiar with them? Say as a +hobby?" + +It wasn't at all what she expected. She stood wide-eyed and startled. + +"This is so thrilling, remember. Vintage '60! As the _whodunits_ will +tell you, one of the prime requisites is an accounting and proof of your +whereabouts at the time of the deed! Well?" + +Beardsley's voice was just edged enough to throw her into confusion. +"Why, I--" she faltered. "You mean that night? I--I--" + +"What, no alibi? You don't even remember? According to vintage '60 that +could mean either complete innocence or extreme cunning; beware the +suspect who is clever enough to be ready with no alibi!" + +Beardsley saw her stiffen; there was a change across her face, a +struggle beneath the eyes. "But then," he shrugged, "it has always been +my conviction that _motive_ rather than opportunity is the real +requisite. On that basis it's plain you couldn't have killed your +husband. You loved him! He was only fifty-eight, he only left you a +dozen million dollars, but you loved him and you were faithful! Anyone +can see that after seven weeks you're still all broken up over it!" + +The veneer was gone now; Sheila Carmack's eyes were vicious pools of +hate, her mouth a grimace. "Why, you--you ridiculous little monster!" +Victor d'Arlan stepped forward belligerently. "Say, now look here! This +is all very--" Beardsley placed a hand on d'Arlan's chest and shoved, +and the latter stumbled back with mouth agape. Pederson was gazing at +Beardsley with delight and admiration, seeming to visualize this little +man as material for his next tele-column. Mandleco stood transfixed, a +monument of agony, twisting a fist into his palm. "Beardsley, stop it! +This ridiculous farce has gone far enough! I warned you about these +tactics--" + +Beardsley said, "Shut up!" and Mandleco stood there with mouth opening +and closing soundlessly. + +"Well, Mrs. Carmack? Answer me! You loved your husband, didn't you? For +the past ten minutes you've heard him maligned; I should think you'd +want to protect his very good name!" + +"Sheila, I must advise you against making _any_ statement of whatever +nature!" Mandleco strode for the tele-stat, then turned back and pointed +a trembling finger at Beardsley. "This man," he choked--"this man is no +longer acting in any official capacity for Crime-Central!" + +With a quick step Pederson got himself between Mandleco and the +tele-stat; he strolled over to the instrument and leaned against it, +with a knowing look at Beardsley. + +Sheila Carmack tilted her chin in defiance. "But I _wish_ to answer this +man. I insist on answering! Loved Amos Carmack? Love him?" Her voice +rose a full octave and broke in stridence. "For the past nine years I +have _hated--his--guts_!" + + * * * * * + +For a long moment the room was silent. No one moved. Beardsley's thick +glasses glinted eerily as he peered around at them, from Mandleco to +Sheila to Pederson and back to Mandleco. + +"Well now," he said, "this is remarkable. Most remarkable! Everyone +hated Carmack. Professor Losch--we know why. Pederson here--he's told us +why. His wife--I think it's obvious. Who else? Surely not you, Mandleco! +Carmack was a pal of yours! You backed his cause with ECAIAC, you +lobbied for him, you even stole patents for him.... I wonder what +persuasion he held over you to bring all that about. Or is _persuasion_ +too mild a word? Vintage '60 had a better term for it!" + +Slowly, through the murk of his agitation Mandleco seized a measure of +control; he gazed at Beardsley out of cold incalculable eyes now hooded +with dire intention. "You're really trying hard, aren't you!" he grated. +"Well, make the most of it, because I guarantee _you_ won't be around, +not after the next Annual Basic! Do you understand that--_Mister_ +Cooerdinator?" + +But Beardsley was watching Pederson now, whose face took on a sudden +febrile gleam. "Blackmail ... by God, Beardsley, that's it! And I have +the proof! Sure, it was Carmack I was after, but I dug out a lot more--" +Pederson shot a challenging look at the Minister of Justice. "It goes +back some years, but I can prove that Amos Carmack had enough on +Mandleco to _finish him politically any time he chose_. You can bet your +life Mandleco hated him. Enough to warrant murder!" + +There was an odd, illogical delight in the way Pederson said it--and +something almost frightening the way Mandleco just stood there in cold +silence, gazing at the tele-columnist with a look of boundless regret. + +Beardsley said very softly, "Thanks, Pederson, but I'd suggest you save +it. It's scarcely pertinent now." + +"Not pertinent? But, man, I tell you I have proof! What better motive +would you--" + +"Motive?" Beardsley hit him with a pitying glance. "Why, I thought it +was obvious. We've progressed beyond _motives_ now." + +Again there was an electric silence, and Beardsley let it assimilate. "I +have said," he went on, "that all this is most remarkable. But you know, +the _really_ remarkable thing--" He paused and watched them. Mandleco +continued to grind a fist into his palm; Pederson straightened +attentively, and d'Arlan, sneery no longer, moved over to stand beside +Sheila Carmack. + +"--the really remarkable thing is this. I am now ready to state, +unequivocally, that the person who killed Amos Carmack ... _didn't hate +him at all_." + + * * * * * + +A thought was throbbing through the room like the seconds passing. Quick +and cumulative, almost embodied, it made transition from stunned mind +to startled mind as Beardsley stood there blinking at them. Beardsley +really didn't mind; they just couldn't know how subtly he worked into +his themes! Taking advantage of the lull, he went over to the door and +peered out into the Operations Room. + +He peered long and soberly, then turned. Mandleco had found his voice +first, perplexity pushing down his anger: "Beardsley, either you're +bereft of your senses or--Do you mean to say," he choked--"after going +to these preposterous lengths do you mean to say that no one _here_--" + +"Just a moment!" To everyone's surprise it was d'Arlan who broke in. +"I'm not sure what's going on here, not sure at all, but I want to make +one thing quite clear. _Sheila_ had no complicity in this crime! I know, +because--" He hesitated, touched her gently on the arm. "Sorry, darling, +I've got to say it. I know because she was with _me_ that night." + +Sheila was startled for a moment, then utterly scathing. "You needn't +lie for me, Victor! I appreciate your sense of the dramatic, and even +your motives, but I assure you they are both misplaced. I have never +heard such nonsense!" + +d'Arlan looked more desolate than abashed. As for Beardsley, he was only +a little amused. "Well, now, this is really more than I deserve; in all +my years on Homicide I wanted to experience this, but I finally put it +down as a myth. The Noble Alibi!" He peered sharply. "True vintage, +right out of the _whodunits_--wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Carmack?" + +The answer didn't come, and Beardsley went on sternly: "And you reject +his noble attempt on your behalf. That is interesting! Especially, as it +occurs to me that d'Arlan's effort is just a little delayed...." He +paused, gazing thoughtfully upward. "It's enough to make one wonder +whether his noble effort is designed to protect you--or himself!" + +d'Arlan suddenly paled, as if he had just been kicked in the stomach. He +gulped heavily and tried to speak. Beardsley watched stolidly for a +moment, then dismissed him with a gesture of complete disgust. "Oh, +hell, never mind! I would say neither. The lady is right, sonny, you'd +better watch those impulses. You just aren't the type!" + + * * * * * + +Mandleco had been hanging onto every word, grimly intent; he was sure +Beardsley was getting somewhere at last. Now he straightened, and his +grinding fist indicated that he'd had quite enough. Without a word, +without even a deigning glance at Beardsley, he traversed the office +with great purposeful strides and slammed through the outer door into +ECAIAC's room-- + +And was back an instant later, trailing Jeff Arnold as the latter +brushed past him into the office. Mandleco was saying something +urgently, tugging at Arnold's arm. Arnold ignored him. His startled gaze +was on the little group. + +"Sheila!" He took a step forward. "Sheila, what are _you_ doing here?" + +"I wish you'd tell me, Jeff. I wish _someone_ would explain what this is +all about...." + +Beardsley watched the tableau in silence. Jeff Arnold's gaze flicked to +d'Arlan, who stared back with insolence, and there was no mistaking the +hostility that leaped between the two. + +Sheila noticed it, too, and there was an indecisive moment that mounted +toward panic. Beardsley watched her churning effort to control it. She +said quickly, an inflection of fear in her voice: "Mr. Beardsley, if it +_really_ matters--my whereabouts that night--you'll understand my +reluctance to say it before! I was with Jeff. Truly! I'm sure he will +tell you--" + +The words were directed at Beardsley, but she was talking to Jeff +Arnold. And deliberately, almost brutally, Arnold refused to accept the +cue. Beardsley saw the pleading turn to apprehension in Sheila's eyes. + +"But, Jeff, you remember! Surely you do! Jeff, you don't understand--you +must tell them--" + + * * * * * + +Arnold looked at her for a single comprehending instant, a pitying +instant, then his lips compressed tightly as he turned away. + +There was finality in it. Sheila's eyes were stark and unbelieving. She +stood there without motion, without a word, her mind groping in a shock +of blindness. + +Beardsley said gently, "It's all right, Mrs. Carmack. It's really all +right. Merely an experiment, an inquiry into comparative methods as +Mandleco said. I'm truly sorry if my methods seemed harsh, but"--he +shrugged--"I dare say my participation is over now." + +"You're damned right you may say it, Beardsley!" Arnold's eyes raked him +with venom, but he controlled himself and turned to Mandleco. "I only +came to tell you, sir, that we have ECAIAC ready. We'll be reaching +Cumulative very shortly now." + +"Jeff ... are you _sure_?" + +"Quite sure! Depend on it, there'll be no more trouble." + +More than relief took hold of Mandleco; it was transformation, it was as +if a spell had been snapped. He glanced once about the room, and +shuddered as his gaze encountered Beardsley. + +"Uh--yes. Fine!" he said. "That's fine, Jeff! Shall we proceed?" He +strode through the door, pausing only to fling back scathingly: "That +is, if Mr. Beardsley is quite sure it meets with _his_ approval!" + + * * * * * + +ECAIAC was in finest fettle again as the tapes sped through. Circuits +were activated. Codes gave meaning. Synaptic cells summed and +integrated, cancelled and compared and with saucy assurance sent the +findings on toward Cumulative. The murmur was soft and sustained and +somehow apologetic, as if ECAIAC were quite aware that she had failed in +her duty but would be just pleased to make amends _this_ time. + +So like a woman ... fractious, unfathomable, then fawning and +attrite--with a purpose! Beardsley cocked his head and listened, his +mien almost beatific. Purpose? This creature had none that could quite +match his! He was convinced of it now, and he had never been more happy +or self-assured. + +It was Pederson who was distressed, as he paced with long nervous +strides and watched the equate-panel where the mathematics were made +visible in a pattern of constantly changing lights. It had meaning only +for the techs, but Pederson couldn't seem to take his eyes from it. At +last he came over to Beardsley and managed to steer him aside. + +"Beardsley, I just don't get it! This whole thing--are you quite sure--" + +Beardsley blinked at him. "Sure of what, Pederson?" + +"Of what you're doing! Damn it, man, don't tell me that was all waste +effort in there! Look--I know what this means, and I'm with you all the +way. If only you could beat ECAIAC, I'll give it all the publicity it +can bear! Who knows--" + +Beardsley looked at him blankly, and Pederson gave a snort and a +gesture. "All right! I guess I'm wrong. For a while there I actually +thought you had it." Pederson surveyed him shrewdly. "Just the same, +that bit you exploded--about the person who killed Carmack didn't hate +him at all--you meant that, Beardsley!" + +"That's right, I meant it." + +"My choice is Jeff Arnold." + +"Ah? Now why do you say that?" + +"The way you built up to it, that's why. And you got your result! Sheila +Carmack's in love with Arnold, and she tried to cover up for him ... +sure, that's it! It's obvious! She thinks he's the killer, either thinks +or knows it--" + +"Ah, yes. The obvious," Beardsley said with a grimace. "But you know, I +learned a long time ago that the _obvious_ can be a mighty tricky thing. +A dangerous thing. The forceps of the mind are greedy, and inclined to +crush a little in the seizing...." + +Pederson pondered that. "And you," he said slowly, "are not seizing. I +take that to mean you still have an angle!" + +Beardsley didn't answer at once. He glanced over at the equate-panel, at +the flux of dancing lights. Mandleco was bright-eyed and attentive, +chomping on the stub of a cigar, head thrust forward as he listened to +some detail of Arnold's. Sheila stood miserably near by, still in a +blind shock of disbelief; it was as if she had a need to be close to +Arnold, and he felt it, too, but they dared not look at each other. + + * * * * * + +"Now let's suppose," said Beardsley, "just suppose that Arnold thinks +_Sheila_ is the killer. Eh? Let us say they _suspect each other_. +Naturally, each has disclaimed any part of the deed. But the suspicion +is there, that tiny seed; and suspicion, particularly where love is +involved, has a habit of taking root and giving growth. Neither can be +_totally_ sure of the other's innocence--eh?" He paused, peering up at +Pederson. "And Arnold would want to protect her from any possible +consequence. Now what would be his way of doing that? The only way he +knew?" + +He saw the idea take hold. Pederson was staring at the equate-panel with +an odd look of excitement. + +"Total reject," he gasped. "By God, if he should try _that_--to equate +her from Logical into reject--" He gestured helplessly. "No, it isn't +possible. Those tapes are coded! There's no way of tampering--" Pederson +stopped abruptly, as a great light dawned. "Wait a minute, though. It +needn't be the tapes! One thing I've always wondered--_would_ it be +possible to negate a given factor beyond all reach of empirical +cooerdinates? You know, through operational technique or setup--" + +Beardsley peered at him. "I'd say anything was possible," he urged, +"given time and incentive." + +Pederson bobbed his head in facile agreement. "By God, you're right! For +example, I've always thought there wasn't sufficient control on +Cumulative! You can bet your life Arnold would know ... results at that +point _could_ be juggled a little, say if the extrapolations were +just--" + +The forceps, the forceps of the mind. Already Pederson was reaching out +to seize and to crush; the man was a fool after all! Beardsley felt a +burgeoning disgust, but there was something more, a throbbing, +chest-filling sensation that he strove to hold rigidly in leash. He said +quickly: "Come to think of it, Arnold did mention that he was here most +of last night, working on setup." + +He watched Pederson absorb that, too; he saw the excitement grow. +"Beardsley, if you are _sure_--if you could prove that Arnold managed a +thing like that--" + +They were interrupted by the sudden quiet that engulfed the room. It was +so total as to be frightening. CUMULATIVE--CUMULATIVE--CUMULATIVE. For +half-a-minute all operation ceased, as the words flashed bright across +the panel. + +But the techs had been waiting. It was a mere respite. Swiftly, they +checked their respective units against Cumulative Code, and at the end +of thirty seconds every light went green for total clearance as ECAIAC's +deep-throated power resumed. + + * * * * * + +Beardsley had been waiting too. "Cumulative!" he breathed. He let his +breath out slowly, and made a sweeping gesture that seemed to encompass +all the latent delight, all the unleashed joy of his being. + +He was aware of Pederson again, a voice in panic: "Beardsley! Don't you +know what it means? If there's been an imbalance, it has passed through! +It will reach final equate!" + +"That's right, it's entirely in ECAIAC's lap. You wouldn't want to +deprive her of the chance, now would you?" + +"But--but what are you going to _do_?" + +"Me? I'm going to watch. I'm going to watch one of the epic events of +our time--" For a moment Beardsley was solemn, almost shocked, as a +thought struck him. "In a way it will be sad. Yes, it will! ECAIAC is +about to lose her first case." + +Now that was strange. Why should he have said such a thing? _Why ... now +that the game was over which had had to be played, and he felt the +bitter-sweet surge of victory that lay throbbing at his grasp!_ About to +lose her first case.... + +He shrugged in remote annoyance and strode away from Pederson. It would +be fast now! Already the rejects were falling, the irrelevants, as +ECAIAC with blithe unconcern brought the final equate toward conclusion. +He observed Jeff Arnold, standing silent and alert but so devoid of all +emotion that somehow it wasn't real ... and Mandleco, half crouched, +teeth gnawing away at the cigar, his heavy face rapacious and eager as +he awaited the final tape; that was all that mattered now; the +MATHEMATICS would register, CODE would add synaptic approval, and proof +indisputable would be on that tape in clean translated print--the name +of Carmack's killer. + +Indisputable? Bowing his head, Beardsley smiled, and listened to the +smooth rhythmic control. Nothing sinister now! No snapping malevolence! +All those other times ... his unreasoning panic, the askance remarks +from Arnold, the humiliation ... the very thought of it now was gibing +and obscene. How could he ever have been caught up in such a thrall of +terror? + +It wasn't terror he felt now. Something.... His smile turned to a giggle +as he felt a sudden compelling impulse to pat ECAIAC on the head! + + * * * * * + +Now how would one do THAT? Never mind. Never mind, never mind, never +again are you going to snap at _me_, Ekky. We were introduced, remember? +We're really great friends now. + +For a moment Beardsley was suspended in astonishment, aware that he had +almost crooned the thought. He glanced around in embarrassment-- + +Pederson was watching him. Pederson was at his side again, perplexed and +frowning. "Beardsley--this business of Sheila and Arnold. It wouldn't +happen that way, it couldn't! There's another answer, there's _got_ to +be--" + +Beardsley stood unmoving, oblivious. Almost, he seemed suspended in +another dimension; almost, he caught the quivering of a mind but could +not separate it from the sudden tremor that rose in his own.... + +He couldn't avoid it. It came unbidden, it battered through his reason, +it towered there and blotted out his thoughts until all that was left +was a tremulous regret, an attrite compassion. + +About to lose her first case ... _but one loses! And one survives it, +you know, one survives it! For twelve years now...._ + + * * * * * + +More than a tremor now. More than compassion now. A sense of betrayal +almost, illogical and nameless and yet palpable as the scent of fear. +There was a pulse of red darkness in Beardsley's brain as all the mental +and emotional equations of his being sang a sharp alarm. For subtly, +ever so subtly ECAIAC's deep-throated tone had changed ... nothing like +those other times, rather it was a halting stutter of puzzlement, +erratic and querulous, with overtones of immediacy as if some formless +presence were on the verge of unleashing. + +Beardsley looked down at his hands, and they were trembling. He could +not stop the trembling. A tightness took him about the heart, and behind +his eyes that pulse of red darkness presaged the beginning of a violent +headache. + +Even the others noticed it now, something amiss. Jeff Arnold especially. +He looked up in quick alarm at the equate-panel where the mathematics +seemed to have gone a little fitful, a little frantic, with stuttery +lapses in progression as if ECAIAC were unable or unwilling to confront. + +The flux of pattern dimmed, then hesitated; blanked out and heroically +began anew. + +It happened suddenly, then. It happened as the techs came crowding +around. There came a quivering, a sort of shudder, and ECAIAC subsided +with a final weary gasp. It was for all the world as if she were saying, +"This is it, boys. I've had it!" + +But it was there, it was there! All at once every symbol was constant, +static and livid upon the screen, enhanced by the words +EQUATE--COMPLETE--EQUATE--COMPLETE. In that moment every tech in the +room must have felt a touch of pride. + +A click, a whirr, and it was done. The fateful tape ejected. + +Both Mandleco and Arnold leaped for it, but Arnold was there first. He +ripped the tape clear and then paused, hand outflung, as if he could not +resist this final bit of drama. + +"Well? Well, Arnold?" Mandleco was hopping ludicrously about in an agony +of impatience. + +Arnold nodded. He brought the tape to his scrutiny. His mouth opened, +then shut again as a shudder seized him. Once more he read it, a look of +wild disbelief on his face ... he staggered, and seemed about to cry or +go hysterical or both. + +Mandleco gave a snort as he pounced, recovered the tape and with blunt +assurance read the words aloud: + +"SOLUTION : UNTENABLE : SOLUTION : UNTENABLE : SUB-CIRCUIT REFERRAL : +ELLERY SHERLOCK : SUB-CIRCUIT REFERRAL: ELLERY SHERLOCK--" + +He sounded like a well-grooved parrot. Mandleco turned east, then south, +then south-by-east, like a compass on a binge; he looked as if he wanted +to roar, but his voice came out as a frantic bleat: "Why, this is crazy! +Goddam it, it's crazy! Do you realize what this will--" He confronted +Arnold wildly. "What the hell does it MEAN, I say! Untenable? And who +the hell is _Ellery Sherlock...!_" + +He got no response; Jeff Arnold was oblivious to the moment, a man +utterly defeated, beyond solace or action or answer ... but already a +few of his techs were huddled about the panel, consulting, viewing the +Equate Constant and frantically taking notes. Mandleco shoved his way +through them. "I demand to know the meaning of this!" he yelped. + + * * * * * + +It was Sheila Carmack who answered, her voice on the high edge of +hysteria. "_Meaning?_ I think it might mean," she said, "that ECAIAC has +also had a recent indulgence for the _whodunits_. But with a smattering +of confusion, wouldn't you say? Or would you say a distortion of the +detectival? Perhaps a disenchantment," she murmured ... this was too +absurd, too delicious. "Ellery Sherlock!" she choked, and the thought of +it seemed to break her up. + +In the general hysteria they paid no heed to Raoul Beardsley. He had +regained his composure, and far down in his eyes something leaped into +rapt expression; he adjusted his glasses and peered around cautiously, +beaming. He beamed at them all, and had to suppress an inane glee.... + +Not glee as he observed Pederson, who stood there scowling into space +as though at some incredible absurdity. Suddenly Pederson straightened, +and there was something strangely different ... his gaze as it met +Beardsley's was neither shocked nor accusing but held an expression of +boundless sadness. + +_So Pederson knew. At last the poor fellow had found that other +answer...._ Beardsley had been expecting it. He could almost sense the +man's thoughts going to and fro, like a shuttle, weaving all the facts +into fabric.... + +And Pederson's voice, ineffably sad now, regretful now: "So I was right +the first time. The tapes. It _was_ the tapes. But even without that I +ought to have known! The answer was there, you handed it to us, but it +was like looking straight into the sun--" + +He paused. Did he expect Beardsley to say something? Beardsley looked up +at him and blinked. + + * * * * * + +"_Motives_," Pederson said accusingly. "There was your theme from the +first! You were relentless, you pursued it to perfection, you laid our +motives bare and you beat them raw, each and every one. Oh, I grant you +it was masterful! It was the Beardsley of old! You managed to keep us +off balance every moment--" He wet his lips. "What was it, Beardsley? A +compulsion, some grotesque need to squeeze us all down to microscopic +size first? Oh, you enjoyed doing that! I watched you. You enjoyed it in +a way that--" He shook his head, glanced sorrowfully at the +equate-panel. "And this ... was it all for this? An achievement--an +absurdity. Ellery Sherlock!" he said with a shudder. "In Heaven's name, +WHY? You didn't really expect to carry it off? No, don't answer! It's +not important now--" + +Beardsley shrugged in remote annoyance. Must the man use such puerile +methods? + +"Not important," Pederson repeated, and stood caught in a startled +wonderment. "Because you see, Beardsley, I just happen to remember +something from the _whodunits_! That surprises you? So long ago, I can't +quite recall who said it; but it was a rather good exposition of logic, +something to the effect that when you've exhausted the possible, all the +possible--that which remains--_no matter how impossible it may +seem_--must be the truth!" + +His head lifted; his gaze bored into Beardsley's and his voice was +tight with meaning. "And I'd say we have come full circle, wouldn't you? +You will have to admit, you did a _real good job of eliminating_!" + +Beardsley managed to smile, even as his mind jarred a little. Even as he +met Pederson's gaze and saw the compassion there, the acceptance there, +the understanding and boundless regret. For a split second something +leaped unspoken between them, as if doors in both their minds had opened +and closed again. + +He turned away wordlessly. Close as Pederson had come, even he was an +irrelevance now. _But ECAIAC didn't_ know. Poor Ekky! Her first real +failure, a fiasco--she really deserved a better fate. Beardsley's heart +went out to her, as he observed Arnold in his defeat and Mandleco in his +frustration and the huddle of techs in their futile efforts. + +Suddenly then--"Code!" he heard one of them say, gesturing excitedly. +"Post-subjective synapse!" another tech yelled, and there was a sudden +scurry of activity about the screen. Without warning or appreciable +reason those symbols had begun to shift ... wild and elusive, ghost +patterns without semblance or sense, but so unmistakable that even Jeff +Arnold was jarred alert; Arnold stared, then suddenly was white as chalk +as he ploughed into the midst of his techs. + +Beardsley stood frozen, a fatuous smile about his lips; there was only +silence now, a silence that had a pulse in it--the beating of his heart. +Seconds only ... suddenly there was another pulse, from another heart. +ECAIAC wasn't quite finished! Unerring and resolute the sound came up, +slowly at first and then faster, gathering strength into a steady drone +as if every synapse were dredging, dredging deep into the sensitized +structure ... and even before the panel attained flux again, a tech was +waving his notes and yelling, "It's true! Post-subjective synapse! +Unbelievable ... Jeff, we now have a Constant!" + +But ECAIAC was telling them that. The sound went on, and on, wild and +lone and constant, ascending to the confines of the room, transcending +the confines of reason. It was crescendo incarnate; it was purpose gone +rife; it was human and more than human, with all the fears and hopes and +hates, as it attained a high-pitched scream with wailing overtones such +as even Arnold had never heard. There was sentience in it, there was +awareness in it, there was fury in it and who could say if there was +grief...? There might have been. + +Only Beardsley knew. He felt suddenly packed in ice, from his lips to +the pit of his belly; he revolved slowly away, took a few steps and +caught the edge of the panel. His whole body began to shake +uncontrollably and his lips moved in a soundless whisper that seemed to +say, "No, no ... don't you understand? ... we're friends now!" + +But no one heard; no one would have understood. Arnold handled the tape +as it came looping out. The words fell slowly at first, then faster and +faster in constant repeat: CANCEL LAST EQUATE--SOLUTION TENABLE--CANCEL +LAST EQUATE--SOLUTION TENABLE-- + +Another word came, a single word. Arnold stiffened. One of the techs was +so indiscreet as to exclaim: "_Murderer?_ Where did it pick up that +word! 'Final Equate' is proper...." + +A space, a whirr, and the rest of it came in a clicking rush against the +high-pitched scream: MURDERER--RAOUL BEARDSLEY--MURDERER--RAOUL +BEARDSLEY--MURDERER--RAOUL--MURDERER--MURDERER--incessant, untiring. + + * * * * * + +There was no trial. Trial presupposes a modicum of doubt, and Beardsley +dispelled that readily enough. Once more the pathetic figure, it was as +if he were impelled by a dull and pitiless logic; he waived all defense; +his confession to the murder of Amos Carmack was straightforward and +factual, unvarying to the point of boredom, insistent with +repetition--and in the socio-legal aspect there was the rub! Whether it +was true psychic shock or mere cunning, there seemed to be a blind spot +in Beardsley's responses, a stumbling reticence to elaborative detail +that left the Citizen's Disposition Council with a problem on its hands +baffling as it was unprecedented. Judicially they were safe. There would +not even be need of null-censor. But actually, the problem here was of +far more vital consequence than murder and indeed more frightening; it +had to do with Beardsley _vs._ ECAIAC, the encompassing _modus operendi_ +and all the implications of that grotesque denouement. + +At whatever cost, _these things had to be answered_. + +Oh, there was amusement, too. The fact that Minister-of-Justice +Mandleco had begged off, far from gracefully, and retired to the +isolation of his ten-thousand-acre Alaskan ranch (for an unspecified +time) had brought snickers from those in the know. + +The Chief-Counselor of Disposition looked as if he'd like to retire, +too. For the third time in as many days he took his place in the Private +Sessions chamber, glanced at Beardsley with shuddering disbelief and +then bent his head in pontifical guise as he leafed through his notes; +it wasn't as if he were unversed in the matter by now, but who was there +to question if his lips moved fretfully across the words "Ellery +Sherlock?" He was thinking: _yesterday wasted--covert regression, myself +included--no more of that_! And with that bolstering thought he brought +his head up sharply. + +COUNSELOR: Our task for today--(_voice quavering, he saved it from the +upper registers_). Our task for today is to get at the aggregate +pattern. And I assure you, gentlemen, we are going to do that! Now. Mr. +Pederson, if you please.... + +PEDERSON: Yes, sir? + +COUNSELOR: I see that Mr. Beardsley made certain statements to you, and +to you alone, immediately after the--uh--ECAIAC incident-- + +PEDERSON: You saw that three days ago! Must we go through it again? + +COUNSELOR: We must and we shall! Due to the unnatural tenor of the case, +it is the opinion of the Council that these things must be fixed and +adjudged if we are to make a correct Disposition. + +PEDERSON: (_wearily_): Yes, sir. Well, the fact is he seemed to want to +confide in me. Nothing strange in that! He realized he had lost, poor +guy, and he-- + +COUNSELOR: Mr. Pederson! No diversions, please. We'd simply like to hear +from your own lips what Beardsley told you. (Glances at his notes.) Is +it true that he said--his sole motive in this affair was to prove he +could conduct an investigation as efficiently as ECAIAC--_or any damned +machine_? + +PEDERSON: (_hesitant, with a glance at Beardsley who sat remote and +vacuous_): Yes. He told me that. + +COUNSELOR: Even to the point of committing a murder to prove it? And his +entire subsequent action was predicated upon that? We have extensive +reports here--from Mrs. Carmack, from Mandleco, from Jeff Arnold and +yourself. It is difficult to see how such a basically integrated and +well-functioning personality as Raoul Beardsley-- + +PEDERSON: (_angrily_): No. What you fail to see is the facade! What man +has stronger reason than the man who has lost his reason? It is the only +outlet for aggression, a devious fulfillment, it brings psychological +satisfactions which cannot be obtained in any other way--call it the +self-destructive impulse if you will. I doubt if Beardsley rationalized +this--but he had come to his moment, his time of assertion, his way of +making fools of us all ... and my complete opinion, sir, is that his +actions from beginning to end were both a triumph and an inspiration! + +COUNSELOR: (_smugly_): Thank you, Mr. Pederson. These are the insights +you had not revealed before. (_Turns to member at far end of table._) +Dr. Deobler. As psychologist assigned to Disposition Council, may I ask +if there is an area of concurrence? + +DEOBLER (_bored, but deigns to lift a hand_): Save for the rhetorics at +the very end, you have my official concurrence; it is obvious in every +aspect; this was a devious fulfillment of the self-destructive impulse. + +COUNSELOR: Thank you, sir! It will be so noted. And now--(_Makes a +pretense of scanning his brief._) Now we come to an area of vital +interest--an area demanding our most urgent attention, inasmuch as it +gives indication of threatening our basic fundamental of cybernetic +detection; believe me, I cannot place enough emphasis here; I refer, of +course, to Mr. Beardsley's process of manipulation of ECAIAC, and this +strange business of "Ellery Sherlock." (_Pause._) Mr. Jeff Arnold, if +you please. I believe you were to be ready with some observations today? + +ARNOLD: Yes, sir. But more than observation, I am glad to report. We +have _solved_ the "Ellery Sherlock" equate. + +COUNSELOR: This is wonderful! Will you proceed, sir? + +ARNOLD: A strange thing ... and yet so simple! We began by resurrecting +a huge number of "Summaries"; we dredged into Dead File for at least +three years back, re-ran them under a synapse intensifier. It's all +there, you know, every minute particle of every case that has gone +through ECAIAC; almost subliminal, some of it, but-- + +COUNSELOR: One moment, sir. This reference to "synapse." Could +you--ah--clarify? + +ARNOLD: Why, a synapse is the primary adjunct to memory! The human brain +has billions of them, neuronically linked--sort of pathways that get +grooved deeper and deeper with constant repetition of thought, until +after a while they become completely permanent, retentive and +self-functioning. ECAIAC is similarly equipped--not to the degree of the +human brain, as yet, but amazingly. + +COUNSELOR (_dazed_): Ah--yes. Please continue, sir. + +ARNOLD: As I said, we revived a number of the old cases. And what we +discovered, was that Beardsley--for years past, mind you--had been +utilizing his capacity as Chief of Cooerdinates to introduce extraneous +material to ECAIAC _via_ the tapes! In each and every case that came +before him! Oh, you can believe me, he was clever, he went about it by +slow and subtle degrees! And the substance of this material, +sir--(_Pauses, gulps and shakes his head, unable to go on._) + +COUNSELOR: Please control yourself, sir! The substance of this +extraneous material? + +ARNOLD (_again gulps_): De-detective fiction! + +COUNSELOR (_leans forward sharply_): Do I understand you correctly, Mr. +Arnold? You did say _detective fiction_? + +ARNOLD: Of two types. Ellery Queen and Sherlock Holmes--I presume it was +Beardsley's random choice. But there was nothing random about his +purpose! Don't you see, don't you see, it all fits! It explains the +trouble we were having in recent months in getting total synaptic +clearance! (_His voice borders on the frantic._) I remember, now, I even +mentioned this to Beardsley--and oh, the smug way he took it. He knew, +damn him, he knew! He was getting there, he was reaching the synaptic, a +bit of fiction here and a bit there, ECAIAC was being conditioned, +unable to distinguish the real from the unreal-- + +COUNSELOR: Mr. Arnold! If you please, sir! (_Waits for Arnold to +subside._) I can appreciate how this discovery distresses you, +both--ah--personally and in your official capacity, but be assured that +your findings will be of inestimable value to future security. In fact +(_smiles slightly_) Council has not been idle in its own pursuit of Mr. +Beardsley's vagaries! (_Rises, removes a small screen to reveal a +towering pile of tomes._) And now, Mr. Beardsley. I must really ask you +to cooperate; I believe you fully capable. Are these your books? + +BEARDSLEY (_adjusts his glasses, smiles at his books_): Yes. + +COUNSELOR: And these charts, these graphs that we found plastered to +every wall of your home. Obviously they are also yours. + +BEARDSLEY (_adjusts his glasses, smiles at his graphs_): Yes. + +COUNSELOR: Thank you, Mr. Beardsley. That's fine. And, Mr. Beardsley, +what did you use them for? These books, these graphs? + +BEARDSLEY (_groping, bewildered_): I--I-- + +COUNSELOR (_sees the futility of it_): Gentlemen, I believe we can +proceed on the grounds of self-evidence. Let me read you a few titles +from these books. "The Cybernetic Principle: Advanced Theory" ... "The +Synapse in Function" ... and here we have "Synaptics: Pattern and Flux." +There are more, many more in similar vein. (_Turns abruptly._) Mr. +Arnold. I'm sure you are familiar with most of these volumes. On the +basis of the content, would you say that you could duplicate Beardsley's +feat? + +ARNOLD (_aghast_): No! I would not presume to say that, sir. + +COUNSELOR (_frowns; it was not the answer he wanted_): Very well, then. +Dr. Trstensky ... would you come forward, please? Dr. Trstensky ... you +are head of the Department of Advanced Cybernetics at Cal Tech. You have +had opportunity to study these graphs and charts in minutest detail-- + +TRSTENSKY: Oh, yes-s. Fascinating! + +COUNSELOR: I put the question: would it be possible for you to duplicate +the grotesque feat that Beardsley performed on ECAIAC? + +TRSTENSKY: Yes-s, possibly. No, I will say definitely. You mean, of +course, cold, from the beginning? Yes-s ... but it would take me +approximately three-to-four years. + +COUNSELOR: Yes, Mr. Beardsley? What is it? You would like to make a +pertinent statement? + +BEARDSLEY (_abashed_): Oh. It--I only wanted to say it took me longer. +Four-to-five years. + +COUNSELOR (_wearily--just waits for laughter to subside_): Gentlemen, I +think we may safely wrap it up now. Our function here is Disposition. +Our choice is two-fold. One: the subject is sane, in which case he will +pay the supreme penalty for murder which he has freely admitted. Or two: +he is obviously insane, in which case he will be subjected to Psychic +Probe as provided by law, thus restoring a measure of normalcy +sufficient to place him again in society--restricted, of course-- + +DR. DOEBLER: Sir, one moment, if you please! I simply do not understand +your language, and even less can I condone your haste! _Safely_ wrap it +up, you said. What do you mean by that? Safe for whom? And "obviously" +insane--was that a slip of the tongue, sir, or are you trying to force +an issue here? + +COUNSELOR (_coldly_): I must remind you that we already have competent +reports on subject's status. Add to that the facts presented here; they +are overwhelming; the man's own admission and attitude are +substantiation. It is my considered opinion, and I'm sure the opinion of +Council, that the man is insane. Subjection to Psychic Probe will +restore him to-- + +DOEBLER: Oh, yes, the Psychic Probe. I have no quarrel there. _But +suppose you were wrong?_ Have you ever considered the effects of Probe +on the _sane_ mind? Have you ever seen it? Once I saw it, only once. It +is worse than disaster--it is horrible--it results in a sort of psychic +tearing that heals and then tears and then heals in continuous +perpetuation. It--is indescribable. It is sub-human. Compared to that, +death or even insanity is a blessed relief. Now, gentlemen, listen! I +implore you not to be in error! True, it was my opinion that Beardsley +acted in fulfillment of the self-destructive impulse, but the man is +_sane--sane_, I tell you, and entitled to a humanitarian death! My +professional judgment-- + +COUNSELOR (_again coldly, glancing around_): Is welcome, but does not +bear final weight, sir. + + * * * * * + +Silence closed down like a pall. Doebler's plea by its very impassioned +nature had gotten through. It was a moment of embarrassment and +indecision in which each man weighed his conscience, and found it +wanting ... in which every member of Council looked to his neighbor for +solution or solace, and finding neither, turned back to himself, aghast. + +Only one person looked to the true source and saw the solution as it +would be, as it had to be. Pederson. Heartsick with the knowing, he +observed Raoul Beardsley and remembered! This funny little man ... this +ridiculous man ... this proud man who had seized his fate and shoved it +through because it had to be done, because he obeyed the dictates, +because he had reached his Time of Assertion. Oh, Pederson remembered! +And most of all he remembered Beardsley there at the last, in that final +moment when ECAIAC had reached the wailing heights of sentience and +grief ... and how could he ever forget Beardsley's soundless whisper +that seemed to say, "_No, no ... don't you understand? ... we're friends +now!_" + +Pederson remembered. He remembered, and looking up saw that Council had +reached equitable agreement, and his heart was sick and his soul was +sick as he realized this was final, there could be no appeal. For the +last time he looked upon Beardsley's face and saw that the man was fully +cognizant.... Beardsley also knew.... Deobler had been right. Pederson +turned his face away. + +COUNSELOR: Now we are agreed, gentlemen? (_waits for general approval._) +Be it pronounced, then. Inasmuch as there exists a general area of doubt +as to Disposition; and inasmuch as it is agreed that further +deliberation would be prolonged and pointless; and inasmuch as our faith +in the ultimate function of ECAIAC remains inestimable, despite recent +vagaries which shall never occur again: be it therefore resolved, that +the problem pending shall be taped in all its detail and submitted to +ECAIAC for Final Disposition. + + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of We're Friends, Now, by Henry Hasse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE'RE FRIENDS, NOW *** + +***** This file should be named 29488.txt or 29488.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/8/29488/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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