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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..712c772 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51194 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51194) diff --git a/old/51194-h.zip b/old/51194-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 29d61bd..0000000 --- a/old/51194-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51194-h/51194-h.htm b/old/51194-h/51194-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 799b7da..0000000 --- a/old/51194-h/51194-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1647 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Made to Measure, by William Campbell Gault. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Made to Measure, by William Campbell Gault - -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/license - - -Title: Made to Measure - -Author: William Campbell Gault - -Release Date: February 12, 2016 [EBook #51194] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADE TO MEASURE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="368" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>Made to Measure</h1> - -<p>By WILLIAM CAMPBELL GAULT</p> - -<p>Illustrated by L. WOROMAY</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Science Fiction January 1951.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">Somewhere is an ideal mate for every man<br /> -and woman, but Joe wasn't willing to bet<br /> -on it. He was a man who rolled his own!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The pressure tube locks clicked behind them, as the train moved on. It -was a strange, sighing click and to Joe it sounded like, "She's not -right—she's not right—she's not right—"</p> - -<p>So, finally, he said it. "She's not right."</p> - -<p>Sam, who was riding with him, looked over wonderingly. "Who isn't?"</p> - -<p>"Vera. My wife. She's not right."</p> - -<p>Sam frowned. "Are you serious, Joe? You mean she's—?" He tapped his -temple.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no. I mean she's not what I want."</p> - -<p>"That's why we have the Center," Sam answered, as if quoting, which he -was. "With the current and growing preponderance of women over men, -something had to be done. I think we've done it."</p> - -<p>Sam was the Director of the Domestic Center and a man sold on his job.</p> - -<p>"You've done as well as you could," Joe agreed in an argumentative way. -"You've given some reason and order to the marital competition among -women. You've almost eliminated illicit relations. You've established -a basic security for the kids. But the big job? You've missed it -completely."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," Sam said. "That's a very small knife you've inserted between -my shoulder blades, but I'm thin-skinned." He took a deep breath. -"What, in the opinion of the Junior Assistant to the Adjutant Science -Director, was the <i>big</i> job?"</p> - -<p>Joe looked for some scorn in Sam's words, found it, and said, "The big -job is too big for a sociologist."</p> - -<p>Sam seemed to flinch. "I didn't think that axe would fit alongside the -knife. I underestimated you."</p> - -<p>"No offense," Joe said. "It's just that you have to deal with human -beings."</p> - -<p>"Oh," Sam said. "Now it comes. You know, for a minute I forgot who you -were. I forgot you were the greatest living authority on robots. I was -thinking of you as my boyhood chum, good old Joe. You're beyond that -now, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"Beyond my adolescence? I hope so, though very few people are." Joe -looked at Sam squarely. "Every man wants a perfect wife, doesn't he?"</p> - -<p>Sam shrugged. "I suppose."</p> - -<p>"And no human is perfect, so no man gets a perfect wife. Am I right, so -far?"</p> - -<p>"Sounds like it."</p> - -<p>"Okay." Joe tapped Sam's chest with a hard finger. "I'm going to make a -perfect wife." He tapped his own chest. "For me, just for me, the way I -want her. No human frailties. Ideal."</p> - -<p>"A perfect robot," Sam objected.</p> - -<p>"A wife," Joe corrected. "A person. A human being."</p> - -<p>"But without a brain."</p> - -<p>"With a brain. Do you know anything about cybernetics, Sam?"</p> - -<p>"I know just as much about cybernetics as you know about people. -Nothing."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"That's not quite fair. I'm not sentimental about people, but it's -inaccurate to say I don't know anything about them. <i>I'm</i> a person. I -think I'm—discerning and sensitive."</p> - -<p>"Sure," Sam said. "Let's drop the subject."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Because you're talking nonsense. A person without faults is not a -person. And if—it or he—she were, I don't think I'd care to know him -or her or it."</p> - -<p>"Naturally. You're a sentimentalist. You've seen so much misery, so -much human error, so much stupidity that you've built up your natural -tolerance into a sloppy and unscientific sentimentality. It happens to -sociologists all the time."</p> - -<p>"Joe, I'm not going to argue with you. Only one thing I ask. When -you—break the news to Vera, break it gently. And get her back to the -Center as quickly as you can. She's a choice, rare number."</p> - -<p>Joe said nothing to that. Sam looked miserable. They sat there, -listening to the swishing, burring clicks of the airlocks, two -friends—one who dealt with people and had grown soft, the other who -dealt with machines and might not have grown at all.</p> - -<p>As the car rose for the Inglewood station, Sam looked over, but Joe's -eyes were straight ahead. Sam got up and out of the seat.</p> - -<p>There was a whispering sigh of escaping air and the sunlight glare of -the Inglewood station, synthetic redwood and chrome and marble.</p> - -<p>Sam was out of the cylindrical, stainless steel car and hurrying for -the Westchester local when Joe came out onto the platform. Sam was -annoyed, it was plain.</p> - -<p>Joe's glance went from his hurrying friend to the parking lot, and his -coupe was there with Vera behind the wheel. It was only a three block -walk, but she had to be there to meet him, every evening. That was her -major fault, her romantic sentimentality.</p> - -<p>"Darling," she said, as he approached the coupe. "Sweetheart. Have a -good day?"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="403" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>He kissed her casually. "Ordinary." She slid over and he climbed in -behind the wheel. "Sat with Sam Tullgren on the train."</p> - -<p>"Sam's nice."</p> - -<p>He turned on the ignition and said, "Start." The motor obediently -started and he swung out of the lot, onto Chestnut. "Sam's all right. -Kind of sentimental."</p> - -<p>"That's what I mean."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Joe was silent. The coupe went past a row of solar homes and turned on -Fulsom. Three houses from the corner, he turned into their driveway.</p> - -<p>"You're awfully quiet," Vera said.</p> - -<p>"I'm thinking."</p> - -<p>"About what?" Her voice was suddenly strained. "Sam didn't try to sell -you—"</p> - -<p>"A new wife?" He looked at her. "What makes you think that?"</p> - -<p>"You're thinking about me, about trading me in. Joe, haven't -I—darling, is there—?" She broke off, looking even more miserable -than Sam had.</p> - -<p>"I don't intend to trade you in," he said quietly.</p> - -<p>She took a deep breath.</p> - -<p>He didn't look at her. "But you're going back to the Center."</p> - -<p>She stared at him, a film of moisture in her eyes. She didn't cry or -ask questions or protest. Joe wished she would. This was worse.</p> - -<p>"It's not your fault," he said, after a moment. "I'm not going to get -another. You're as ideal, almost, as a human wife can ever be."</p> - -<p>"I've tried so hard," she said. "Maybe I tried too hard."</p> - -<p>"No," he said, "it isn't your fault. Any reasonable man would be -delighted with you, Vera. You won't be at the Center long."</p> - -<p>"I don't want a reasonable man," she said quietly. "I want you, Joe. -I—I loved you."</p> - -<p>He had started to get out of the car. He paused to look back. "Loved? -Did you use the past tense?"</p> - -<p>"I used the past tense." She started to get out on her side of the car. -"I don't want to talk about it."</p> - -<p>"But I do," he told her. "Is this love something you can turn on and -off like a faucet?"</p> - -<p>"I don't care to explain it to you," she said. "I've got to pack." She -left the car, slammed the door, and moved hurriedly toward the house.</p> - -<p>Joe watched her. Something was troubling him, something he couldn't -analyze, but he felt certain that if he could, it would prove to be -absurd.</p> - -<p>He went thoughtfully into the living room and snapped on the telenews. -He saw troops moving by on foot, a file of them dispersed along a -Brazilian road. He turned the knob to another station and saw the -huge stock market board, a rebroadcast. Another twist and he saw a -disheveled, shrieking woman being transported down some tenement steps -by a pair of policemen. The small crowd on the sidewalk mugged into the -camera.</p> - -<p>He snapped it off impatiently and went into the kitchen. The dinette -was a glass-walled alcove off this, and the table was set. There was -food on his plate, none on Vera's.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He went to the living room and then, with a mutter of impatience, to -the door of the back bedroom. She had her grips open on the low bed.</p> - -<p>"You don't have to leave tonight, you know."</p> - -<p>"I know."</p> - -<p>"You're being very unreasonable."</p> - -<p>"Am I?"</p> - -<p>"I wasn't trying to be intentionally cruel."</p> - -<p>"Weren't you?"</p> - -<p>His voice rose. "Will you stop talking like some damned robot? Are you -a human being, or aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I am," she said, "and that's why I'm going back to the -Center. I've changed my mind. I want to get registered. I want to find -a <i>man</i>."</p> - -<p>She started to go past him, her grip in her hand. He put a hand on her -shoulder. "Vera, you—"</p> - -<p>Something flashed toward his face. It was her slim, white hand, but it -didn't feel slim and white. She said, "I can see now why you weren't -made <i>Senior</i> Assistant to the Adjutant Science Director. You're a -stupid, emotionless mechanic. A machine."</p> - -<p>He was still staring after her when the door slammed. He thought of the -huge Domestic Center with its classes in Allure, Boudoir Manners, Diet, -Poise, Budgeting. That vast, efficient, beautifully decorated Center -which was the brain child of Sam Tullgren, but which still had to deal -with imperfect humans.</p> - -<p>People, people, people ... and particularly women. He rose, after a -while, and went into the dinette. He sat down and stared moodily at his -food.</p> - -<p>Little boys are made of something and snails and puppydogs' tails. What -are little girls made of? Joe didn't want a little girl; he wanted -one about a hundred and twenty-two pounds and five feet, four inches -high. He wanted her to be flat where she should be and curved where she -should be, with blonde hair and gray-green eyes and an exciting smile.</p> - -<p>He had a medical degree, among his others. The nerves, muscles, flesh, -circulatory system could be made—and better than they were ever made -naturally. The brain would be cybernetic and fashioned after his own, -with his own mental background stored in the memory circuits.</p> - -<p>So far, of course, he had described nothing more than a robot of flesh -and blood. The spark, now—what distinguished the better-grade robots -from people? Prenatal heat, that was it. Incubation. A mold, a heated -mold. Warmth, the spark, the sun, life.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For the skin, he went to Pete Celano, the top syntho-dermatologist in -the Department.</p> - -<p>"Something special?" Pete asked. "Not just a local skin graft? What -then?"</p> - -<p>"A wife. A perfect wife."</p> - -<p>Pete's grin sagged baffledly. "I don't get it, Joe. Perfect how?"</p> - -<p>"In all ways." Joe's face was grave. "Someone ideal to live with."</p> - -<p>"How about Vera? What was wrong with her?"</p> - -<p>"A sentimentalist, too romantic, kind of—well, maybe not dumb, -exactly, but—"</p> - -<p>"But not perfect. Who is, Joe?"</p> - -<p>"My new wife is going to be."</p> - -<p>Pete shrugged and began putting together the ingredients for the kind -of skin Joe had specified.</p> - -<p>They're all the same, Joe thought, Sam and Pete and the rest. They -seemed to think his idea childish. He built the instillers and -incubator that night. The mold would be done by one of the Department's -engravers. Joe had the sketches and dimensions ready.</p> - -<p>Wednesday afternoon, Burke called him in. Burke was the Senior -assistant, a job Joe had expected and been miffed about. Burke was a -jerk, in Joe's book.</p> - -<p>This afternoon, Burke's long nose was twitching and his thin face was -gravely bleak. He had a clipped, efficient way of speaking.</p> - -<p>"Tired, Joe?"</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Not hitting the ball, not on the beam, no zipperoo."</p> - -<p>"I'm—yes, I guess you're right. I've been working at home on a private -project."</p> - -<p>"Scientific?"</p> - -<p>"Naturally."</p> - -<p>"Anything in particular?"</p> - -<p>Joe took a breath, looked away, and back at Burke. "Well, a wife."</p> - -<p>A frown, a doubtful look from the cold, blue eyes. "Robot? Dishwasher -and cook and phone answerer and like that?"</p> - -<p>"More than that."</p> - -<p>Slightly raised eyebrows.</p> - -<p>"More?"</p> - -<p>"Completely human, except she will have no human faults."</p> - -<p>Cool smile. "Wouldn't be human, then, of course."</p> - -<p>"<i>Human, but without human faults, I said!</i>"</p> - -<p>"You raised your voice, Joe."</p> - -<p>"I did."</p> - -<p>"I'm the Senior Assistant. Junior Assistants do not raise their voices -to Senior Assistants."</p> - -<p>"I thought you might be deaf, as well as dumb," Joe said.</p> - -<p>A silence. The granite face of Burke was marble, then steel and finally -chromium. His voice matched it. "I'll have to talk to the Chief before -I fire you, of course. Department rule. Good afternoon."</p> - -<p>"Go to hell."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Joe went back to his desk and burned. He started with a low flame and -fed it with the grievances of the past weeks. When it began to warm his -collar, he picked up his hat and left.</p> - -<p>Click, burr, click went the airlocks. Very few riders, this time of -the afternoon. The brain would go in, intact, and then the knowledge -instiller would work during the incubation period, feeding the -adolescent memories to the retentive circuits. She would really spend -her mental childhood in the mold, while the warmth sent the human spark -through her body.</p> - -<p>Robot? Huh! What did they know? A human being, a product of science, a -<i>flawless</i> human being.</p> - -<p>The rise, the big hiss of the final airlock, and Inglewood. Joe stood -on the platform a second, looking for his car, and then realized she -wasn't there. She hadn't been there for a week, and he'd done that -every night. Silly thing, habit. Human trait.</p> - -<p>Tonight, he'd know. The flesh had been in the mold for two days. The -synthetic nerves were plump and white under the derma-ray, the fluxo -heart was pumping steadily, the entire muscular structure kept under -pneumatic massage for muscle tone.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="326" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>He'd thought of omitting the frowning muscles, but realized it would -ruin the facial contours. They weren't, however, under massage and -would not be active.</p> - -<p>And the mind?</p> - -<p>Well, naturally it would be tuned to his. She'd know everything he -knew. What room was there for disagreement if the minds were the same? -Smiling, as she agreed, because she couldn't frown. Her tenderness, her -romanticism would have an intensity variable, of course. He didn't want -one of these grinning simperers.</p> - -<p>He remembered his own words: "Is this love something you can turn -on and off like a faucet?" Were his own words biting him, or only -scratching him? Something itched. An intensity variable was not a -faucet, though unscientific minds might find a crude, allegorical -resemblance.</p> - -<p>To hell with unscientific minds.</p> - -<p>He went down to the basement. The mold was 98.6. He watched the -knowledge instiller send its minute current to the head end of the -mold. The meter read less than a tenth of an amp. The slow, plastic -pulse of the muscle tone massage worked off a small pump near the foot -of the mold.</p> - -<p>On the wall, the big master operating clock sent the minute currents -to the various bodily sections, building up the cells, maintaining the -organic functions. In two hours, the clock would shut off all power, -the box would cool, and there would be his—Alice. Well, why not Alice? -She had to have a name, didn't she?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Warmth, that was the difference between a human and a robot, just -warmth, just the spark. Funny he'd never thought of it before. Warmth -was—it had unscientific connotations. It wasn't, though.</p> - -<p>He went upstairs and fried some eggs. Twice a day, for a week, he had -fried eggs. Their flavor was overrated.</p> - -<p>Then he went into the living room and snapped on the ball game.</p> - -<p>Martin was on third and Pelter was at bat. On the mound, the lank form -of Dorffberger cast a long, grotesque shadow in the afternoon sun. -Dorffberger chewed and spat and wiped his nose with the back of his -glove. He looked over at third and yawned.</p> - -<p>At the plate, Pelter was digging in. Pelter looked nervous.</p> - -<p>Joe said, "Bet that Dorffberger fans him. He's got the Indian sign on -Pelter."</p> - -<p>Then he realized he was talking to himself. Damn it. On the telenews -screen, Dorffberger looked right into the camera and nodded. He was -winding up, and the director put the ball into slow motion. Even in -slow motion, it winged.</p> - -<p>"Ho-ho!" Joe said. "You can't hit what you can't see."</p> - -<p>Pelter must have seen it. He caught it on the fat part of the bat, -twisting into it with all his hundred and ninety pounds. The impact -rattled the telenews screen and the telescopic cameras took over. -They followed the ball's flight about halfway to Jersey and then the -short-range eyes came back to show Pelter crossing the plate, and -Martin waiting there to shake his hand.</p> - -<p>Joe snapped off the machine impatiently. Very unscientific game, -baseball. No rhyme or reason to it. He went out onto the porch.</p> - -<p>The grass was dry and gray; he'd forgotten to set the sprinkler -clock, Vera's old job. Across the street, Dan Harvey sat with his -wife, each with a drink. Sat with his human wife, the poor fish. They -looked happy, though. Some people were satisfied with mediocrities. -Unscientific people.</p> - -<p>Why was he restless? Why was he bored? Was he worried about his job? -Only slightly; the Chief thought a lot of him, a hell of a lot. The -Chief was a great guy for seniority and Burke had it, or Joe would -certainly have been Senior Assistant.</p> - -<p>The stirring in him he didn't want to analyze and he thought of -the days he'd courted Vera, going to dances at the Center, playing -bridge at the Center, studying Greek at the Center. A fine but too -well-lighted place. You could do everything but smooch there; the -smooching came after the declaration of intentions and a man was bound -after the declaration to go through with the wedding, to live with his -chosen mate for the minimum three months of the adjustment period.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Adjustment period ... another necessity for humans, for imperfect -people. Across the street, the perfectly adjusted Harveys smiled at -each other and sipped their drinks. Hell, that wasn't adjustment, that -was surrender.</p> - -<p>He got up and went into the living room; fighting the stirring in him, -the stirring he didn't want to analyze and find absurd. He went into -the bathroom and studied his lean, now haggard face. He looked like -hell. He went into the back bedroom and smelled her perfume and went -quickly from the house and into the backyard.</p> - -<p>He sat there until seven, listening to the throb from the basement. -The molecule agitator should have the flesh firm and finished now, -nourished by the select blood, massaged by the pulsating plastic.</p> - -<p>At seven, she should be ready.</p> - -<p>At seven, he went down to the basement. His heart should have been -hammering and his mind expectant, but he was just another guy going -down to the basement.</p> - -<p>The pumps had stopped, the agitator, the instiller. He felt the mold; -it was cool to the touch. He lifted the lid, his mind on Vera for some -reason.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="600" height="361" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>A beauty. The lid was fully back and his mate sat up, smiled and said, -"Hello, Joe."</p> - -<p>"Hello, Alice. Everything all right?"</p> - -<p>"Fine."</p> - -<p>Her hair was a silver blonde, her features a blend of the patrician and -the classical. Her figure was neither too slim nor too stout, too flat -nor too rounded. Nowhere was there any sag.</p> - -<p>"Thought we'd drop over to the Harveys' for a drink," Joe said. "Sort -of show you off, you know."</p> - -<p>"Ego gratification, Joe?"</p> - -<p>"Of course. I've some clothes upstairs for you."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure they're lovely."</p> - -<p>"They are lovely."</p> - -<p>While she dressed, he phoned the Harveys. He explained about Vera -first, because Vera was what the Harveys considered a good neighbor.</p> - -<p>Dan Harvey said sympathetically, "It happens to the best of us. -Thinking of getting a new one, Joe?"</p> - -<p>"I've got one right here. Thought I'd drop over, sort of break the ice."</p> - -<p>"Great," Dan said. "Fine. Dandy."</p> - -<p>The event was of minor importance, except for the revelation involved.</p> - -<p>The Harveys had a gift for putting guests at ease, the gift being a -cellar full of thirty-year-old bourbon the elder Harvey had bequeathed -them at the end of their adjustment period.</p> - -<p>The talk moved here and there, over the bourbon, Alice sharing in it -rarely, though nodding when Joe was talking.</p> - -<p>Then, at mention of someone or other, Mrs. Harvey said tolerantly, -"Well, none of us are perfect, I guess."</p> - -<p>Alice smiled and answered, "Some of us are satisfied with mediocrities -in marriage."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harvey frowned doubtfully. "I don't quite understand, dear. In -any marriage, there has to be adjustment. Dan and I, for example, have -adjusted very well."</p> - -<p>"You haven't adjusted," Alice said smilingly. "You've surrendered."</p> - -<p>Joe coughed up half a glass of bourbon, Dan turned a sort of red-green -and Mrs. Harvey stared with her mouth open. Alice smiled.</p> - -<p>Finally, Mrs. Harvey said, "Well, I never—"</p> - -<p>"Of all the—" Dan Harvey said.</p> - -<p>Joe rose and said, "Must get to bed, got to get to bed."</p> - -<p>"Here?" Alice asked.</p> - -<p>"No, of course not. Home. Let's go, dear. Have to rush."</p> - -<p>Alice's smile had nothing sentimental about it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He didn't berate her until morning. He wanted time to cool off, to look -at the whole thing objectively. It just wouldn't get objective, though.</p> - -<p>At breakfast, he said, "That was tactless last night. Very, very -tactless."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Joe. Tact requires deception. Tact is essentially deception."</p> - -<p>When had he said that? Oh, yes, at the Hydra Club lecture. And it was -true and he hated deception and he'd created a wife without one.</p> - -<p>He said, "I'll have to devise a character distiller that won't require -putting you back in the mold."</p> - -<p>"Of course, dear. Why?"</p> - -<p>"You need just a touch of deception, just a wee shade of it."</p> - -<p>"Of course, Joe."</p> - -<p>So she had tact.</p> - -<p>He went to the office with very little of the absurdity mood stirring -in him. He'd had a full breakfast, naturally.</p> - -<p>At the office, there was a note on his desk: <i>Mr. Behrens wants to see -you immediately.</i> It bore his secretary's initials. Mr. Behrens was the -Chief.</p> - -<p>He was a fairly short man with immense shoulders and what he'd been -told was a classical head. So he let his hair grow, and had a habit -of thrusting his chin forward when he listened. He listened to Joe's -account of the interview with Burke.</p> - -<p>When Joe had finished, the Chief's smile was tolerant. "Ribbing him, -were you? Old Burke hasn't much sense of humor, Joe."</p> - -<p>Joe said patiently, "I wasn't ribbing him. I took her out of the mold -last night. I ate breakfast with her this morning. She's—beautiful, -Chief. She's ideal."</p> - -<p>The Chief looked at him for seconds, his head tilted.</p> - -<p>Joe said, "Heat, that's what does it. If you'd like to come for dinner -with us tonight, Chief, and see for yourself—"</p> - -<p>The Chief nodded. "I'd like that."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They left a little early to avoid the crowd in the tube. Burke saw them -leaving, and his long face grew even longer.</p> - -<p>On the trip, Joe told his boss about the cybernetic brain, about his -background and his beliefs stored in the memory circuits, and the boss -listened quietly, not committing himself with any comments.</p> - -<p>But he did say, "I certainly thought a lot of Vera. You wouldn't have -to warm her in any incubating mold."</p> - -<p>"Wait'll you see this one," Joe said.</p> - -<p>And when she walked into the living room at home, when she acknowledged -the introduction to the Chief, Joe knew the old boy was sold. The Chief -could only stare.</p> - -<p>Joe took him down to the basement then to show him the molecule -agitator, the memory feeder, the instillers.</p> - -<p>The old boy looked it over and said, quite simply, "I'll be damned!"</p> - -<p>They went up to a perfect dinner—and incident number two.</p> - -<p>The Chief was a sentimentalist and he'd just lost a fine friend. This -friend was his terrier, Murph, who'd been hit by a speeding car.</p> - -<p>The story of Murph from birth to death was a fairly long one, but never -dull. The Chief had a way with words. Even Joe, one of the world's -top-ranking non-sentimentalists, was touched by the tale. When they -came to the end, where Murph had lain in his master's arms, whimpering, -as though to comfort him, trying to lick his face, Joe's eyes were wet -and the drink wobbled in his hand.</p> - -<p>The Chief finished in a whisper, and looked up from the carpet he'd -been staring at through the account.</p> - -<p>And there was Alice, sitting erect, a smile of perfect joy on her face. -"How touching," she said, and grinned.</p> - -<p>For one horror-stricken second, the Chief glared at her, and then his -questioning eyes went to Joe.</p> - -<p>"She can't frown," Joe explained. "The muscles are there, but they need -massage to bring them to life." He paused. "I wanted a smiling wife."</p> - -<p>The Chief inhaled heavily. "There are times when a smile is out of -order, don't you think, Joe?"</p> - -<p>"It seems that way."</p> - -<p>It didn't take long. Massage, orientation, practice, concentration. It -didn't take long, and she was so willing to cooperate. Golly, she was -agreeable. She was more than that; she voiced his thoughts before he -did. Because of the mental affinity, you see. He'd made sure of that.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus4.jpg" width="410" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>She could frown now and she had enough deception to get by in almost -any company. These flaws were necessary, but they were still flaws and -brought her closer to being—human.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At the office on Saturday morning, Sam Tullgren dropped in. Sam said, -"I've been hearing things, Joseph."</p> - -<p>"From Vera? At the Center?"</p> - -<p>Sam shook his head. "Vera's been too busy to have much time for the -director. She's our most popular number." Sam paused. "About the new -one. Hear she's something to see."</p> - -<p>"You heard right. She's practically flawless, Sam. She's just what a -man needs at home." His voice, for some reason, didn't indicate the -enthusiasm he should have felt.</p> - -<p>Sam chewed one corner of his mouth. "Why not bring her over, say, -tonight? We'll play some bridge."</p> - -<p>That would be something. Two minds, perfectly in harmony, synchronized, -working in partnership. Joe's smile was smug. "We'll be there. At -eight-thirty."</p> - -<p>Driving over to Westchester that night, Joe told Alice, "Sam's a -timid bidder. His wife's inclined to overbid. Plays a sacrificing -game when she knows it will gain points. Our job will be to make her -oversacrifice."</p> - -<p>Sam's eyes opened at sight of her; his wife's narrowed. Joe took pride -in their reaction, but it was a strange, impersonal pride.</p> - -<p>They had a drink and some small talk, and settled around the table. It -was more like a seance than a game.</p> - -<p>They bid and made four clubs, a heart. Sam's wife got that determined -look. With the opposition holding down one leg of the rubber, she -figured to make the next bid a costly one.</p> - -<p>She won it with six diamonds, and went down nine tricks, doubled. Sam -started to say something, after the debacle, but one look at his wife's -anguished countenance stopped him short of audibility.</p> - -<p>Sam said consolingly, "I'm such a lousy bidder, dear. I must have given -you the wrong idea of my hand."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Next time, Sam made up for his timidity. Sam, with one heart in his -hand, tried a psychic. "One heart," he said firmly.</p> - -<p>Sam knew there was a good chance the hearts were in the oppositions' -hands, and this looked like a fine defensive tactic.</p> - -<p>However, his wife, with a three-suit powerhouse, couldn't conceive of a -psychic from Sam. She had need of only a second round stopper in hearts -and a small slam in no trump was in the bag. She had no hearts, but -timid Sam was undoubtedly holding the ace-king.</p> - -<p>She bid six no-trump, which was conservative for her. She didn't want -to make the mistake of having Sam let the bid die.</p> - -<p>Joe had the ace, king, queen and jack of hearts and a three to lead to -Alice's hand. Alice finished up the hearts for a total of seven tricks, -and this time it was Mrs. Tullgren who opened her mouth to speak.</p> - -<p>But she remembered Sam's kindness in the former hand, and she said, -"It was all my fault, darling. To think I couldn't recognize a -psychic, just because it came from you. I think we're overmatched, -sweet." She paused to smile at Joe. "Up against the man who invented -the comptin-reduco-determina." She added, as an afterthought, "And his -charming, brilliant new wife."</p> - -<p>Which brought about incident number three.</p> - -<p>Alice turned to Mrs. Tullgren sweetly and asked, "Don't you really -understand the comptin-reduco-determina?"</p> - -<p>"Not even faintly," Mrs. Tullgren answered. She smiled at Alice.</p> - -<p>The smile faded after about ten minutes. For Alice was telling her -<i>all</i> about the comptin-reduco-determina. For an hour and nineteen -minutes, Alice talked to this woman who had been humiliated twice, -telling her all the things about the famous thinking machine that Mrs. -Tullgren didn't want to know.</p> - -<p>It wasn't until Alice was through talking animatedly that the entranced -Joe began to suspect that perhaps the Tullgrens weren't as interested -in the dingus as a scientific mind would assume.</p> - -<p>They weren't. There was a strain after that, a decided heaviness to the -rest of the evening. Sam seemed to sigh with relief when they said good -night.</p> - -<p>In the car, Joe was thoughtful. Halfway home, he said, "Darling, I -think you know too much—for a female, that is. I think you'll have to -have a go with the knowledge-instiller. In reverse, of course."</p> - -<p>"Of course," she agreed.</p> - -<p>"I don't object to females knowing a lot. The world does."</p> - -<p>"Of course," she said.</p> - -<p>She was a first model and, therefore, experimental. These bugs were -bound to show up. She was now less knowing, more deceptive, and she -could frown.</p> - -<p>She began to remind him of Vera, which didn't make sense.</p> - -<p>Alice was sad when he was sad, gay when he was gay, and romantic to the -same split-degree in the same split-second. She even told him his old -jokes with the same inflection he always used.</p> - -<p>Their mood affinity was geared as closely as the -comptin-reduco-determina. What more could a man want? And, damn it, why -should Vera's perfume linger in that back bedroom?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The fumigators could do nothing. They left, after the third trip, -shaking their heads. Joe stood in the doorway, insisting he could still -smell it.</p> - -<p>Alice said, "It's probably mental, dear. Perhaps you -still—still—what's that word? Perhaps you still love her."</p> - -<p>"How could you think that?" he asked. "How? How could you think that -unless I was thinking it?"</p> - -<p>"I couldn't. I love you, too, Joe, but you know why that is."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"We both love you, Joe."</p> - -<p>"Both? You and Vera?"</p> - -<p>"No. You and I, we both love <i>you</i>."</p> - -<p>"That," said Joe peevishly, "is ridiculous. If you could think for -yourself, you'd know it was ridiculous."</p> - -<p>"Of course," she agreed. And frowned, because he was frowning.</p> - -<p>"You act like a robot," Joe said.</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p>"That's all you are," Joe went on evenly, "a robot. No volition."</p> - -<p>She nodded, frowning.</p> - -<p>"I'm sick of it."</p> - -<p>She said nothing, sympathetically looking sick.</p> - -<p>And then he smiled and said, "I'm not stumped. Not the inventor of the -comptin-reduco-determina. By Harry, I'll give you volition. I'll give -you enough volition to make you dizzy."</p> - -<p>And because he was smiling, she was smiling. And only a very perceptive -person might notice that her smile seemed to have an intensity, an -anticipation slightly beyond his.</p> - -<p>He got to work on it that night. He would have to erase some of his -mental background from her brain. He wanted her no less intelligent, no -less discerning, but with enough of a change in background to give her -a viewpoint of her own. He labored until midnight, and tumbled into -bed with a headache.</p> - -<p>Next morning, at breakfast, he told her, "We'll try it out tonight. -After that, you'll be a person."</p> - -<p>"Of course. And will you love me, Joe?"</p> - -<p>"More coffee, please," he answered.</p> - -<p>At the office, there was another note from his secretary: <i>Mr. Burke -wants to see you. At your convenience.</i></p> - -<p>At your convenience? Was Burke going soft? Joe went right in.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Burke was smiling, a miracle in itself. Burke's voice was jovial. "The -Chief's been telling me about the new wife, Joe. I guess I owe you an -apology."</p> - -<p>"Not at all," Joe said. "I had no right to be rude. I was a little -overworked—at home. I wasn't myself."</p> - -<p>Burke nodded smugly, soaking it up. "Beautiful, the Chief tells me. Am -I going to meet her, Joe?"</p> - -<p>"If you want. How about tonight, for dinner? I've got something new -planned. I'm giving her volition. Maybe you'll want to watch."</p> - -<p>"Volition?"</p> - -<p>Joe went on to explain about volition, making it as simple as he could, -to match Burke's mind.</p> - -<p>"That," Burke said when he'd finished, "I want to see."</p> - -<p>They went home in the crowded Inglewood tube. Sam was there, but -Sam seemed to avoid them, for some reason. All the way home, Joe had -the uncomfortable feeling that Burke didn't believe any part of this -business, that Burke was making the trip only to substantiate his own -misconceptions.</p> - -<p>But when Alice came into the living room, smiling brightly, extending -her hand to the Senior Assistant, Joe had a gratifying glimpse of -Burke's face.</p> - -<p>Burke was lost. Burke stared and swallowed and grinned like a green -stage hand at a burlesque show. Burke's smile was perpetual and -nauseating. Even in the face of Alice's cool reserve.</p> - -<p>The dinner was fine, the liquor mellow.</p> - -<p>Then Joe said, "Well, Alice, it's time for the volition. It's time for -your <i>birth</i> as a person."</p> - -<p>"Of course," she said, and smiled.</p> - -<p>They went down into the basement, the three of them; she sat in the -chair he'd prepared and he clamped on the wired helmet and adjusted the -electrodes.</p> - -<p>Burke said weakly, "It isn't—dangerous, is it?"</p> - -<p>"Dangerous?" Joe stared at him. "Of course not. Remember how I -explained it?"</p> - -<p>"I—uh—my memory—" Burke subsided.</p> - -<p>She closed her eyes and smiled. Joe threw the switch. She'd have -knowledge; she'd have the memory of her past few days of existence as -his alter ego. She'd have volition.</p> - -<p>The contact clock took over. Her eyes remained closed, but her smile -began to fade as the second hand moved around and around the big, -contact-studded dial.</p> - -<p>Joe was smiling, though she wasn't. Joe was filled with a sense of his -own creative power, his own inventive genius and gratification at the -worried frown on the face of the imbecile Burke.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Then the clock stopped and there was a buzz; the meters dropped to -zero. Alice opened her eyes. For the first time, as a <i>person</i>, she -opened her eyes.</p> - -<p>Her smile was back. But she was looking at Burke. Looking at Burke and -smiling!</p> - -<p>"Baby," she said.</p> - -<p>Burke looked puzzled, but definitely pleased. In all Burke's adult -life, no female had ever looked at him like that.</p> - -<p>Joe said tolerantly, "You're a little confused yet, Alice. <i>I'm</i> your -husband."</p> - -<p>"You?" She stared at him. "Do you think I've forgotten you? Do you -think I don't know you, after living inside your brain, almost? You -<i>monster</i>, you egocentric, selfish, humorless walking equation. You're -not my husband and I'd like to see you prove that you are."</p> - -<p>Now it was only Burke who smiled. "By George," he said, "that's right. -There's no wedding on record, is there, Joe?"</p> - -<p>"Wedding?" Joe repeated blankly. "I made her. I created her. Of course -there's no—"</p> - -<p>"Of course, of course, of course," Alice shrilled. "That's all you -know. You're the original 'of course' kid. Things aren't that certain, -Junior. I've known you just long enough and just well enough to detest -you." Now she pointed at Burke. "<i>That's</i> what I want. That's my kind -of man."</p> - -<p>Burke gulped and grinned, nodded. "To coin a phrase, you said it, -kiddo." He smiled at Joe. "I'll run her right down to the Center and -get her registered, and take out an intent option. I guess we can't -fight fate, Joe, can we?"</p> - -<p>Joe took a deep breath of air. "I guess not. I guess it's—kismet."</p> - -<p>He was still standing there when he heard the front door slam. He kept -staring at the machine, not seeing it, hearing instead all she had -said. She knew him better than anyone who lived. Better, actually, than -he knew himself, because she didn't rationalize, being outside his -mental sphere now. You might say she'd been in his mind and detested -what she had found there.</p> - -<p>It was a crawling feeling, the knowledge that he had been guilty -of rationalization himself, that he had faults his mind refused to -acknowledge. He couldn't doubt that he was all the cold and gruesome -things she had called him. The worst shock, however, was that he -had studied psychology and honestly had believed he was an objective -thinker.</p> - -<p>But who, he realized, could be completely honest about himself?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He looked at the machine and saw the non-rationalization electrodes. He -had used that on her and she had seen clearly what he still couldn't -recognize. What he needed, apparently, was a good, objective look at -his own mind.</p> - -<p>He set the contact clock for objectivity maximum and clamped the -electrodes on his head. He reached for the switch, had to close his -eyes before he could throw it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus5.jpg" width="553" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>He didn't see the second hand going around and around the clock, but he -felt the prejudice-erasing impulses, the objective-appraisal stimuli, -revealing memories that had shaped him, humiliations that had twisted -him and been forgotten, urgings and longings and guilts that he had -never known existed.</p> - -<p>He saw himself. It was highly unpleasant.</p> - -<p>There was a final buzz and the clock stopped. Joe opened his eyes, both -figuratively and literally. He unclamped the helmet with the electrodes -and stepped from the chair, holding onto the arm, looking at the -mirrored inside walls of the mold.</p> - -<p>He had made an image of himself and it had turned on him. Now he -had made—what? An image of his image's image of him? It was very -confusing, yet somehow clear.</p> - -<p>He went slowly up the stairs, smelling the perfume. It wasn't Alice's -and that was peculiar, because she had practically swabbed herself with -the stuff, knowing he liked it, and she had just left.</p> - -<p>It was Vera's perfume.</p> - -<p>He remembered her waiting at the station, making her ridiculous bids at -the card table, gossiping witlessly with Mrs. Harvey, hitting her thumb -when she tried to hang his pictures in the study.</p> - -<p>Vera....</p> - -<p>He prowled dissatisfiedly through the house, as though in search of -something, and then went out to the car. He took the super-pike almost -all the way to the Center. There were bright cards on posts every few -hundred feet:</p> - -<p class="ph4">IT'S NOT TOO LATE<br /> -TO GET A MATE<br /> -THE GIRLS ARE GREAT<br /> -AT THE DOMESTIC CENTER</p> - -<p>He pulled into the sweeping circular drive at the huge group of -buildings. A troupe of singing girls came out, dressed in majorette -costumes, opened the door, helped him out, parked the car, escorted -him into the lavish reception room. Music came from somewhere, soft -and moody. There were murals all over the walls, every one romantic. A -dispensing machine held engagement and wedding rings with a series of -finger-holes on the left side for matching sizes.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The matron recognized him and said, "Mr. Tullgren has gone home for the -day. Is there anything I can do?"</p> - -<p>He told her what he wanted and she thumbed through a register.</p> - -<p>"Yes, she's still here," the matron said finally. "She's refused -exactly thirty-two offers up to yesterday. You were thinking of -a—reconciliation?"</p> - -<p>Joe nodded with a new humility. "If she'll have me."</p> - -<p>The matron smiled. "I think she will. Women are more understanding than -men, usually. More romantic, you might say."</p> - -<p>Nine-tenths of the building was brightly lighted, one-tenth rather -dim. In the dim tenth were the post-intent rooms, the reconciliation -chambers.</p> - -<p>Joe sat on a yellow love-seat in one of the empty reconciliation -chambers, leafing through, but not seeing, a copy of a fashion -magazine. Then there were steps in the hall, familiar steps, and he -smelled the perfume before she came in.</p> - -<p>She stood timidly at the archway, but Joe was even more unsure and weak -in the legs and he had trouble with his breathing.</p> - -<p>"Joe," Vera said.</p> - -<p>"Vera," he answered.</p> - -<p>It wasn't much, but it seemed to be what both had in mind.</p> - -<p>"Was there something you wanted to tell me?" she asked. "Something -important?"</p> - -<p>"It's important to me, Vera," he said humbly. "I hope it's just as -important to you."</p> - -<p>She looked brightly at him.</p> - -<p>"I find it very difficult to put into words," he stumbled. "The usual -expressions of this emotion are so hackneyed. I would like to find some -other way to say it."</p> - -<p>"Say what?"</p> - -<p>"That I love you."</p> - -<p>She ran to him. The impact knocked the breath out of both of them, but -neither noticed.</p> - -<p>"Isn't the old phrase good enough, silly?" she scolded and kissed him. -"I love you too, lover baby."</p> - -<p>Behind them, at the key words, the sonic-signal closed the hidden doors -in the archway and they were alone in the reconciliation chamber.</p> - -<p>Joe discovered that Sam Tullgren, Director of the Domestic Center, had -thought of everything to make reconciliations complete.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Made to Measure, by William Campbell Gault - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADE TO MEASURE *** - -***** This file should be named 51194-h.htm or 51194-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/1/9/51194/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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/license - - -Title: Made to Measure - -Author: William Campbell Gault - -Release Date: February 12, 2016 [EBook #51194] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADE TO MEASURE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - Made to Measure - - By WILLIAM CAMPBELL GAULT - - Illustrated by L. WOROMAY - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction January 1951. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - Somewhere is an ideal mate for every man - and woman, but Joe wasn't willing to bet - on it. He was a man who rolled his own! - - -The pressure tube locks clicked behind them, as the train moved on. It -was a strange, sighing click and to Joe it sounded like, "She's not -right--she's not right--she's not right--" - -So, finally, he said it. "She's not right." - -Sam, who was riding with him, looked over wonderingly. "Who isn't?" - -"Vera. My wife. She's not right." - -Sam frowned. "Are you serious, Joe? You mean she's--?" He tapped his -temple. - -"Oh, no. I mean she's not what I want." - -"That's why we have the Center," Sam answered, as if quoting, which he -was. "With the current and growing preponderance of women over men, -something had to be done. I think we've done it." - -Sam was the Director of the Domestic Center and a man sold on his job. - -"You've done as well as you could," Joe agreed in an argumentative way. -"You've given some reason and order to the marital competition among -women. You've almost eliminated illicit relations. You've established -a basic security for the kids. But the big job? You've missed it -completely." - -"Thanks," Sam said. "That's a very small knife you've inserted between -my shoulder blades, but I'm thin-skinned." He took a deep breath. -"What, in the opinion of the Junior Assistant to the Adjutant Science -Director, was the _big_ job?" - -Joe looked for some scorn in Sam's words, found it, and said, "The big -job is too big for a sociologist." - -Sam seemed to flinch. "I didn't think that axe would fit alongside the -knife. I underestimated you." - -"No offense," Joe said. "It's just that you have to deal with human -beings." - -"Oh," Sam said. "Now it comes. You know, for a minute I forgot who you -were. I forgot you were the greatest living authority on robots. I was -thinking of you as my boyhood chum, good old Joe. You're beyond that -now, aren't you?" - -"Beyond my adolescence? I hope so, though very few people are." Joe -looked at Sam squarely. "Every man wants a perfect wife, doesn't he?" - -Sam shrugged. "I suppose." - -"And no human is perfect, so no man gets a perfect wife. Am I right, so -far?" - -"Sounds like it." - -"Okay." Joe tapped Sam's chest with a hard finger. "I'm going to make a -perfect wife." He tapped his own chest. "For me, just for me, the way I -want her. No human frailties. Ideal." - -"A perfect robot," Sam objected. - -"A wife," Joe corrected. "A person. A human being." - -"But without a brain." - -"With a brain. Do you know anything about cybernetics, Sam?" - -"I know just as much about cybernetics as you know about people. -Nothing." - - * * * * * - -"That's not quite fair. I'm not sentimental about people, but it's -inaccurate to say I don't know anything about them. _I'm_ a person. I -think I'm--discerning and sensitive." - -"Sure," Sam said. "Let's drop the subject." - -"Why?" - -"Because you're talking nonsense. A person without faults is not a -person. And if--it or he--she were, I don't think I'd care to know him -or her or it." - -"Naturally. You're a sentimentalist. You've seen so much misery, so -much human error, so much stupidity that you've built up your natural -tolerance into a sloppy and unscientific sentimentality. It happens to -sociologists all the time." - -"Joe, I'm not going to argue with you. Only one thing I ask. When -you--break the news to Vera, break it gently. And get her back to the -Center as quickly as you can. She's a choice, rare number." - -Joe said nothing to that. Sam looked miserable. They sat there, -listening to the swishing, burring clicks of the airlocks, two -friends--one who dealt with people and had grown soft, the other who -dealt with machines and might not have grown at all. - -As the car rose for the Inglewood station, Sam looked over, but Joe's -eyes were straight ahead. Sam got up and out of the seat. - -There was a whispering sigh of escaping air and the sunlight glare of -the Inglewood station, synthetic redwood and chrome and marble. - -Sam was out of the cylindrical, stainless steel car and hurrying for -the Westchester local when Joe came out onto the platform. Sam was -annoyed, it was plain. - -Joe's glance went from his hurrying friend to the parking lot, and his -coupe was there with Vera behind the wheel. It was only a three block -walk, but she had to be there to meet him, every evening. That was her -major fault, her romantic sentimentality. - -"Darling," she said, as he approached the coupe. "Sweetheart. Have a -good day?" - -He kissed her casually. "Ordinary." She slid over and he climbed in -behind the wheel. "Sat with Sam Tullgren on the train." - -"Sam's nice." - -He turned on the ignition and said, "Start." The motor obediently -started and he swung out of the lot, onto Chestnut. "Sam's all right. -Kind of sentimental." - -"That's what I mean." - - * * * * * - -Joe was silent. The coupe went past a row of solar homes and turned on -Fulsom. Three houses from the corner, he turned into their driveway. - -"You're awfully quiet," Vera said. - -"I'm thinking." - -"About what?" Her voice was suddenly strained. "Sam didn't try to sell -you--" - -"A new wife?" He looked at her. "What makes you think that?" - -"You're thinking about me, about trading me in. Joe, haven't -I--darling, is there--?" She broke off, looking even more miserable -than Sam had. - -"I don't intend to trade you in," he said quietly. - -She took a deep breath. - -He didn't look at her. "But you're going back to the Center." - -She stared at him, a film of moisture in her eyes. She didn't cry or -ask questions or protest. Joe wished she would. This was worse. - -"It's not your fault," he said, after a moment. "I'm not going to get -another. You're as ideal, almost, as a human wife can ever be." - -"I've tried so hard," she said. "Maybe I tried too hard." - -"No," he said, "it isn't your fault. Any reasonable man would be -delighted with you, Vera. You won't be at the Center long." - -"I don't want a reasonable man," she said quietly. "I want you, Joe. -I--I loved you." - -He had started to get out of the car. He paused to look back. "Loved? -Did you use the past tense?" - -"I used the past tense." She started to get out on her side of the car. -"I don't want to talk about it." - -"But I do," he told her. "Is this love something you can turn on and -off like a faucet?" - -"I don't care to explain it to you," she said. "I've got to pack." She -left the car, slammed the door, and moved hurriedly toward the house. - -Joe watched her. Something was troubling him, something he couldn't -analyze, but he felt certain that if he could, it would prove to be -absurd. - -He went thoughtfully into the living room and snapped on the telenews. -He saw troops moving by on foot, a file of them dispersed along a -Brazilian road. He turned the knob to another station and saw the -huge stock market board, a rebroadcast. Another twist and he saw a -disheveled, shrieking woman being transported down some tenement steps -by a pair of policemen. The small crowd on the sidewalk mugged into the -camera. - -He snapped it off impatiently and went into the kitchen. The dinette -was a glass-walled alcove off this, and the table was set. There was -food on his plate, none on Vera's. - - * * * * * - -He went to the living room and then, with a mutter of impatience, to -the door of the back bedroom. She had her grips open on the low bed. - -"You don't have to leave tonight, you know." - -"I know." - -"You're being very unreasonable." - -"Am I?" - -"I wasn't trying to be intentionally cruel." - -"Weren't you?" - -His voice rose. "Will you stop talking like some damned robot? Are you -a human being, or aren't you?" - -"I'm afraid I am," she said, "and that's why I'm going back to the -Center. I've changed my mind. I want to get registered. I want to find -a _man_." - -She started to go past him, her grip in her hand. He put a hand on her -shoulder. "Vera, you--" - -Something flashed toward his face. It was her slim, white hand, but it -didn't feel slim and white. She said, "I can see now why you weren't -made _Senior_ Assistant to the Adjutant Science Director. You're a -stupid, emotionless mechanic. A machine." - -He was still staring after her when the door slammed. He thought of the -huge Domestic Center with its classes in Allure, Boudoir Manners, Diet, -Poise, Budgeting. That vast, efficient, beautifully decorated Center -which was the brain child of Sam Tullgren, but which still had to deal -with imperfect humans. - -People, people, people ... and particularly women. He rose, after a -while, and went into the dinette. He sat down and stared moodily at his -food. - -Little boys are made of something and snails and puppydogs' tails. What -are little girls made of? Joe didn't want a little girl; he wanted -one about a hundred and twenty-two pounds and five feet, four inches -high. He wanted her to be flat where she should be and curved where she -should be, with blonde hair and gray-green eyes and an exciting smile. - -He had a medical degree, among his others. The nerves, muscles, flesh, -circulatory system could be made--and better than they were ever made -naturally. The brain would be cybernetic and fashioned after his own, -with his own mental background stored in the memory circuits. - -So far, of course, he had described nothing more than a robot of flesh -and blood. The spark, now--what distinguished the better-grade robots -from people? Prenatal heat, that was it. Incubation. A mold, a heated -mold. Warmth, the spark, the sun, life. - - * * * * * - -For the skin, he went to Pete Celano, the top syntho-dermatologist in -the Department. - -"Something special?" Pete asked. "Not just a local skin graft? What -then?" - -"A wife. A perfect wife." - -Pete's grin sagged baffledly. "I don't get it, Joe. Perfect how?" - -"In all ways." Joe's face was grave. "Someone ideal to live with." - -"How about Vera? What was wrong with her?" - -"A sentimentalist, too romantic, kind of--well, maybe not dumb, -exactly, but--" - -"But not perfect. Who is, Joe?" - -"My new wife is going to be." - -Pete shrugged and began putting together the ingredients for the kind -of skin Joe had specified. - -They're all the same, Joe thought, Sam and Pete and the rest. They -seemed to think his idea childish. He built the instillers and -incubator that night. The mold would be done by one of the Department's -engravers. Joe had the sketches and dimensions ready. - -Wednesday afternoon, Burke called him in. Burke was the Senior -assistant, a job Joe had expected and been miffed about. Burke was a -jerk, in Joe's book. - -This afternoon, Burke's long nose was twitching and his thin face was -gravely bleak. He had a clipped, efficient way of speaking. - -"Tired, Joe?" - -"What do you mean?" - -"Not hitting the ball, not on the beam, no zipperoo." - -"I'm--yes, I guess you're right. I've been working at home on a private -project." - -"Scientific?" - -"Naturally." - -"Anything in particular?" - -Joe took a breath, looked away, and back at Burke. "Well, a wife." - -A frown, a doubtful look from the cold, blue eyes. "Robot? Dishwasher -and cook and phone answerer and like that?" - -"More than that." - -Slightly raised eyebrows. - -"More?" - -"Completely human, except she will have no human faults." - -Cool smile. "Wouldn't be human, then, of course." - -"_Human, but without human faults, I said!_" - -"You raised your voice, Joe." - -"I did." - -"I'm the Senior Assistant. Junior Assistants do not raise their voices -to Senior Assistants." - -"I thought you might be deaf, as well as dumb," Joe said. - -A silence. The granite face of Burke was marble, then steel and finally -chromium. His voice matched it. "I'll have to talk to the Chief before -I fire you, of course. Department rule. Good afternoon." - -"Go to hell." - - * * * * * - -Joe went back to his desk and burned. He started with a low flame and -fed it with the grievances of the past weeks. When it began to warm his -collar, he picked up his hat and left. - -Click, burr, click went the airlocks. Very few riders, this time of -the afternoon. The brain would go in, intact, and then the knowledge -instiller would work during the incubation period, feeding the -adolescent memories to the retentive circuits. She would really spend -her mental childhood in the mold, while the warmth sent the human spark -through her body. - -Robot? Huh! What did they know? A human being, a product of science, a -_flawless_ human being. - -The rise, the big hiss of the final airlock, and Inglewood. Joe stood -on the platform a second, looking for his car, and then realized she -wasn't there. She hadn't been there for a week, and he'd done that -every night. Silly thing, habit. Human trait. - -Tonight, he'd know. The flesh had been in the mold for two days. The -synthetic nerves were plump and white under the derma-ray, the fluxo -heart was pumping steadily, the entire muscular structure kept under -pneumatic massage for muscle tone. - -He'd thought of omitting the frowning muscles, but realized it would -ruin the facial contours. They weren't, however, under massage and -would not be active. - -And the mind? - -Well, naturally it would be tuned to his. She'd know everything he -knew. What room was there for disagreement if the minds were the same? -Smiling, as she agreed, because she couldn't frown. Her tenderness, her -romanticism would have an intensity variable, of course. He didn't want -one of these grinning simperers. - -He remembered his own words: "Is this love something you can turn -on and off like a faucet?" Were his own words biting him, or only -scratching him? Something itched. An intensity variable was not a -faucet, though unscientific minds might find a crude, allegorical -resemblance. - -To hell with unscientific minds. - -He went down to the basement. The mold was 98.6. He watched the -knowledge instiller send its minute current to the head end of the -mold. The meter read less than a tenth of an amp. The slow, plastic -pulse of the muscle tone massage worked off a small pump near the foot -of the mold. - -On the wall, the big master operating clock sent the minute currents -to the various bodily sections, building up the cells, maintaining the -organic functions. In two hours, the clock would shut off all power, -the box would cool, and there would be his--Alice. Well, why not Alice? -She had to have a name, didn't she? - - * * * * * - -Warmth, that was the difference between a human and a robot, just -warmth, just the spark. Funny he'd never thought of it before. Warmth -was--it had unscientific connotations. It wasn't, though. - -He went upstairs and fried some eggs. Twice a day, for a week, he had -fried eggs. Their flavor was overrated. - -Then he went into the living room and snapped on the ball game. - -Martin was on third and Pelter was at bat. On the mound, the lank form -of Dorffberger cast a long, grotesque shadow in the afternoon sun. -Dorffberger chewed and spat and wiped his nose with the back of his -glove. He looked over at third and yawned. - -At the plate, Pelter was digging in. Pelter looked nervous. - -Joe said, "Bet that Dorffberger fans him. He's got the Indian sign on -Pelter." - -Then he realized he was talking to himself. Damn it. On the telenews -screen, Dorffberger looked right into the camera and nodded. He was -winding up, and the director put the ball into slow motion. Even in -slow motion, it winged. - -"Ho-ho!" Joe said. "You can't hit what you can't see." - -Pelter must have seen it. He caught it on the fat part of the bat, -twisting into it with all his hundred and ninety pounds. The impact -rattled the telenews screen and the telescopic cameras took over. -They followed the ball's flight about halfway to Jersey and then the -short-range eyes came back to show Pelter crossing the plate, and -Martin waiting there to shake his hand. - -Joe snapped off the machine impatiently. Very unscientific game, -baseball. No rhyme or reason to it. He went out onto the porch. - -The grass was dry and gray; he'd forgotten to set the sprinkler -clock, Vera's old job. Across the street, Dan Harvey sat with his -wife, each with a drink. Sat with his human wife, the poor fish. They -looked happy, though. Some people were satisfied with mediocrities. -Unscientific people. - -Why was he restless? Why was he bored? Was he worried about his job? -Only slightly; the Chief thought a lot of him, a hell of a lot. The -Chief was a great guy for seniority and Burke had it, or Joe would -certainly have been Senior Assistant. - -The stirring in him he didn't want to analyze and he thought of -the days he'd courted Vera, going to dances at the Center, playing -bridge at the Center, studying Greek at the Center. A fine but too -well-lighted place. You could do everything but smooch there; the -smooching came after the declaration of intentions and a man was bound -after the declaration to go through with the wedding, to live with his -chosen mate for the minimum three months of the adjustment period. - - * * * * * - -Adjustment period ... another necessity for humans, for imperfect -people. Across the street, the perfectly adjusted Harveys smiled at -each other and sipped their drinks. Hell, that wasn't adjustment, that -was surrender. - -He got up and went into the living room; fighting the stirring in him, -the stirring he didn't want to analyze and find absurd. He went into -the bathroom and studied his lean, now haggard face. He looked like -hell. He went into the back bedroom and smelled her perfume and went -quickly from the house and into the backyard. - -He sat there until seven, listening to the throb from the basement. -The molecule agitator should have the flesh firm and finished now, -nourished by the select blood, massaged by the pulsating plastic. - -At seven, she should be ready. - -At seven, he went down to the basement. His heart should have been -hammering and his mind expectant, but he was just another guy going -down to the basement. - -The pumps had stopped, the agitator, the instiller. He felt the mold; -it was cool to the touch. He lifted the lid, his mind on Vera for some -reason. - -A beauty. The lid was fully back and his mate sat up, smiled and said, -"Hello, Joe." - -"Hello, Alice. Everything all right?" - -"Fine." - -Her hair was a silver blonde, her features a blend of the patrician and -the classical. Her figure was neither too slim nor too stout, too flat -nor too rounded. Nowhere was there any sag. - -"Thought we'd drop over to the Harveys' for a drink," Joe said. "Sort -of show you off, you know." - -"Ego gratification, Joe?" - -"Of course. I've some clothes upstairs for you." - -"I'm sure they're lovely." - -"They are lovely." - -While she dressed, he phoned the Harveys. He explained about Vera -first, because Vera was what the Harveys considered a good neighbor. - -Dan Harvey said sympathetically, "It happens to the best of us. -Thinking of getting a new one, Joe?" - -"I've got one right here. Thought I'd drop over, sort of break the ice." - -"Great," Dan said. "Fine. Dandy." - -The event was of minor importance, except for the revelation involved. - -The Harveys had a gift for putting guests at ease, the gift being a -cellar full of thirty-year-old bourbon the elder Harvey had bequeathed -them at the end of their adjustment period. - -The talk moved here and there, over the bourbon, Alice sharing in it -rarely, though nodding when Joe was talking. - -Then, at mention of someone or other, Mrs. Harvey said tolerantly, -"Well, none of us are perfect, I guess." - -Alice smiled and answered, "Some of us are satisfied with mediocrities -in marriage." - -Mrs. Harvey frowned doubtfully. "I don't quite understand, dear. In -any marriage, there has to be adjustment. Dan and I, for example, have -adjusted very well." - -"You haven't adjusted," Alice said smilingly. "You've surrendered." - -Joe coughed up half a glass of bourbon, Dan turned a sort of red-green -and Mrs. Harvey stared with her mouth open. Alice smiled. - -Finally, Mrs. Harvey said, "Well, I never--" - -"Of all the--" Dan Harvey said. - -Joe rose and said, "Must get to bed, got to get to bed." - -"Here?" Alice asked. - -"No, of course not. Home. Let's go, dear. Have to rush." - -Alice's smile had nothing sentimental about it. - - * * * * * - -He didn't berate her until morning. He wanted time to cool off, to look -at the whole thing objectively. It just wouldn't get objective, though. - -At breakfast, he said, "That was tactless last night. Very, very -tactless." - -"Yes, Joe. Tact requires deception. Tact is essentially deception." - -When had he said that? Oh, yes, at the Hydra Club lecture. And it was -true and he hated deception and he'd created a wife without one. - -He said, "I'll have to devise a character distiller that won't require -putting you back in the mold." - -"Of course, dear. Why?" - -"You need just a touch of deception, just a wee shade of it." - -"Of course, Joe." - -So she had tact. - -He went to the office with very little of the absurdity mood stirring -in him. He'd had a full breakfast, naturally. - -At the office, there was a note on his desk: _Mr. Behrens wants to see -you immediately._ It bore his secretary's initials. Mr. Behrens was the -Chief. - -He was a fairly short man with immense shoulders and what he'd been -told was a classical head. So he let his hair grow, and had a habit -of thrusting his chin forward when he listened. He listened to Joe's -account of the interview with Burke. - -When Joe had finished, the Chief's smile was tolerant. "Ribbing him, -were you? Old Burke hasn't much sense of humor, Joe." - -Joe said patiently, "I wasn't ribbing him. I took her out of the mold -last night. I ate breakfast with her this morning. She's--beautiful, -Chief. She's ideal." - -The Chief looked at him for seconds, his head tilted. - -Joe said, "Heat, that's what does it. If you'd like to come for dinner -with us tonight, Chief, and see for yourself--" - -The Chief nodded. "I'd like that." - - * * * * * - -They left a little early to avoid the crowd in the tube. Burke saw them -leaving, and his long face grew even longer. - -On the trip, Joe told his boss about the cybernetic brain, about his -background and his beliefs stored in the memory circuits, and the boss -listened quietly, not committing himself with any comments. - -But he did say, "I certainly thought a lot of Vera. You wouldn't have -to warm her in any incubating mold." - -"Wait'll you see this one," Joe said. - -And when she walked into the living room at home, when she acknowledged -the introduction to the Chief, Joe knew the old boy was sold. The Chief -could only stare. - -Joe took him down to the basement then to show him the molecule -agitator, the memory feeder, the instillers. - -The old boy looked it over and said, quite simply, "I'll be damned!" - -They went up to a perfect dinner--and incident number two. - -The Chief was a sentimentalist and he'd just lost a fine friend. This -friend was his terrier, Murph, who'd been hit by a speeding car. - -The story of Murph from birth to death was a fairly long one, but never -dull. The Chief had a way with words. Even Joe, one of the world's -top-ranking non-sentimentalists, was touched by the tale. When they -came to the end, where Murph had lain in his master's arms, whimpering, -as though to comfort him, trying to lick his face, Joe's eyes were wet -and the drink wobbled in his hand. - -The Chief finished in a whisper, and looked up from the carpet he'd -been staring at through the account. - -And there was Alice, sitting erect, a smile of perfect joy on her face. -"How touching," she said, and grinned. - -For one horror-stricken second, the Chief glared at her, and then his -questioning eyes went to Joe. - -"She can't frown," Joe explained. "The muscles are there, but they need -massage to bring them to life." He paused. "I wanted a smiling wife." - -The Chief inhaled heavily. "There are times when a smile is out of -order, don't you think, Joe?" - -"It seems that way." - -It didn't take long. Massage, orientation, practice, concentration. It -didn't take long, and she was so willing to cooperate. Golly, she was -agreeable. She was more than that; she voiced his thoughts before he -did. Because of the mental affinity, you see. He'd made sure of that. - -She could frown now and she had enough deception to get by in almost -any company. These flaws were necessary, but they were still flaws and -brought her closer to being--human. - - * * * * * - -At the office on Saturday morning, Sam Tullgren dropped in. Sam said, -"I've been hearing things, Joseph." - -"From Vera? At the Center?" - -Sam shook his head. "Vera's been too busy to have much time for the -director. She's our most popular number." Sam paused. "About the new -one. Hear she's something to see." - -"You heard right. She's practically flawless, Sam. She's just what a -man needs at home." His voice, for some reason, didn't indicate the -enthusiasm he should have felt. - -Sam chewed one corner of his mouth. "Why not bring her over, say, -tonight? We'll play some bridge." - -That would be something. Two minds, perfectly in harmony, synchronized, -working in partnership. Joe's smile was smug. "We'll be there. At -eight-thirty." - -Driving over to Westchester that night, Joe told Alice, "Sam's a -timid bidder. His wife's inclined to overbid. Plays a sacrificing -game when she knows it will gain points. Our job will be to make her -oversacrifice." - -Sam's eyes opened at sight of her; his wife's narrowed. Joe took pride -in their reaction, but it was a strange, impersonal pride. - -They had a drink and some small talk, and settled around the table. It -was more like a seance than a game. - -They bid and made four clubs, a heart. Sam's wife got that determined -look. With the opposition holding down one leg of the rubber, she -figured to make the next bid a costly one. - -She won it with six diamonds, and went down nine tricks, doubled. Sam -started to say something, after the debacle, but one look at his wife's -anguished countenance stopped him short of audibility. - -Sam said consolingly, "I'm such a lousy bidder, dear. I must have given -you the wrong idea of my hand." - - * * * * * - -Next time, Sam made up for his timidity. Sam, with one heart in his -hand, tried a psychic. "One heart," he said firmly. - -Sam knew there was a good chance the hearts were in the oppositions' -hands, and this looked like a fine defensive tactic. - -However, his wife, with a three-suit powerhouse, couldn't conceive of a -psychic from Sam. She had need of only a second round stopper in hearts -and a small slam in no trump was in the bag. She had no hearts, but -timid Sam was undoubtedly holding the ace-king. - -She bid six no-trump, which was conservative for her. She didn't want -to make the mistake of having Sam let the bid die. - -Joe had the ace, king, queen and jack of hearts and a three to lead to -Alice's hand. Alice finished up the hearts for a total of seven tricks, -and this time it was Mrs. Tullgren who opened her mouth to speak. - -But she remembered Sam's kindness in the former hand, and she said, -"It was all my fault, darling. To think I couldn't recognize a -psychic, just because it came from you. I think we're overmatched, -sweet." She paused to smile at Joe. "Up against the man who invented -the comptin-reduco-determina." She added, as an afterthought, "And his -charming, brilliant new wife." - -Which brought about incident number three. - -Alice turned to Mrs. Tullgren sweetly and asked, "Don't you really -understand the comptin-reduco-determina?" - -"Not even faintly," Mrs. Tullgren answered. She smiled at Alice. - -The smile faded after about ten minutes. For Alice was telling her -_all_ about the comptin-reduco-determina. For an hour and nineteen -minutes, Alice talked to this woman who had been humiliated twice, -telling her all the things about the famous thinking machine that Mrs. -Tullgren didn't want to know. - -It wasn't until Alice was through talking animatedly that the entranced -Joe began to suspect that perhaps the Tullgrens weren't as interested -in the dingus as a scientific mind would assume. - -They weren't. There was a strain after that, a decided heaviness to the -rest of the evening. Sam seemed to sigh with relief when they said good -night. - -In the car, Joe was thoughtful. Halfway home, he said, "Darling, I -think you know too much--for a female, that is. I think you'll have to -have a go with the knowledge-instiller. In reverse, of course." - -"Of course," she agreed. - -"I don't object to females knowing a lot. The world does." - -"Of course," she said. - -She was a first model and, therefore, experimental. These bugs were -bound to show up. She was now less knowing, more deceptive, and she -could frown. - -She began to remind him of Vera, which didn't make sense. - -Alice was sad when he was sad, gay when he was gay, and romantic to the -same split-degree in the same split-second. She even told him his old -jokes with the same inflection he always used. - -Their mood affinity was geared as closely as the -comptin-reduco-determina. What more could a man want? And, damn it, why -should Vera's perfume linger in that back bedroom? - - * * * * * - -The fumigators could do nothing. They left, after the third trip, -shaking their heads. Joe stood in the doorway, insisting he could still -smell it. - -Alice said, "It's probably mental, dear. Perhaps you -still--still--what's that word? Perhaps you still love her." - -"How could you think that?" he asked. "How? How could you think that -unless I was thinking it?" - -"I couldn't. I love you, too, Joe, but you know why that is." - -"What do you mean?" - -"We both love you, Joe." - -"Both? You and Vera?" - -"No. You and I, we both love _you_." - -"That," said Joe peevishly, "is ridiculous. If you could think for -yourself, you'd know it was ridiculous." - -"Of course," she agreed. And frowned, because he was frowning. - -"You act like a robot," Joe said. - -She nodded. - -"That's all you are," Joe went on evenly, "a robot. No volition." - -She nodded, frowning. - -"I'm sick of it." - -She said nothing, sympathetically looking sick. - -And then he smiled and said, "I'm not stumped. Not the inventor of the -comptin-reduco-determina. By Harry, I'll give you volition. I'll give -you enough volition to make you dizzy." - -And because he was smiling, she was smiling. And only a very perceptive -person might notice that her smile seemed to have an intensity, an -anticipation slightly beyond his. - -He got to work on it that night. He would have to erase some of his -mental background from her brain. He wanted her no less intelligent, no -less discerning, but with enough of a change in background to give her -a viewpoint of her own. He labored until midnight, and tumbled into -bed with a headache. - -Next morning, at breakfast, he told her, "We'll try it out tonight. -After that, you'll be a person." - -"Of course. And will you love me, Joe?" - -"More coffee, please," he answered. - -At the office, there was another note from his secretary: _Mr. Burke -wants to see you. At your convenience._ - -At your convenience? Was Burke going soft? Joe went right in. - - * * * * * - -Burke was smiling, a miracle in itself. Burke's voice was jovial. "The -Chief's been telling me about the new wife, Joe. I guess I owe you an -apology." - -"Not at all," Joe said. "I had no right to be rude. I was a little -overworked--at home. I wasn't myself." - -Burke nodded smugly, soaking it up. "Beautiful, the Chief tells me. Am -I going to meet her, Joe?" - -"If you want. How about tonight, for dinner? I've got something new -planned. I'm giving her volition. Maybe you'll want to watch." - -"Volition?" - -Joe went on to explain about volition, making it as simple as he could, -to match Burke's mind. - -"That," Burke said when he'd finished, "I want to see." - -They went home in the crowded Inglewood tube. Sam was there, but -Sam seemed to avoid them, for some reason. All the way home, Joe had -the uncomfortable feeling that Burke didn't believe any part of this -business, that Burke was making the trip only to substantiate his own -misconceptions. - -But when Alice came into the living room, smiling brightly, extending -her hand to the Senior Assistant, Joe had a gratifying glimpse of -Burke's face. - -Burke was lost. Burke stared and swallowed and grinned like a green -stage hand at a burlesque show. Burke's smile was perpetual and -nauseating. Even in the face of Alice's cool reserve. - -The dinner was fine, the liquor mellow. - -Then Joe said, "Well, Alice, it's time for the volition. It's time for -your _birth_ as a person." - -"Of course," she said, and smiled. - -They went down into the basement, the three of them; she sat in the -chair he'd prepared and he clamped on the wired helmet and adjusted the -electrodes. - -Burke said weakly, "It isn't--dangerous, is it?" - -"Dangerous?" Joe stared at him. "Of course not. Remember how I -explained it?" - -"I--uh--my memory--" Burke subsided. - -She closed her eyes and smiled. Joe threw the switch. She'd have -knowledge; she'd have the memory of her past few days of existence as -his alter ego. She'd have volition. - -The contact clock took over. Her eyes remained closed, but her smile -began to fade as the second hand moved around and around the big, -contact-studded dial. - -Joe was smiling, though she wasn't. Joe was filled with a sense of his -own creative power, his own inventive genius and gratification at the -worried frown on the face of the imbecile Burke. - - * * * * * - -Then the clock stopped and there was a buzz; the meters dropped to -zero. Alice opened her eyes. For the first time, as a _person_, she -opened her eyes. - -Her smile was back. But she was looking at Burke. Looking at Burke and -smiling! - -"Baby," she said. - -Burke looked puzzled, but definitely pleased. In all Burke's adult -life, no female had ever looked at him like that. - -Joe said tolerantly, "You're a little confused yet, Alice. _I'm_ your -husband." - -"You?" She stared at him. "Do you think I've forgotten you? Do you -think I don't know you, after living inside your brain, almost? You -_monster_, you egocentric, selfish, humorless walking equation. You're -not my husband and I'd like to see you prove that you are." - -Now it was only Burke who smiled. "By George," he said, "that's right. -There's no wedding on record, is there, Joe?" - -"Wedding?" Joe repeated blankly. "I made her. I created her. Of course -there's no--" - -"Of course, of course, of course," Alice shrilled. "That's all you -know. You're the original 'of course' kid. Things aren't that certain, -Junior. I've known you just long enough and just well enough to detest -you." Now she pointed at Burke. "_That's_ what I want. That's my kind -of man." - -Burke gulped and grinned, nodded. "To coin a phrase, you said it, -kiddo." He smiled at Joe. "I'll run her right down to the Center and -get her registered, and take out an intent option. I guess we can't -fight fate, Joe, can we?" - -Joe took a deep breath of air. "I guess not. I guess it's--kismet." - -He was still standing there when he heard the front door slam. He kept -staring at the machine, not seeing it, hearing instead all she had -said. She knew him better than anyone who lived. Better, actually, than -he knew himself, because she didn't rationalize, being outside his -mental sphere now. You might say she'd been in his mind and detested -what she had found there. - -It was a crawling feeling, the knowledge that he had been guilty -of rationalization himself, that he had faults his mind refused to -acknowledge. He couldn't doubt that he was all the cold and gruesome -things she had called him. The worst shock, however, was that he -had studied psychology and honestly had believed he was an objective -thinker. - -But who, he realized, could be completely honest about himself? - - * * * * * - -He looked at the machine and saw the non-rationalization electrodes. He -had used that on her and she had seen clearly what he still couldn't -recognize. What he needed, apparently, was a good, objective look at -his own mind. - -He set the contact clock for objectivity maximum and clamped the -electrodes on his head. He reached for the switch, had to close his -eyes before he could throw it. - -He didn't see the second hand going around and around the clock, but he -felt the prejudice-erasing impulses, the objective-appraisal stimuli, -revealing memories that had shaped him, humiliations that had twisted -him and been forgotten, urgings and longings and guilts that he had -never known existed. - -He saw himself. It was highly unpleasant. - -There was a final buzz and the clock stopped. Joe opened his eyes, both -figuratively and literally. He unclamped the helmet with the electrodes -and stepped from the chair, holding onto the arm, looking at the -mirrored inside walls of the mold. - -He had made an image of himself and it had turned on him. Now he -had made--what? An image of his image's image of him? It was very -confusing, yet somehow clear. - -He went slowly up the stairs, smelling the perfume. It wasn't Alice's -and that was peculiar, because she had practically swabbed herself with -the stuff, knowing he liked it, and she had just left. - -It was Vera's perfume. - -He remembered her waiting at the station, making her ridiculous bids at -the card table, gossiping witlessly with Mrs. Harvey, hitting her thumb -when she tried to hang his pictures in the study. - -Vera.... - -He prowled dissatisfiedly through the house, as though in search of -something, and then went out to the car. He took the super-pike almost -all the way to the Center. There were bright cards on posts every few -hundred feet: - - IT'S NOT TOO LATE - TO GET A MATE - THE GIRLS ARE GREAT - AT THE DOMESTIC CENTER - -He pulled into the sweeping circular drive at the huge group of -buildings. A troupe of singing girls came out, dressed in majorette -costumes, opened the door, helped him out, parked the car, escorted -him into the lavish reception room. Music came from somewhere, soft -and moody. There were murals all over the walls, every one romantic. A -dispensing machine held engagement and wedding rings with a series of -finger-holes on the left side for matching sizes. - - * * * * * - -The matron recognized him and said, "Mr. Tullgren has gone home for the -day. Is there anything I can do?" - -He told her what he wanted and she thumbed through a register. - -"Yes, she's still here," the matron said finally. "She's refused -exactly thirty-two offers up to yesterday. You were thinking of -a--reconciliation?" - -Joe nodded with a new humility. "If she'll have me." - -The matron smiled. "I think she will. Women are more understanding than -men, usually. More romantic, you might say." - -Nine-tenths of the building was brightly lighted, one-tenth rather -dim. In the dim tenth were the post-intent rooms, the reconciliation -chambers. - -Joe sat on a yellow love-seat in one of the empty reconciliation -chambers, leafing through, but not seeing, a copy of a fashion -magazine. Then there were steps in the hall, familiar steps, and he -smelled the perfume before she came in. - -She stood timidly at the archway, but Joe was even more unsure and weak -in the legs and he had trouble with his breathing. - -"Joe," Vera said. - -"Vera," he answered. - -It wasn't much, but it seemed to be what both had in mind. - -"Was there something you wanted to tell me?" she asked. "Something -important?" - -"It's important to me, Vera," he said humbly. "I hope it's just as -important to you." - -She looked brightly at him. - -"I find it very difficult to put into words," he stumbled. "The usual -expressions of this emotion are so hackneyed. I would like to find some -other way to say it." - -"Say what?" - -"That I love you." - -She ran to him. The impact knocked the breath out of both of them, but -neither noticed. - -"Isn't the old phrase good enough, silly?" she scolded and kissed him. -"I love you too, lover baby." - -Behind them, at the key words, the sonic-signal closed the hidden doors -in the archway and they were alone in the reconciliation chamber. - -Joe discovered that Sam Tullgren, Director of the Domestic Center, had -thought of everything to make reconciliations complete. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Made to Measure, by William Campbell Gault - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADE TO MEASURE *** - -***** This file should be named 51194.txt or 51194.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/1/9/51194/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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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