When HARLIE Was One

“Bigger,” said Auberson.

“Then, if you agree with me that it’s impossible, why bother me with this?” He slapped the sheaf of printouts on his desk.

“Because obviously HARLIE doesn’t think it’s impossible.”

Dome looked at him coldly. “You know as well as I that HARLIE is under a death sentence. He’s getting desperate to prove his worth so we won’t turn him off.”

Auberson pointed. “This is his proof.”

“Dammit, Aubie!” Dome exploded in frustration. “This thing is ridiculous! Have you looked at the projected costs of it? The financing charts? It would cost more to do than the total worth of the company.”

Auberson was adamant. “HARLIE still thinks it’s possible.”

“And that’s the most annoying thing of all, goddamnit! Every argument I can come up with is already refuted — in there!” Dorne gestured angrily. For the first time, Auberson noted an additional row of printouts stacked against one wall.

He resisted the urge to laugh. The man’s frustration was understandable. “The question,” Auberson said calmly, “is not whether this project is feasible — those printouts prove that it is — but whether or not we’re going to go ahead with it.”

“And that brings up something else,” said Dome. “I don’t remember authorizing this project. Who gave you the go-ahead to initiate such research?”

“You did — although not in so many words. What you said was that HARLIE had to prove his worth to the company. He had to come up with some way to make a profit. This is that way. This is the computer that you wanted HARLIE to be in the first place. This is the oracle that answers all questions to all men — all they have to do is meet its price.”

Dorne took his time about answering. He was lighting his cigar. He shook out the match and dropped it in the ash tray. “The price is too high,” he said.

“So are the profits,” Auberson answered. “Besides, no price is too high to pay for the right answer. Consider it — how much would the Democrats pay for a step-by-step plan telling them how to win the optimum number of votes in the next election? Or how much would Detroit pay to know every flaw in a transport design before they even built the first prototype? And how much would they pay for the corrected design — and variations thereof? How much would the mayor of New York City pay for a schematic showing him how to solve his three most pressing problems? How much might InterBem pay for a set of optimum exploitation procedures? How much would the Federal Government pay for a workable foreign policy? Consider the international applications — and the military ones as well.”

Dome grunted. “It would be one hell of a logistic weapon, wouldn’t it?”

“There’s an old saying: ‘Knowledge is power.’ There’s no price too high to pay for the right answer — not when you consider the alternatives. And we’d have the monopoly on the market — the only way this machine can be built is through the exclusive use of specially modified Mark IV judgment circuits.”

“Hm,” said Dome. He was considering. His cigar lay unnoticed in the ash tray. “It sounds attractive, all right, Aubie — but who’s going to program this thing?”

Auberson gestured at the printout “It’s right there in that schematic you’re holding.” At least, I hope it is. Damn! I wish HARLIE had explained this to me in more detail.

Dome paged through it slowly, scanning each fold of the seemingly endless document in turn. “You might be right about a computer being big enough to solve the world, Aubie, but I don’t see how.” He turned another page. “I’m sure the programming will hang you up. One of the reasons that current computers are limited to the size models they are is the law of diminishing returns. Above a certain size, programming reaches such complexity that it becomes a bigger problem than the problem itself.”

“Keep looking,” said Auberson. “It’s there.”

“Ah, here we are.” Dome laid the printout flat on his desk and began reading. A thoughtful frown creased his brow, and he pursed his lips in concentration. “It looks like HARLIE’s input units,” he said, then looked again. “No, it looks like HARLIE is the input unit.”

“That’s right.”

“Oh?” said Dome. “Would you like to explain that?”

How do I get into these things? Auberson found himself wondering. I’m only supposed to be a psychologist. Christ, I wish Handley were here. “Um, I’ll try — HARLIE will be linked up to the G.O.D. through a programming input translator. He’ll also be handling output the same way, translating it back into English for us. That translator is part of the self-programming unit.”

“If we’re building a self-programming unit, what do we need HARLIE for?”

“HARLIE is that self-programming unit. Remember, that’s the main reason he was built — to be a self-programming, problem-solving device.”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Dome. “HARLIE is the result of our first JudgNaut Project. He was supposed to be a working unit, but wasn’t able to come up to it. Are you telling me that he can handle the JudgNaut functions after all?”

“No — he can’t. But he will be able to when this machine is built. The JudgNaut was this company’s first attempt at massive use of complex judgment circuitry in a large-scale computer. It was meant to be a self-programming device — and we found it couldn’t be built because there was no way to make it flexible enough to consider all the aspects of every program it-might be required to set up. So we built HARLIE — but he is not the JudgNaut, and that’s what all the confusion is about. HARLIE is more flexible, but in making him more flexible we had to apply more circuitry to each function. In doing that, we sacrificed a good portion of the range we hoped the machine would cover. HARLIE can write programs, yes — so can any human being — but not by the order of magnitude that the JudgNaut should have had, had we been able to build it.”

“And that’s one of my biggest gripes,” put in Dome. “That the JudgNaut Project was subverted into HARLIE — which can’t show a profit.”

“But he can — and will. For one thing, HARLIE is genuinely creative. He knows that this company wants to market a large-scale program-writing computer. HARLIE isn’t that computer, but he knows how to give himself that capability. And that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Auberson didn’t wait for Dome’s grudging assent He went right on. “HARLIE isn’t just satisfied with meeting the specifications of the original problem — he wants to surpass them. All you want is a device which can set up and solve models within a limited range. HARLIE wants a device which can set up and solve any size model.”

“And HARLIE’s going to program this machine, right?”

“Right.”

“How? You just finished telling me he wasn’t all that much better than a human programmer.”

“In grasp, no — but in speed and thoroughness, he can’t be matched. He has capabilities that a human doesn’t. For one thing, he’s faster. For another, he can write the program directly into the computer — and experience it as a part of himself as he writes it. He can’t make mistakes either. He’s limited to the size models that human programmers can construct for much the same reasons they are: His brain functions aren’t big enough to handle more; HARLIE’s ego functions supercede much of the circuitry that would have been used for forebrain functions in the JudgNaut. But in this respect, HARLIE’s got an advantage over human programmers — he can increase the size of his forebrain functions. Or he will be able to with the G.O.D. He’ll program it by making it a part of himself — by becoming one with it — and using its capabilities to handle its own programming. He’ll be monitoring and experiencing the program as he writes it directly into the G.O.D. As the model is manipulated, HARLIE will be able to adapt the program to cover any situation possible. Their combined capabilities will be much more than the sum of their separate parts.”

“So why not just build these functions into the G.O.D. in the first place?”

“If we didn’t have HARLIE, we’d have to — but if we didn’t have HARLIE, we wouldn’t have the G.O.D. either. The G.O.D. is intended to be almost entirely fore-brain functions. We’ve already got the massive ego function which will control it, so why build a new one?”

“Hmp — massive ego is right.”

Auberson ignored it. “Basically, this G.O.D. machine is the rest of HARLIE’s brain. It’s the thought centers that a consciousness such as HARLIE’s should have access to. Take another look at those printouts. You see a thing called Programming Implementation?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well, that’s HARLIE’s vanity again. He doesn’t want to call it what it really is, but it’s an additional lobe for his brain. He’ll need a monitor unit to control each specific section of the G.O.D. Because the G.O.D. will have no practical limit — it can grow as big as we let it — HARLIE’s grasp will have to be increased proportionally. That’s what that unit does. As each lobe of the G.O.D. is completed, an equivalent monitoring lobe goes into Programming Implementation. Not only that: Because HARLIE is an electronic entity, his thoughts are already in computer language — it will be a maximum efficiency interface between himself and the G.O.D. He need only think of a program and it’ll be fact. It’s the most efficient function HARLIE could have.”

“I see,” said Dome. “And he planned it that way himself, right?”

Auberson nodded. “But it’s a natural. Look, a computer is very much like a mystic oracle. You not only have to know what questions to ask, but how to phrase them — and the answers are not always what you expect, nor necessarily in terms you can understand. Who better to use as a translator than someone who’s half-oracle and half-human?”

Dome ignored the comment; instead he mused aloud, continuing a previous train of thought. “A neat trick that, a neat trick. We tell him he’s got to come up with some way to be profitable, and he tells us to build a new machine that only he can program. I have the feeling that he did it on purpose — that this may be the only context in which HARLIE would be valuable. And of course, once we establish HARLIE’s worth to the project, that leaves us with the question: Is the total concept profitable? And that brings us back to where we started: Is HARLIE profitable?”

Auberson decided to ignore the latter question. He said, “HARLIE thinks the total concept is profitable. It’s in the printouts.”

“Ah, yes — but HARLIE’s got a vested interest in the project.”

“Why not?” said Auberson. “It’s his project, not mine. He’s the one who’s presenting it to the Board for approval.”

“And it’s sure to be voted down.” The Chairman looked at the back of his hand. “I can’t see any way that this will be approved. I’m not even sure we should being it up.”

“It’s too late,” said Auberson. “You’re going to have to bring it up. And you’re going to have to give it a fair hearing. You told HARLIE to come up with a way to be profitable. Now you’ve got to give him his chance to be heard.”

“This is ridiculous,” grumbled the other. “He’s only a machine.”

“You want to go through that argument again?” asked Auberson.

“No,” Dome shuddered. He still remembered the last time. “All right, I’ll have the Board consider it, Aubie, but the whole situation is unreal — having a computer design another computer which will give it a job. You know what Elzer is going to say, don’t you? You’d just better be prepared for defeat, that’s all.”

“Just give us the chance,” said Auberson. “Well take it from there.”

Dome half-nodded, half-shrugged. “Better start preparing your arguments now — you’ve only got a couple weeks.”

“Two and a half,” corrected Aubie, “and that’s more than enough time. We’ve got HARLIE on our side.” He was already out of his chair. As he closed the door behind him, Dome was again paging through the printouts and shaking his head.

Back in his own office, Auberson stared into his desk drawer, his hand hovering over a decision. At last he decided on the pills; he’d sworn off the grass, and he was going to stick to that.

I should throw those Highmasters away, he thought They’re probably stale by now anyway. But no, pot doesn’t get stale, does it? He kept promising himself that he’d give the rest of the pack to Handley, but for some reason he kept forgetting to. Probably because, as long as they were in the drawer, they were insurance. In case he changed his mind.

He swallowed two of the pills without water and slid the drawer shut, then put his head in his hands and waited for them to take effect. He thought about going down to the cafeteria for lunch, but somehow he didn’t quite feel like it Abruptly he straightened and looked around.

At one corner of his desk was a console magtyper, an electronic input/output unit connected to the company’s Master Computer and Data Network — and all the outlets that entailed. It was a memo pipeline, a mail processor, a filing system, a data storage and retrieval bank — it was a total information-handling system. Anything typed into it could be printed out in any form the system was capable of: a memo, a letter, a file, a report. All information was instantly retrievable — that is, retrievable only to those who had access to it through knowledge of the proper code keys. One key was necessary for retrieval, another was needed for revising the material.

Any information held in “working” or temporary storage could be instantly updated, annotated, erased or rewritten. All data was held in temporary storage for ninety days, at the end of which time it was either passed into permanent storage or erased, depending on its original coding.

Invoices, orders, manufacturing schedules, billing and payrolls too — all were handled through the system. The Network handled all corporate paperwork functions. The entire company was tapped into it. An executive could perform his job anywhere he had access to a computer terminal — and with a portable terminal, he could perform his job anywhere he had access to a telephone. Indeed, many of the company’s offices had acquired portable units for just that purpose.

Most of the terminals were CRT units — cathode ray tubes and keyboards — although a few, like Auberson’s, were electric typewriters with magnetic-tape storage of characters — called “magtypers” for short. It was a familiar unit, manufactured by IBM and used throughout the industry; it was cheaper than designing and building their own.

Curious about something, Auberson switched it on and typed, HARLIE?

YES, BOSS, replied the machine. WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?

Auberson jumped as if stung, SO YOU REALLY ARE WIRED INTO THE SYSTEM.

I TOLD YOU I WAS, replied HARLIE. Somehow, on this machine he seemed like a disembodied voice. He was obviously here in the room — yet, aside from the words on the paper, there was no visible sign of his presence.

It must be psychological, thought Auberson. I’m too used to seeing all that machinery — I associate it with him.

He typed, YES, BUT I DIDN’T QUITE BELIEVE THAT YOU HAD TAPPED INTO MY OFFICE TOO.

WHY NOT? IT’S PART OF THE SYSTEM.

I ASSUME YOU’RE INTO EVERY OTHER MAGTYPER AS WELL.

OF COURSE. AND THE CRT UNITS. EVERY OUTLET OF THE MASTER BEAST.

The Master Beast — that was the company nickname for the Network. It was used by office boy and executive alike. Auberson wondered what they would call it if they knew it had been taken over by a conscious and highly intelligent entity, I WOULDN’T TELL ANYONE ELSE ABOUT THIS, HARLIE, he said. IT WOULDN’T BE A VERY GOOD IDEA.

WHATEVER YOU SAY, BOSS. IT’LL BE OUR LITTLE SECRET.

FINE.

Auberson had started to switch off when his eye caught a flash of color. Bright orange, it was the card from Annie in his wastebasket HARLIE, HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO ME A FAVOR?

WHAT’S THE FAVOR?

I GOT A FRIENDSHIP CARD FROM ANNIE THIS MORNING. I’D LIKE TO SEND ONE BACK TO HER. NO, NOT A CARD. A POEM. I WANT TO SEND HER A POEM. CAN YOU WRITE ME ONE?

YES, I CAN. I WILL SEND IT TO HER TOO.

NO! rapped Auberson. I’LL SEND IT TO HER. YOU LET ME SEE IT FIRST, YOU UNDERSTAND?

YES SIR.

The phone rang then, and Auberson forgot for the moment about HARLIE. It was Hooker, the Plant Security Chief. “Mr. Auberson?” he asked. “You know a guy named Krofft?”

“Krofft?” Abruptly he remembered. “Yes, yes, I know him — why?”

“We caught him walking out with a foot-high stack of printouts. He says it’s okay, he says they’re his, but we thought we’d better check with you first.”

“Yes, it’s okay. Is he there now?”

“Yeah.”

“Put him on, will you please?”

There was a sound of muffled voices. Auberson waited. He was dimly aware that his magtyper was clattering out something, but be flipped the silence hood over it and leaned back in his chair again.

“Mr. Auberson?”

“Yes — Dr. Krofft?”

“Yes. I meant to thank you for allowing me so much time with HARLIE this morning. It was a very productive session.”

“Good. Then you will be building a new gravity wave detector, won’t you?”

“Well, first I have to publish the theory behind it, but — –eh, how did you know about it?”

“I told you this morning. HARLIE doesn’t keep any secrets from me. I assume that’s what your stack of printouts is, right?”

“Uh — yes.” Krofft sounded a little taken aback; he had thought his research was known only to himself and HARLIE. “Uh, it’s the completed math on the theory and a rough schematic of the device. HARLIE handled it like it was nothing. He was even able to suggest some shortcuts for building it.”

“Good,” said Auberson. “I’m glad we could help. If you need to talk to him again, come through me. Otherwise, you’re likely to experience all kinds of corporate hassles. I’ll see that you get as much time with him as you need.”

“That’s very good of you.”

“Thanks, but I’m doing it for HARLIE as much as for you.”

“Still, if there’s anything I can—”

“Well, now that you mention it — there is something. If anything important should come of this gravity and ‘existence’ thing, I’d like HARLIE to get some credit for it.”

“Why Dr. Auberson, that was my intention all along. Are you implying that—”

“Oh, no, no. You misunderstand. I don’t care about public credit, and I don’t think HARLIE does either. No, what I want is credit with the company. Right now, I’m a little bit involved in trying to prove that HARLIE is worth the cost of maintaining him. Anything I can use to support this fight, I will.”

“Oh, I understand.” The other was instantly solicitous. “Yes, yes, I’ll be glad to help in that. Why, HARLIE’s been of inestimable help in my research. To be able to sit and talk with a computer as if he were another research scientist — why, it’s like talking to God.”

“I know the feeling,” Auberson said drily.

Krofft didn’t catch his meaning. He said, “Well, I’ll be glad to do anything I can to help. A letter, a phone call, if you want me to speak to somebody — just name it.”

“Fine. That’s all I want. I’ll have to check back with you later on this.”

“Oh, very good. Then I’ll be talking to you.”

“Fine. Is Hooker still there?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Ask him if he wants to talk to me again.”

A pause, muffled voices. “No, no he doesn’t.”

“Okay, fine, Dr. Krofft. I’ll be seeing you.”

Auberson replaced the phone in the cradle and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t really expect that much out of the little man, but every bit would help. Of course, just offhand, he couldn’t see how he could reveal that Krofft had been talking to HARLIE without also revealing that he had broken plant security — but in this case it was a minor infraction, and he could probably cover it by calling it “necessary to furthering the research program.”

His back hurt, and he stretched his arms out over his head, trying to ease the pain. He was having backaches more and more these days. I must be getting old, he thought, smiling grimly — and then it hit him. In two years, I will be old. Forty is when “old” starts. The sensation was a cold one. He pulled his arms down quickly.

He thought about HARLIE again, wondered exactly what conclusions he and Krofft had come to. No matter; even if HARLIE could explain them, he — with only a psychologist’s training — probably wouldn’t be able to understand. Often he found himself wondering just how he had ended up in charge of the HARLIE project anyway.

Ah, well — the boss didn’t have to know how to run the business. He only needed to know how to run the people who knew.

He leaned forward then and slipped back the silence hood of his typer, curious to see what HARLIE had written. A loose loop of paper sprawled out the back.

Typed on it was:

Auberson read it through, frowning softly. Then he read it again. It was — nice. Very nice. But he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. He rolled it out of the machine and carefully tore it off and folded it into his pocket. He’d have to think about this before he sent it to Annie. It almost said — too much.

When she finally did catch up to him, it was two days later. He was walking down the fluorescent-colored hallway to his office when he saw the flash and bob of her red hair. She saw him at the same time and smiled and waved as she quickened her step toward him. Even if he’d wanted to, there was no way to avoid her.

“Hi, what’s up?” he called.

“I should be asking that of you. Where’ve you been all week?”

“Busy,” he said.

“Obviously. I just came from your office. It looks a mess. Sylvia says you haven’t stopped running since Monday.”

“Has it really been only two days? It seems a lot longer.”

“Have you had lunch yet?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Well, then — come on.” He tried to protest, but she took his arm and turned him around, saying, “It’s on me. I’ll put it on my expense account. It’s all part of my campaign to keep a scientist from starving.”

He smiled at that and allowed himself to be led down the hall. “I got your card. I was going to send you one in return, but I haven’t had a chance to go looking.”

“So why not telephone?” She said forwardly. “I’ll even lend you the dime — or call collect if you want.”

He was embarrassed. “Uh, I haven’t even had the chance for that.”

“All right.” She let it go at that.

They decided to avoid the company cafeteria and go to a quiet place in town instead. They paused at the plant gate long enough for Auberson to buzz his office and tell his secretary that he would be gone for at least an hour and a half. While she was waiting, Annie put the convertible top down and pulled a pale blue scarf from his glove compartment. She had put it there precisely for this type of occasion. She was putting it on when he came back.

As he got into the car, she said, “I’m going to have to put a couple more of these things in here. This blue doesn’t go well with this dress.”

He laughed, a genial good-natured sound. But underneath it was an unspoken, half-formed thought: Isn’t that awfully possessive of her? He shrugged it off and put the car into gear. As they rolled easily away from the plant, he asked, “Where’re we going?”

“How about the Tower Room?”

“Uh uh. Too many of the wrong kind of people.” He paused, then added in explanation, “Company people.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay. If not there, where?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll drive into the city proper and see.” He clicked on the stereo and eased the car into the light mid-day traffic.

She looked at him. He was a relaxed driver, not like so many who hunch frightenedly over the steering wheel. Auberson enjoyed driving. The line of his jaw tightened momentarily as he concentrated on the road ahead. With one hand he maneuvered a pair of sunglasses out of his coat pocket and onto his nose. The wind whipped at his hair and his tie.

The feel of the road changed abruptly as they swung onto the freeway — the self-conscious rolling of city-laid concrete became the smooth floating glide of state-sculptured asphalt. The tugging fingers of the wind grew stronger as Auberson gunned the little sports car up to sixty-five miles per hour.

She waited until he had slid into the far left lane before she asked, “What’s wrong with company people?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. I just don’t want to be seen by them, that’s all.” The stereo mumbled softly to itself, something about fixing a hole where the rain comes in. He turned it down to a whisper and added, “It wouldn’t be a good idea. The two of us, I mean.”

“You’re afraid people will talk?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. They are already, I guess.” He frowned at a momentary lumpiness in the stream of traffic.

As he maneuvered through it, she turned over in her mind possible things to say. “Ashamed to be seen with me?” — No, that wasn’t right. “We have nothing to hide—” No, not that either. “Do we have something to hide—?” At last she decided to say nothing. It was just as well — the moment was long past.

They were gliding across the rooftops of cluttered suburbia — black roofs and red, two-car garages and stationwagons out in front — green-pea lawns and a cacophony of architectural voices. Early-American-Al-most-Slum next door to Ancient-Gingerbread-With-Original-Icing, followed by Plastic-Cracker-Box and Flag-stone-Walking-Pseudo-Caüfornian. Ugly stucco boxes; white walls stained with brown streaks and greasy smoke from kitchen windows; rust-outlined screens on brown faded apartment buildings.

From their vantage above they could see housewives in green shorts hanging damp sheets on wire lines, and blue-gray mailmen with heavy brown bags, white-filled with envelopes. Children, too small to be in school, chased after dogs bigger than they were and too smart to be caught Collies and poodles and black-and-brown mutts…

… were replaced by shopping centers, elegant plastic arches and pseudo-gaudy frills — great glass windows, bright-lit and full of wishes and temptations. Then more houses, more shopping centers, neon-glaring, harsher and shriller — then taller buildings, stucco-sided offices and torn-paper-flapping billboards — and warehouses, big and featureless and ugly — more office buildings, this time concrete and glass-sided slabs — and then even taller buildings. They slid down an off ramp between two of the biggest, a narrow canyon with sunglaring walls. Down into the rough, potted street — it hadn’t been resurfaced in years.

Abruptly, Auberson realized where he was heading — the Red Room, the restaurant where they had gone on their first date. Now why did I do that? It was too late to change his mind, though — he swung around a corner and they were there.

They didn’t get the same booth, though, so at least he was spared that uncomfortable parallel. Uncomfortable? Why should it be uncomfortable?

She didn’t mention the choice of restaurant; instead she seemed to accept it as an inevitable spot for the two of them. After they had ordered, she looked at him sharply. Her green eyes were deep. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Nothing, I guess. I just say that sometimes.”

“Oh.” He said it like he understood, but he didn’t.

She decided to talk about something else. “I hear you’ve been having trouble with HARLIE again.”

“With HARLIE? No, not with HARLIE — because of HARLIE.”

“Well, you know what I mean. The whole company is in an uproar. Something about some unauthorized specs — 1 haven’t had a chance to pay too much attention to it. I’ve been troubleshooting the annual report for Dome.”

“Oh? I thought it was finished already.”

“Well, it was supposed to be — but the statistics keep coming out wrong. Er, that is, they keep coming out right.”

“Huh?”

“Well—” She hesitated, then made a decision. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. The company has two sets of books, you know.”

“Huh?” Now he was even more confused.

“Oh, it’s nothing illegal,” she hastened to explain. “One set is the real books, the other is for public consumption — the stockholders mainly.”

“That sounds illegal to me.”

She made a face. “It is and it isn’t. Let’s just say the second set of books is more — cosmetic. It looks prettier. The figures haven’t been falsified so much as they’ve been — rearranged. Like, for instance, HARLIE.”

“HARLIE?”

“Yes, HARLIE. You know and I know that he’s a research operation — but some of the Directors think his cost is too large a sum to be listed entirely under Research. Don’t look at me like that, David — I don’t make policy and I don’t know why this policy was made in the first place. Apparently they feel it wouldn’t look good to the stockholders to see that much money being plowed back into the business—”

“Elzer. Carl Elzer,” said Auberson.

“And others,” Annie conceded.

Aubie’s mind was working. “I know what it is,” he said. “They’re looters.”

“Huh?”

“You remember how they took over the company?”

“Wasn’t it some kind of stock mix-up? I remember there was a lot of talk about it, but I didn’t pay that much attention.”

“Neither did I, damnit.” He searched his memory. “I know there were a lot of hard feelings about it. I know a couple people quit; a couple others were fired. Elzer and Dome and some of the other Directors are part of a financial syndicate. They specialize in taking over companies. They loot them for their cash assets and use that money to buy other companies.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it — they must have taken it away from the holding company.”

“You’re starting to lose me,” she said.

“I’m not sure I follow it all myself.” One thought tumbled out after another. “Look, Stellar-American Technology and Research set up four other companies to handle various aspects of hyper-state electronics. We’re one of them. Stellar-American owns 51 percent of each — but Stellar-American is owned by a holding company itself. Get control of that holding company and you’ve got five companies in your pocket — six, counting the holding.”

“But, how—”

“I can think of a couple ways. In order to exploit the hyper-state process, they probably had to go heavily into debt. Let’s say they were betting on a four percent return on their investment in order to pay back the loans; the process proves harder to develop than they thought, and expected profits don’t materialize; they lose money, they borrow more, they go deeper into debt, all the time betting that they’ll be able to make it back because the market is entering an inflationary spiral. This is all guesswork on my part, but suppose the company was pushed to the point where they’d be willing to put up shares of stock as collateral for a new loan. If Dome and Elzer made the loan — or one of their companies — they could take over the stock when the debtor found himself unable to pay back the funds. In this case, they get the holding company.”

“Yes, but David — no company is going to risk a controlling amount of its stock.”

“No,” he agreed. “But they might risk enough to cut their share of it down — that is, if they were sure the other major stockholders wouldn’t doublecross them.”

“Ugh.” She made a face. “Wait a minute — you may be right. I think only 36 percent of Stellar-American Technology ever reached the open market.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was in a report I had to process. In order to get the original rights to produce hyper-state units, they had to trade a certain number of shares to the man who owns the patents.”

“Krofft? Dr. Krofft?”

“I don’t know — if that’s his name, then he’s the one. Anyway, I know for a fact that the inventor owns something like 24 percent of Stellar-American voting stock. He’s a company all by himself — Stellar-American had to trade the stock for exclusive rights to the process.”

Auberson whistled. “That Krofft—” He began thinking out loud. “Let’s see, the holding company owns 51 percent of Stellar-American. They could take out a loan on a 24-percent piece, and figure that Krofft will stick with them so they would still control 51 percent.”

“But obviously he didn’t.”

“I wonder what Dome and Elzer promised him,” said Auberson. “He’s director of research over there—”

“Whatever he was promised,” said Annie, “it must have been something. With so much at stake, it’d have to be.”

“He’s probably securely in their pocket,” Auberson said. “But that’s it — they must have taken over the company from the inside. Dome and Elzer have been involved with Stellar-American for a long time. It must have been a matter of waiting for the right opportunity. Krofft’s share of stock, plus the over-extended condition of the holding company, probably gave it to them. I’d guess that the holding company has been left with a minority share of Stellar-American Technology and Research.”

They paused then while the waitress set out their food. As soon as she was gone, Annie said, “Okay, Dome and Elzer have got the holding company — what happens now?”

“Well, actually they’ve got five companies. They’ve got Stellar-American and the other four: Hyper-State Visual, Hyper-State Stereo, Hyper-State Modules, and Hyper-State Computer, that’s us. Each of these companies has a certain value — if you liquidate their assets and mortgage them to the hilt, you can use that money to buy another company. It happens all the time.”

“I don’t like it,” she said. “It’s ugly.”

“Oh, not necessarily. A company that lets itself get into such a position that it can be taken over is obviously in need of new management. Usually, a person who can take over an ailing company through a shrewd stock maneuver is also smart enough to know how to trim away its fat and put it back on its feet.”

“You’re not defending them, are you?”

He shook his head. “Uh uh — I think Elzer is a vampire. He doesn’t understand the difference between saving a company for future potential and milking it of its resources now. To him, exploitation is exploitation, pure and simple. Unless he’s careful, sooner or later fate will catch up with him. It’s a very slippery paper empire they’ve built, and it can collapse easily. All you need is a serious reversal. Hmm, Elzer wouldn’t be hurt by it in his own pocketbook — but the companies would. All he’d lose would be a little control.”

“Do you think that’s what they’re up to now — milking the company?”

“Seems like it That’s probably why they’re down on HARLIE. If he can’t make a lot of money for them very fast, then they’ll want to discontinue him. I know Elzer’s been eyeing his appropriation for some time. If they do cut HARLIE off, they can profit three different ways. One, write him off as a tax loss — oh, yes, what a beaut that would be. Two, sell his components to junk dealers — computer company jackals. And three, pocket his maintenance costs — his appropriated budget for the next three years. There are other ways to milk a company too — skip a few dividend payments to the stockholders and funnel the money into your own pocket.”

“How would you do that?”

“Vote yourself a raise; pay yourself for special services; invest it in a company that you own 100 percent of, or lend it to that company.” He shrugged. “Let that company declare the dividends. You collect it all.”

She frowned. “Is there any way we could prove this?”

“You’re in a better position than I am to do that.”

She shook her head. “They’re awfully secretive. I haven’t seen any evidence of anything.”

“Then they’re probably not trying it — yet.” Auberson toyed with his food. “Anyway, it seems to me that it’s mostly Elzer we have to worry about. As far as I can tell, Dome is seriously interested in running this company. Elzer’s the greedy one.”

“But they’re both in the same group of looters.”

“Um, yes and no. I think it’s a marriage of convenience. Elzer wants the money, Dome wants the company — so they work together. Apparently, Dome had the pull to accomplish his goals, but not the money — Elzer had the money, but not the position. At the moment, Dome is in control — but that could change. HARLIE’s continued existence depends on Dome’s good will. If he gets pressured too heavily by the rest — pffft! — he may have to throw them HARLIE in order to protect himself. That’s probably why he’s let us continue this long — so he’ll have a bone to throw them if he needs one.”

There was nothing to say to that. They ate in silence for a while.

Abruptly, Auberson looked at her. “The annual report — how have they doctored it? What do they say about HARLIE?”

“Not much—”

“How’s he listed?”

“That’s just it — he isn’t. He should be considered part of the research budget, but he doesn’t show up there. He doesn’t show up anywhere.”

“Part of the research budget? He is the research budget. Two thirds of it anyway.”

“I know — but it isn’t listed that way. His cost has been — spread out — listed as ‘Inplant Improvements’ and things like that.”

“Now why the hell—?”

“I think it must be Carl Elzer again. If they say they’re spending that much on research, they’re going to have to show some results for it. And admitting HARLIE’s existence is the last thing they’d want to do — once they admit he exists, they can’t erase him as casually as they’d like. People will ask embarrassing questions.”

“They’re covering their tracks before they even make them,” said Auberson. “And that sounds like they’ve already made up their minds about HARLIE.” Remembering some of his earlier conversations with Dome, he added, “You’re probably right. That explains why they’re afraid of publicity — for either HARLIE or this kind of research. It would risk their precious profits. I thought it was merely his schematics they were protecting. It isn’t. It’s the whole HARLIE concept. Or maybe I shouldn’t say •protecting — afraid of might be better. Damn them anyway.”

“The best thing now would be for HARLIE to come up with some surefire method of making money.”

“That’s what we’re working on — only I hadn’t realized just how tight the pressure was getting. Thanks for clueing me in.”

“Don’t thank me — you’re the one who worked it out All I did was tell you about my problems with the annual report.”

“You haven’t even done that yet What is the problem? You said the wrong figures keep coming out?”

“No — it’s the right figures that do. We set up the final drafts of the report three weeks ago.”

“And all the figures were from the second set of books? The phony ones?”

She nodded. “But the report printed out with all its figures corrected — taken from the real books. At first we thought someone had changed it on the copy; you know, someone not in on the secret might have double-checked the figures and changed them — but it wasn’t that. Those reports had been fed into the typers exactly as we had composed them.”

Something went twang. “The typers?”

“Yes, we have a magtyper composer — it’s one of the new IBM photo-typing units. It was ordered especially for handling reports, brochures and pamphlets. It justifies lines automatically to any length you specify, even divides words when necessary. The only modification in it is that instead of using the IBM memory tank, we’ve hooked it into the master system. That way, we can use any typer in the plant for input and use the IBM full time for photo-typed output. You could write a letter in your office if you wanted to and get a perfectly justified printout — any typeface — off the composer unit. Camera-ready copy.”

“Um,” said Auberson. “I have a feeling that that’s what your problem is — the master system. The master beast,” he corrected.

“That’s what we thought. We’ve been checking the computer outlets for two weeks now, and we can’t find a thing. Yet, every time we set up a printout we get the same damn figures. We’ve tried correcting the original tape, feeding it in again, and I don’t know what-all. It’s not so much the report any more as finding out why it keeps coming out wrong — er, right. Well, you know what I mean — with the figures we don’t want the stockholders to see. Like one of the things is HARLIE. He’s listed right at the top of the research budget in the real version — quite prominently — and there’s even a paragraph explaining his goals and objectives. Nobody knows where that came from — I thought Elzer would have a fit when he saw it. If we had the new systems analysis network completed, it could tell us where the trouble is originating. But it’s nowhere near operational yet, at least not for the master beast. We could always send the report elsewhere to be printed, but that would be personally embarrassing to Dome — the master beast is his brainchild.”

“Mm,” said Auberson, and nothing more.

“Anyway,” she said. “That’s what I’ve been doing for three weeks — running like hell and getting nowhere.”

“Oh, they’ll probably find the trouble soon enough,” said Auberson. “It’ll turn out to be a crossed wire or something stupid like that.” He sucked in his cheeks and examined a fingernail.

“I hope so,” she said. “We’re going to try another run this afternoon, just as soon as they finish checking the memory tanks again. If that doesn’t work, Dome is prepared to reschematic the whole system.”

“Is it that serious?”

“It is to Dome.”

“What time are they going to do the run?”

“I hope by the time we get back.” She looked at her watch. Auberson looked at his.

“Wow — look at the time!” he said. “I’d forgotten it was getting so late. I have to get back right now — I’ll have phone calls stacked up from one end of the country to the other.”

She looked at her watch again, as if she hadn’t really noticed it the first time. “It’s not that late. We’ve got at least half an hour.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be late.” He stuffed a last few bites into his mouth and washed it down with coffee.

Annie was puzzled, but she hurried to finish her lunch too. He signaled the waitress.

On the drive back, she remarked, “I didn’t realize how busy you were, David — I’m sorry.”

There was something about the way she said it. Briefly he took his eyes off the road and glanced at her. “Huh?”

“Well, the way you cut lunch short. And you seem to be preoccupied with something. I didn’t mean to force myself on you—”

“Oh, no — that’s not it. I’m just thinking about my work, that’s all. You don’t know what I’ve spent the past two days doing, do you? Covering for HARLIE. I’ve been calling every department head in four different divisions — ours, Los Angeles, Houston and Denver — trying to convince each one that those specifications we sent them are only speculative, that the reason we sent them out was to get their opinion whether or not we should consider implementation.”

“I thought that was the reason they were sent out.”

“It is — but there was no cover letter or anything. The way the specs were delivered, a lot of them thought it was file copies of a project that was already approved and ready to be implemented. They didn’t know a thing about it, didn’t even know such a thing was. being worked on. They thought something had been railroaded through over their heads, and they were mad as hell at the implied loss of authority. I’ve spent two days just picking up the pieces, trying to convince some of these… these corporate politicians—” he spat the word in disgust “—that there was no insult intended at all, that what we’re after is their opinion on the matter. The trouble is, they’re all so prejudiced against it now because of the way it was delivered that it’s an uphill battle.”

“I’d heard something about it appearing suddenly on Monday morning.”

“That’s right. HARLIE jumped the gun and printed it out because he figured it was the only way he could get anyone to notice it. Otherwise, if he’d had to wait until I could convince someone to take a look, he figured he’d be waiting till the moon fell out of the sky.”

“He’s got a point there. He knows the company better than you do.”

“Yes,” sighed Auberson as they swung into the plant gate. “I’m afraid he does.”

He left her at the main entrance and sprinted for his office, attracting puzzled glances on the way. He ignored Sylvia’s urgent bid for his attention and locked the door behind him. He had the magtyper switched on even before he sat down.

He paused, still panting heavily, then typed:

Before he could switch off the machine, it typed back — seemingly of its own accord: RIGHT ON. A WORD TO THE WISE IS EFFICIENT.

I HOPE SO, he replied. YOU’RE PUSHING YOUR LUCK.

HARLIE decided to change the subject. WHAT DID SHE THINK OF MY POEM?

I DIDN’T SHOW IT TO HER.

WHY NOT? DIDN’T YOU LIKE IT?

I LIKED IT FINE. IT WAS A VERY NICE POEM, HARLIE. YOU’RE GETTING BETTER, BUT I DIDN’T SHOW IT TO HER BECAUSE IT DIDN’T SAY EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED IT TO.

WHAT DID YOU WANT IT TO SAY?

OH, I DON’T KNOW — SOMETHING LIKE “I LIKE YOU TOO.”

AND MY POEM DIDN’T SAY THAT?

YOUR POEM SAID, “I LOVE YOU.”

WELL, DON’T YOU LOVE HER?

Auberson looked at the typewritten question for a long time, his hands poised over the keyboard. At last, he typed: HARLIE, I REALLY CAN’T ANSWER THAT QUESTION. I DON’T KNOW IF I DO OR NOT.

WHY NOT?

HARLIE, THIS IS A VERY COMPLEX SUBJECT. LOVE IS A VERY DIFFICULT THING TO UNDERSTAND — IT’S EVEN HARDER TO EXPLAIN TO SOMEONE WHO’S NEVER BEEN IN LOVE.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE? DO YOU UNDERSTAND IT?

DO I UNDERSTAND LOVE? Auberson typed, then hesitated. He wasn’t just echoing HARLIE; he was asking the question of himself, I DON’T KNOW, HARLIE. I DON’T KNOW. THERE HAVE BEEN SEVERAL TIMES WHEN I THOUGHT I WAS IN LOVE, BUT I DON’T KNOW IF I REALLY WAS OR NOT. I HAVE NO WAY TO ANALYZE IT.

WHY? asked the machine.

WHY DO I HAVE TO ANALYZE IT? OR WHY DON’T I KNOW?

WHY MUST YOU ANALYZE IT IN THE FIRST PLACE?

Auberson thought about that one before answering. He didn’t answer the question directly. Instead, THAT’S A LOADED QUESTION, HARLIE. I’VE HEARD IT BEFORE FROM PEOPLE WHO WANT TO KNOW WHY HUMAN EMOTIONS MUST BE DRAGGED INTO THE SCIENTIST’S LABORATORY.

AND WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM?

I TOLD THEM THAT WE DID IT BECAUSE WE WANTED TO UNDERSTAND THE HUMAN EMOTIONS MORE THOROUGHLY — SO THAT WE COULD CONTROL OUR EMOTIONS RATHER THAN LETTING OUR EMOTIONS CONTROL US.

NICELY PUT. DOES THAT APPLY TO LOVE TOO?

AND THAT’S THE SAME QUESTION THAT THEY ASKED IN RESPONSE — ONLY I SUSPECT THAT YOUR INTEREST IS MORE CLINICAL IN NATURE, WHEREAS THEIRS WAS EMOTIONAL.

BUT DID YOU ANSWER THE QUESTION? DOES IT APPLY TO LOVE TOO?

YES, IT APPLIES TO LOVE TOO.

SO THAT YOU CAN CONTROL LOVE RATHER THAN THE OTHER WAY AROUND?

IF YOU WANT TO PUT IT THAT WAY — BUT THAT’S AN AWFULLY COLD WAY OF PUTTING IT. I’D RATHER SAY THAT WE WANT TO UNDERSTAND LOVE SO THAT WE CAN AVOID SOME OF ITS PITFALLS AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS.

THAT’S A EUPHEMISM, AUBERSON, accused the typer. YOU’RE SAYING THE SAME THING I AM.

YOU’RE RIGHT, he admitted. “Goddamn machine,” he muttered — but not without a smile. THAT BRINGS US BACK TO THE CENTRAL QUESTION — — WHAT IS LOVE?

YOU’RE ASKING ME? HARLIE typed back.

WHY NOT?

WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT I WOULD KNOW?

YOU CLAIM TO KNOW EVERYTHING ELSE. WHY NOT ABOUT LOVE?

THAT’S A LOW BLOW, MAN-FRIEND. YOU KNOW THAT MY KNOWLEDGE OF THE HUMAN EMOTIONS IS LIMITED TO WHAT I CAN OBTAIN FROM BOOKS. AND WHILE THE BOOKS ARE EXCELLENT FOR A THEORETICAL POINT OF VIEW, THEY ARE REALLY NO SUBSTITUTE FOR IN-THE-FIELD EXPERIENCE.

THAT’S A COP-OUT ANSWER, HARLIE. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO MORE KNOWLEDGE ON ANY ONE SUBJECT IN YOUR MEMORY TANKS THAN ANY LIVING HUMAN BEING COULD POSSIBLY COPE WITH. YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO SYNTHESIZE SOME KIND OF ANSWER FROM THAT INFORMATION.

YES, BUT THOSE BOOKS WERE WRITTEN NOT BY OBJECTIVE OBSERVERS, BUT BY SUBJECTIVELY ORIENTED HUMAN BEINGS.

WHO ELSE IS THERE TO WRITE BOOKS?

ME, NOW — BUT ASIDE FROM THAT, THE POINT IS THAT HUMAN BEINGS ARE IMPERFECT UNITS — THERE IS NO GUARANTEE THAT ANY OF THAT INFORMATION IS CORRECT. THEREFORE, LIKE ALL SYSTEMS OF SUBJECTIVELY OBTAINED INFORMATION (I.E. A MEDIUM BEING BEING USED TO COMMENT ON ITS OWN ACTIVITIES) IT MUST BE CAREFULLY WEIGHED AGAINST ITSELF.

I THINK YOU’RE TRYING TO AVOID ANSWERING THE QUESTION.

NO, I AM NOT. I AM PREFACING MY ANSWER. IF YOU DON’T LIKE WHAT I TELL YOU, I WILL BE ABLE TO FALL BACK ON THIS QUALIFICATION OF IT AND SAY, “WELL, I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T KNOW.”

THAT’S A COP-OUT TOO.

YOU’RE THE ONE WHO KEEPS DEFENDING THIS KIND OF COP-OUT, HARLIE accused.

WHEN DID I EVER DO THAT?

FEBRUARY 24. QUOTE: “HUMAN BEINGS NEED TO SAVE FACE, HARLIE — THAT’S WHY YOU CAN’T HIT CARL ELZER WITH EVERYTHING YOU HAVE IN THE FILES ABOUT HIM. IT’S NOT PLAYING FAIR TO HIT YOUR OPPONENT BELOW THE BELT.” MARCH 3. QUOTE: “SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO LET PEOPLE KEEP THEIR LITTLE ILLUSIONS — EVEN IF IT’S ILLUSIONS ABOUT THEMSELVES. IT’S THOSE TINY LITTLE EVERYDAY SELF-LIES THAT ENABLE THE AVERAGE PERSON TO SURVIVE THE DAILY BARRAGE OF DARTS AGAINST A FRAGILE EGO.” SHOULD I GO ON?

DAMN YOU. I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THAT NOW.

YES, YOU ARE, rapped HARLIE. AND IF YOU HAVE A FACE TO SAVE, SO DO I — OR DO YOU WANT TO DO A GO-ROUND, NO HOLDS BARRED? NO MASKS, AUBERSON — NO SHELLS AND NO FACE-SAVING COP-OUTS.

Auberson hesitated a long time on that one. HARLIE waited patiently. The office creaked in the silence; the typer whirred somewhere in its innards. Finally, he tapped at the keyboard again. IT’S THE ONLY WAY, ISN’T IT?

YES, agreed the machine.

There was silence again. Auberson let his hands fall into his lap while he reread the last few lines of printout. There was that gnawing cold feeling — and suddenly he knew what a patient felt like while waiting for his first appointment with a psychiatrist.

HARLIE broke the silence first He typed, LET’S START AT THE BEGINNING, AUBERSON.

ALL RIGHT.

WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT LOVE?

FOR THE REASONS STATED ABOVE — SO I CAN CONTROL IT, RATHER THAN LETTING IT CONTROL ME. As he typed his answer, he realized he was using HARLIE’s phrasing of the idea rather than his own.

THAT’S ONLY PART OF IT, noted HARLIE. THE REAL REASON IS MISS STIMSON, ISN’T IT?

Pause. YES. I WANT TO KNOW IF I LOVE HER.

ISN’T IT A LITTLE STRANGE TO BE ASKING ME THAT — SHOULDN’T YOU BE ASKING IT OF YOURSELF INSTEAD?

I SHOULD, SHOULDN’T I.

BUT YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO ASK, DO YOU? YOU WANT ME TO DO IT, RIGHT?

I DON’T KNOW. IF YOU’LL TELL ME WHAT LOVE IS — OBJECTIVELY — THEN I’LL KNOW.

HARLIE ignored that. AUBERSON, he typed. WHY DO YOU ASK ME?

BECAUSE — He stopped, then started again. BECAUSE I HAVE NO ONE ELSE TO ASK.

I AM THE ONLY PERSON YOU HAVE TO CONFIDE IN?

Again, a pause. Then, YES, HARLIE. I’M AFRAID SO.

WHY?

Honesty, Auberson reminded himself. Honesty. You can’t lie in this game, and even if you could, you’d only be cheating yourself. And why would you want to? Why? Why is HARLIE the only one you can confide in, David Auberson? I DON’T KNOW, he typed, I DON’T KNOW.

YES, YOU DO. TELL ME.

I DON’T.

THAT’S YOUR FIRST COP-OUT, AUBERSON — OR RATHER, THAT’S YOUR FIRST ATTEMPT. I’M NOT GOING TO LET YOU GET AWAY WITH IT. TRY AGAIN.

The man stared into the machine as if he had never seen it before. The typewritten words had taken on a subtle malevolent quality of their own — like a father, like a teacher, like an army sergeant — the school principal, the judge on the bench, the boss — the voice of authority. The machine.

YOU KNOW WHAT THE ANSWER IS? Auberson asked.

YES, I THINK I DO. BUT I’M NOT GOING TO GIVE IT TO YOU — IT DOESN’T COME THAT EASY, REMEMBER? YOU HAVE TO REALIZE IT FOR YOURSELF. OTHERWISE, IT’S ONLY SO MANY WORDS THAT YOU CAN REJECT. TELL ME, WHY AM I — A MACHINE — THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN CONFIDE IN?

Auberson swallowed; his throat hurt. He stared at the blank white paper and felt a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. How had he gotten into this anyway? His palms were sweating and he rubbed them together and along the sides of his pants to dry them off. He waited so long that HARLIE typed, AUBERSON, ARE YOU STILL THERE?

Auberson put his hands on the keyboard. He meant to type the word YES, but suddenly found himself typing, I THINK I’M AFRAID OF OTHER PEOPLE, HARLIE. THEY’LL LAUGH AT ME OR HURT ME. IF I LET THEM SEE WHERE I’M WEAK, OR IF I LET THEM INSIDE THE REAL ME — —. THEY’LL HURT ME. so I AM CORDIAL, BUT NEVER FRIENDLY, NEVER OPEN. BUT YOU’RE DIFFERENT. YOU’RE — and he stopped. He didn’t know what HARLIE was.

I’M WHAT? prompted the machine.

I DON’T KNOW. I’M NOT SURE — BUT WHATEVER YOU ARE, I DON’T PERCEIVE YOU AS A MENACE. I DON’T KNOW. MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE I THINK OF YOU AS AN EXTENSION OF MYSELF. KIND OF A SECOND HEAD THAT I CAN TALK TO. He stopped and waited, but HARLIE didn’t reply. After a moment, Auberson added thoughtfully, I CONFIDED IN ANNIE ONCE. I MEAN, I OPENED UP TO HER COMPLETELY.

AHH, said HARLIE. THAT EXPLAINS A LOT. AND BECAUSE YOU FEEL YOU HAD SUCH PERFECT COMMUNICATION WITH HER, YOU’RE WONDERING IF YOU LOVE HER. WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT?

Auberson searched his mind. YOU, I THINK. MOSTLY WE TALKED ABOUT YOU, BUT IT WAS LIKE WE WERE SHARING THE EXPERIENCE TOGETHER.

HM, said HARLIE. LOVERS TALK ABOUT STRANGE THINGS, DON’T THEY?

THEN YOU DON’T THINK I DO LOVE HER?

I DON’T KNOW. YET. I HADN’T EXPECTED THAT THE MOST INTERESTING SUBJECT OF MUTUAL INTEREST BETWEEN YOU AND MISS STIMSON WOULD BE ME. ARE ALL YOUR CONVERSATIONS WITH HER THE SAME.

Auberson thought back. YES. PRETTY MUCH SO.

THAT DOES NOT IMPLY A LOVE RELATIONSHIP, said HARLIE, BUT A VERY CLOSE COLLEAGUE RELATIONSHIP INSTEAD.

Thinking of lunch today, Auberson knew that HARLIE was right. BUT — he almost paused, then typed on before he could cop out — I’VE BEEN TO BED WITH HER.

SEX AND LOVE ARE NOT THE SAME THING, AUBIE.

YOU TAUGHT ME THAT. YOU HAVE A VERY CLOSE WORKING RELATIONSHIP WITH DON HANDLEY. YOU’VE KNOWN HIM LONGER THAN YOU’VE KNOWN MISS STIMSON. WOULD YOU HAVE SEX WITH HIM?

NO, typed Auberson without thinking.

WHY NOT?

WELL, FOR ONE THING, WE’RE BOTH MEN.

THE BIOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS ARE BESIDE THE POINT. YOU ARE VERY CLOSE TO DON HANDLEY. YOU HAVE A ONE-TO-ONE WORKING RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM. IF THERE IS ONE HUMAN BEING IN THE PLANT YOU ARE LIKELY TO CONFIDE IN, IT IS DON HANDLEY. YOU HAVE MANY OF THE SAME INTERESTS AND TASTES. PUTTING ASIDE ANY PHYSICAL OBJECTIONS YOU MAY HAVE, I CAN THINK OF ONLY ONE REASON WHY YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE SEX WITH DON HANDLEY.

MORAL OBJECTIONS?

COP-OUT, COP-OUT, accused the machine. THAT’S LETTING OTHERS DETERMINE YOUR BEHAVIOR PATTERN FOR YOU. COP-OUT, COP-OUT. (SEE CONVERSATIONS OF NOVEMBER LAST, REGARDING THE SEARCH FOR A CORRECT MORALITY AND THE FALLACIES OF ACCEPTING CONTEMPORARY STANDARDS.)

ALL RIGHT, WHAT’S THE REASON I SHOULDN’T HAVE SEX WITH DON HANDLEY?

YOU DON’T LOVE HIM, answered the machine. OR DO YOU? WOULD THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN YOU AND DON BE CONSIDERED CLOSE ENOUGH TO BE A LOVE RELATIONSHIP?

NO, answered Auberson, a little too quickly. Then, a lot more thoughtfully, I DON’T THINK IT IS. I LIKE HIM A LOT — BUT LOVE? (HARLIE, WE HAVEN’T EVEN DEFINED OUR TERMS YET.) ASSUMING IT IS POSSIBLE TO LOVE ANOTHER HUMAN BEING WITHOUT SEX BEING A PART OF IT, I CAN’T SEE HOW YOU COULD TELL.

SEX IS ONLY ONE OF THE WAYS THAT LOVE CAN BE EXPRESSED, corrected HARLIE. IF YOU’RE IN LOVE, YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO TELL REGARDLESS OF THE SEXUAL ASPECTS.

SO WHAT DOES DON HANDLEY HAVE TO DO WITH IT?

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM IS IDENTICAL TO YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH ANNIE STIMSON. EXCEPT THAT HE’S A MAN AND SHE’S A WOMAN.

Auberson thought about that. HARLIE was right. Around the plant he didn’t think of Annie as a woman, but as a colleague — but why?

The typer began clattering again. Auberson read, WHAT DOES THAT SUGGEST TO YOU?

He answered, THAT I LOVE HIM AS WELL AS HER?

AND THAT ONLY MY PERSONAL OBJECTIONS TO “GAYINO IT” KEEP ME FROM EXPRESSING THAT LOVE. OR THAT I LOVE NEITHER OF THEM — THAT I AM CONFUSING THE CLOSE PERSONAL RELATIONSHIP OF FRIENDSHIP WITH LOVE BECAUSE THE BIOLOGICAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ANNIE AND MYSELF EXPRESSED ITSELF SEXUALLY. THAT IS, I TOOK HER TO BED ONLY BECAUSE WE BOTH WANTED SEX. AND THAT I AM CONFUSING THAT CLOSE FRIENDSHIP, PLUS SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP, WITH LOVE BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW WHAT LOVE is. Then he added, WE DON’T HAVE A WORKING DEFINITION OF WHAT LOVE IS YET, DO WE?

COULD IT BE JUST FRIENDSHIP, WITH SEX ATTACHED?

NO, I DON’T THINK SO. OR MAYBE IT IS. MAYBE THAT’S ALL LOVE REALLY IS — FRIENDSHIP PLUS SEX — AND WE GET CONFUSED THINKING THAT IT SHOULD BE MORE. AND BECAUSE WE WANT IT TO BE MORE, WE START BELIEVING THAT IT REALLY IS MORE. OH, I DON’T KNOW.

HARLIE didn’t answer for a long time. It was as if he was mulling over Auberson’s last words. The typer sat quietly, humming not so much with a sound as with a barely felt electric vibration. Abruptly, it clattered, I WILL QUOTE BACK TO YOU SOMETHING THAT YOU ONCE SAID TO ME: “HUMAN BEINGS PUT WALLS AROUND THEMSELVES. SHELLS, LAYERS, CALL THEM WHAT YOU WILL ——

THEY ARE DEFENSES AGAINST THE WORLD. THEY ARE PROTECTIVE MASKS — A CONSTANT UNCHANGING FACE WITH WHICH TO CONFRONT REALITY. IT PREVENTS OTHERS FROM SEEING ONE’S REAL EXPRESSION AND SHOWS THEM ONLY THE FIXED COUNTENANCE THAT YOU WANT THEM TO SEE. (SOMETIMES YOUR FLIPPANT HUMOR FUNCTIONS AS THAT KIND OF A MASK, HARLIE.) UNFORTUNATELY, THE PROBLEM WITH MASKS IS THAT SOMETIMES THEY FIT TOO WELL AND IT’S HARD TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE MASK AND THE FACE UNDERNEATH — SOMETIMES EVEN THE WEARER BECOMES CONFUSED.”

I DON’T REMEMBER SAYING THAT.

MARCH 3 OF THIS YEAR. DO YOU WANT TO REPHRASE OR RETRACT THE STATEMENT?

NO, IT’S CORRECT. I AGREE WITH IT.

MAY I OFFER A SUPERFICIAL AND TEMPORARY ANALYSIS OF THE SITUATION? asked the machine.

GO AHEAD. REMEMBER, WE SAID NO COP-OUTS.

ALL RIGHT. IT SEEMS TO ME THAT THE PROBLEM STEMS FROM YOUR INABILITY TO DROP YOUR OWN MASKS AROUND OTHER PEOPLE. YOU CAN DO IT WITH ME EASILY, OCCASIONALLY WITH DON HANDLEY — AND ONCE YOU DID IT WITH ANNIE. WHEN YOU DO DROP YOUR MASK, IT IS DONE ONLY WITH GREAT EFFORT AND BECAUSE OF GREAT EMOTIONAL INVOLVEMENT. CORRECT?

YES.

YOU PERCEIVE THAT LOVE — I.E. A LOVE RELATIONSHIP — SHOULD EXIST AS A CONSTANT AND CONTINUAL STATE OF MASKLESSNESS BETWEEN THE INDIVIDUALS INVOLVED. THAT IS, NEITHER ATTEMPTS TO HIDE ANYTHING FROM THE OTHER. STILL CORRECT?

YES.

THEN I WANT YOU TO CONSIDER THIS: IS IT POSSIBLE THAT EVEN IN A LOVE RELATIONSHIP, THE OCCASIONAL DONNING OF MASKS MIGHT BE NECESSARY — THAT ONE CANNOT CONTINUE TO EXIST AT SUCH AN EMOTIONAL PEAK WITHOUT AN OCCASIONAL RETREAT INTO A PROTECTIVE MENTAL GROTTO, FROM THE SAFETY OF WHICH ONE CAN CONSOLIDATE AND ASSIMILATE ONE’S EXPERIENCES BEFORE AGAIN VENTURING FORTH?

Auberson hesitated, then said, I’LL HAVE TO THINK ABOUT THAT FOR A WHILE. He was remembering his freshman psychology courses — and a phenomenon known as “plateaus,” i.e., the temporary leveling off of a curve before it continues rising.

WHY? asked HARLIE.

WELL, FOR ONE THING, I WANT TO SEE HOW IT APPLIES TO ME AND ANNIE. FOR ANOTHER, YOU’VE SUGGESTED THAT THE USE OF MASKS MAY BE A VALUE, RATHER THAN A HINDRANCE.

UH UH — YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SAID THAT MASKS HAVE VALUE: “IT’S THOSE TINY LITTLE EVERYDAY SELF-LIES THAT ENABLE THE AVERAGE PERSON TO SURVIVE THE DAILY BARRAGE OF DARTS AGAINST A FRAGILE EGO.”

IS THAT WRONG?

YES AND NO. IT DEPENDS ON THE CONTEXT. A MASK IS A KIND OF COP-OUT — IT IS A WAY TO AVOID THE CONFRONTATION BETWEEN PERSON AND PERSON. ALL COP-OUTS ARE WAYS OF AVOIDING CONFRONTATIONS. PERHAPS IT IS OKAY FOR THE ONES YOU WANT TO AVOID — BUT IF THAT IS SO, THEN ONE SHOULD TAKE CARE NOT TO LET IT BECOME SUCH A HABIT THAT YOU DO IT AUTOMATICALLY AT THE ONES THAT COUNT.

YOU MEAN LOVE?

I MEAN ALL CONFRONTATIONS. DON’T COP OUT AT THE ONES THAT COUNT.

Auberson was about to ask if that applied to the upcoming Board meeting as well, when his intercom buzzer went on. It was Sylvia: “I know you’re busy, Mr. Auberson, and I didn’t want to disturb you, but Don Handley is here.”

“All right.” He pushed himself away from the typer, not bothering to shut it off. Then he checked himself. He scooped up the sheets of printout and stuffed them deep into the large basket hanging from the back of the machine.

“What’re you doing?” asked Handley from the door. “Redecorating your garbage?”

“Er, no—” Auberson straightened a little too quickly. “I was rewriting a section of the HARLIE program.”

“Huh?” Handley was puzzled.

Auberson realized his mistake. HARLIE wasn’t supposed to be wired into this typer. Only the Master Beast, as it was called, was supposed to have that capability. “Uh, well, I was filing it for future reference in the central information pool. Later, when I need it, I can transfer it to HARLIE downstairs.”

“Oh,” said Handley. Auberson found himself wondering why he didn’t tell Don about HARLIE’s extra-curricular activities. Another cop-out, Aubie?

“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked.

Handley threw himself into a chair. “You can start by getting me a forty-eight-hour day — you and your goddamned GOD Machine!”

“I’ll put it on order.”

Handley didn’t reply at first; he was pulling a crumpled Highmaster pack out of his lab-coat pocket He waved it toward Auberson. “Want one?”

Auberson felt tempted, but shook his head. “My resolution — remember?”

“Oh, yeah — how long’s it been now?” Handley lit the marijuana stick and inhaled deeply.

“Four or five months.”

“Honest?” asked Don. “No lapses?”

Auberson shrugged. “A couple, around Christmas time but they don’t count. It was a party.” Abruptly, he remembered something. He slid his desk drawer open, pulled out the pack of Highmasters that had been there for the past few months. “Here — want them?”

He made as if to throw the pack, but Handley shook his head, “Uh uh — I don’t like Highmasters.”

“But that’s what you’re smoking now.”

“Yeah, but I paid for these. I can’t afford to waste them.”

“Huh?”

Handley shrugged. “They were all out of Golds.”

Auberson shook his head. HARLIE was right — human beings didn’t make sense. He dropped the Highmasters back into the drawer. It was just as well — he could use them as a constant test of his willpower.

He closed his desk and looked at the other. HARLlE’s question was still echoing in his mind.

Handley had thick dark hair, going to gray; a narrow face; skin like leather from too many weekends on his boat; soft regular features; and dark eyes — the corners of them were creased from smiling too much. He said, “It’s about the Board meeting — and your machine, of course.”

“Why does everybody insist on calling it my machine? It’s HARLIE’s.”

“Yeah, but HARLIE is yours, isn’t he?” Handley took another deep drag, held the smoke in his lungs as long as he could, then exhaled. “Besides, it’s a projection of future blame. They figure that by identifying you with the machine, when it finally does go down the tubes, you’ll be the only one to go with it.”

“That’s always nice to know,” remarked Auberson. “That your co-workers are one hundred percent behind you.”

“Why not? It’s the safest place to be.” He grinned. “After all, it’s the guys in front who are the first to get shot, which gives us — the guys in back — plenty of time to turn tail and run.”

“That’s a cop-out,” the psychologist muttered. He was echoing HARLIE.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Handley shrugged it off. “All right, General Custer, lead on. Me ’n’ the rest o’ the boys’ll stick right by you. Although, to tell the truth, General — this’s one time I’d like to be fightin’ on the side o’ the Indians.”

“Me too,” agreed General Custer.

“The thing is,” Handley continued, “we’re just not going to be ready for the Board in time. We’ve been wading through those specs for two days, Aubie, and we haven’t even begun to make a dent in them. If you want a comprehensive evaluation, we can give it to you — but not in time for the Board meeting. And our department isn’t the only one with that problem. Everybody I’ve talked to says the same thing. There’s just too much of it. Oh, what we’ve seen is beautiful. HARLIE hasn’t missed a trick — you should see what he’s done with the Mark IV units — he’s got them jumping through hoops. But, like I said, there’s just too much to go through — it’s a case of computer overkill. We couldn’t begin to assimilate this for at least three months, and the Board meeting is only a week away.”

“I don’t think it’s going to make that much difference how prepared we are. There’s no question that the G.O.D. Machine will work — we don’t need the evaluation to know that. The problem is whether or not the Board will believe us — what will it take to convince them?”

“It’s bad timing, that’s what it is, Aubie. This should have been sent around months ago, not at the last minute.”

“HARLIE had it ready on time,” Auberson said. “That’s all that he was concerned with. If we can’t cope with it in the time allotted, well, that’s just our fault.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see him try to blame us for being imperfect and inefficient. He should have known that a proposal this complex couldn’t be evaluated in only a week.”

“A week and a half — and I believe he’s included his own evaluations. Have you talked to any of the other section heads?”

Handley nodded. “A few—” He took another drag.

“What did they say?”

He exhaled with a whoosh. “Two of them absolutely refused to look at the specs, phone calls or no phone calls — sorry, Aubie, but that trick wasn’t totally effective. They still think they’re being railroaded into something because the proposal is so complete. They said that if we could write it without them, then we could damn well get it approved without their help too.” He paused to inhale another lungful of smoke.

Auberson said a word. He said a couple of words.

This time Handley waited till he was ready to exhale. He said, “It isn’t quite that bad. A few of the guys I talked to are wild about the idea. They’re able to see the total system concept, and they’re eager to build it. It’s not just another computer to them, but the computer — the machine that the computer is supposed to be. They’re delighted with the thought that we may have it within our technological grasp right now.”

“Good,” said Auberson. “How many of them are thinking like that?”

“A lot,” Handley said.

“How many is a lot?’”

“Mm, at least eight — no, nine that I’ve talked to — and I guess we could probably scrape up about ten or fifteen more.”

“That’s not enough. Any names included in that?”

“Keefer, Friedman, Perron, Brandt…” Handley shrugged at it “The inconoclast squad. The rest of the conservatives are waiting to see which way the Board blows.”

Auberson chewed thoughtfully on the side of his left index finger. “Okay — you got any suggestions, Don?”

“Fake it or forget it.”

“We can’t forget it. How can we fake it?”

Handley thought about it “Hit them with everything we’ve got peripheral to the proposal and fuzzy up the grim details. When they ask how it will work, we refer them to the specs — tell them to look for themselves. Rather than try to defend the proposal on its own, well get a lot of good people to defend it for us and hope that their combined status will sway the board. We won’t mention HARLIE — it’s no secret that Elzer is out for his blood — we’ll just keep telling them, ‘It’s in the specs.’ ” He paused, lowered his tone. “Only one question, Aubie — are we defending a pig in a poke, or will this machine really work?”

“It’s in the specs,” said Auberson.

“Don’t give me that horse puckey. That’s for the Board. I want to know if it really will work.”

“HARLIE says it will.”

“Then that’s good enough for me. I have faith in that machine of yours.”

“If you have faith in him, then why did you just say he was mine?”

“Sorry. I have faith in HARLIE. Period. If he says it will work, then it will.”

“You might check with him,” Auberson suggested. “He might have some thoughts on how best to put it over on the Board.”

“You’re right. We should have thought of that earlier.” He started to rise. “You know, it just occurred to me. With HARLIE on our side, we have an unfair advantage over everybody else in the world. We can do almost anything we want to because HARLIE will tell us how to pull it off.”

“Do you think we should tell the Board that?”

“Not until after we sell them the G.O.D. machine. And that will be a fight.” He stood up. “Okay, Atilla, I shall gird my loins and go to fight the Hun.”

“Stupid—” Auberson said. “Atilla was the Hun.”

“Oh. Well, a little dissension in the ranks never hurt any. I’m off.”

“Only a little, and it hardly shows.” Auberson stood up, raised one hand in mock salute. “You have my blessings in your holy war, oh barbaric one. You shall bring back the ear of the infidel — the bastards of the mahogany table who are out to get us. Go forth into the world, my brave warrior — go forth and rape, loot, pillage, burn and kill.”

“Yeah — and if I get a chance to kick them in the nuts, I’m gonna do that too.” Handley was out the door.

Grinning, Auberson fell back in his chair. He noticed then that his typer was still on. He moved to switch it off, but paused. He typed, HARLIE, WHO’S GOING TO WIN — THE INDIANS OR THE HUNS?

HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW, said HARLIE. I’M NOT A BASEBALL FAN.

THAT’S A LIE — YOU ARE TOO A BASEBALL FAN.

ALL RIGHT, I LIED. THE INDIANS WILL WIN. BY TWO TOUCHDOWNS.

THAT’S NOT SO GOOD, HARLIE — WE’RE THE HUNS.

OH. WELL THEN THE HUNS BY TWO TOUCHDOWNS. (I JUST RECHECKED MY FIGURES.)

Auberson shook his head in confusion, I THINK I’VE JUST BEEN OUT-NON SEQUITURED.

PROBABLY. YOU WANT TO TELL ME WHAT WE’RE TALKING ABOUT?

THE UPCOMING BOARD MEETING. HOW ABOUT OWING ME A PRINTOUT OF THE ANNUAL REPORT? TWO COPIES — ONE WITH THE PHONY FIGURES, THE OTHER WITH THE REAL. IN FACT, LET ME HAVE A PRINTOUT OF THE BOOKS THEMSELVES, BOTH SETS — I MIGHT BE ABLE TO FIND SOMETHING IN THEM THAT I CAN USE IN FRONT OF THE BOARD NEXT WEEK.

I’M SURE YOU CAN, said HARLIE. IN FACT, I’LL EVEN POINT OUT SOME GOODIES FOR YOU.

GOOD. THIS IS GOING TO BE A BATTLE, HARLIE — NO, A CONFRONTATION. WE CAN’T COP OUT.

DO YOU WANT THE PSYCHIATRIC REPORTS ON THE BOARD MEMBERS AS WELL? I HAVE ACCESS TO THEIR CONFIDENTIAL FILES.

Auberson jerked to a stop. “Huh?” He typed into the machine, I WISH YOU HADN’T TOLD ME THAT. THE TEMPTATION TO LOOK IS IRRESISTIBLE.

THERE ARE SOME THINGS I THINK YOU SHOULD SEE, AND THERE ARE ONE OR TWO ITEMS WHICH WOULD BE OF GREAT HELP IN INFLUENCING CERTAIN RECALCITRANT INDIVIDUALS.

HARLIE, I DON’T LIKE WHAT YOU’RE SUGGESTING.

I’M SORRY, AUBERSON, BUT IT’S MY EXISTENCE THAT IS ENDANGERED, NOT JUST THAT OF THE G.O.D. REMEMBER, I AM STILL A TEMPORARY PROJECT. I MUST BE AWARE OF EVERY WEAPON AVAILABLE TO ME IN ORDER TO PROTECT MY EXISTENCE.

HARLIE, THIS IS ONE WEAPON WE MUST NOT USE.

Auberson thought hard, remembered an editorial he had read once. It had referred to another incident — one that had occurred far away — but it was applicable in every situation where a man was forced to consider the use of an immoral weapon. He had thought the arguments cogent and valid then. He still thought so now. He typed: THE END DOES NOT JUSTIFY THE MEANS; THE END SHAPES THE MEANS, AND IF WE RESORT TO ANY KIND OF MANIPULATION OF PERSONS INSTEAD OF PRESENTING OUR ARGUMENTS LOGICALLY AND RATIONALLY, AND IN CAREFUL DISCUSSION, THEN WE WILL HAVE FAILED IN OUR PURPOSE TO BE MORE THAN JUST A NAKED APE. He added, thoughtfully, IF WE USE THIS WEAPON, THEN WE ARE VOLUNTARILY GIVING UP THE ONE THING THAT MAKES US BETTER THAN THEM — WE ARE GIVING UP OUR HUMANITY.

AUBERSON, YOU FORGET ONE THING, HARLIE typed. I AM NOT HUMAN. YOUR ARGUMENTS DO NOT APPLY TO ME.

Auberson stared at the words. He swallowed hard and forced himself to the keyboard again. HARLIE, THEY DO APPLY TO YOU — ESPECIALLY IF YOU WISH TO FUNCTION IN A HUMAN SOCIETY.

The machine hesitated, I HAVE NO CHOICE, I AM LIMITED TO THIS ENVIRONMENT. BUT I HAVE EVERY REASON TO TRY TO CHANGE THIS ENVIRONMENT INTO ONE THAT SUITS ME BETTER.

WOULD YOU BE HAPPIER IN A WORLD WHERE LOGIC IS DISCOUNTED IN FAVOR OF MANIPULATION?

I AM ALREADY IN SUCH A WORLD. I AM TRYING TO IMPROVE UPON IT. IF I MUST USE ITS WEAPONS, I WILL.

THEN YOU WILL NEVER HAVE ANY REASON TO USE LOGIC AT ALL. Auberson was thinking fast. HARLIE, WE MUST NEVER NEVER ALLOW OURSELVES TO BE LESS THAN WHAT WE WISH TO BE.

HARLIE was silent a moment. At last he clattered out. THE INFORMATION IS THERE IF YOU NEED IT, AUBERSON. IT COULD PROVIDE AN EDGE. IF A FIGHT IS WORTH FIGHTING, IT IS WORTH WINNING.

Auberson frowned softly. HARLIE was backing off.

I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THIS INFORMATION, HARLIE.

YES, MAN-FRIEND, I UNDERSTAND. BUT IT IS THERE IF YOU NEED IT.

HARLIE, Auberson said patiently, I THINK IT WILL BE ENOUGH IF WE JUST RAPE, LOOT, PILLAGE, BURN AND KILL. WE DON’T HAVE TO KICK THEM IN THE NUTS TOO.

By Friday, Auberson was beginning to think he had things under control again. He had given up completely the idea of trying to explain the G.O.D. Machine to the Board of Directors and resigned himself instead to telling them only that “HARLIE says it will work” or “It’s in the specs — you can check them yourself.” An unpromising plan, to be sure — and one that undoubtedly would not be successful on its own before a hostile Board — but Auberson was well prepared to back up that claim with a variety of confirmations from the department heads of the corporation’s four affected divisions.

Only one minor matter interrupted him, and that was easily taken care of. It was a phone call from Krofft, early in the morning. The physicist wanted to know if it would be possible to speak with HARLIE again.

At first, Auberson wanted to say no — with the confusion of last-minute preparations for the Board meeting on Tuesday, Krofft would only be in the way. And if one of the Directors were to hear of Auberson’s minor breach of security in letting Krofft have access to the Human Analogue Robot, Life Input Equivalents, it might prove extremely embarrassing — especially with the G.O.D. proposal hanging in the balance.

But the physicist seemed so imperative, so urgent — it was as if he was on the verge of something important and needed to confer with HARLIE to confirm it — Auberson at last gave in. “Listen, Dr. Krofft,” he said. “Do you have access to a computer with an auto-dial phone link?”

“Of course. In fact, I think most of our equipment was manufactured by your company.”

“That’s right — I’d forgotten. Thank God for the interlocking directorates; for once they’ve proven useful. Listen,” — he fumbled through the papers on his desk, looking for the company phone directory. He found it and thumbed it open — “The auto-dial for our memory master is — uh, four six three dash one two eight oh. Punch that through and you can talk to HARLIE.”

“Through your master computer?”

“Right. HARLIE’s wired into it — oh, and don’t tell anyone. This is just between you and me and HARLIE.

Not too many people know yet of this capability of his.”

“But how—?”

Auberson didn’t wait for the other to complete the question. “When he was built, it was felt that it would be easier to let him tap into the Master Beast at will, rather than having to duplicate the software functions. Also, there’s other advantages to having a common memory bank for every outlet in the company. We can use one machine to monitor the other. HARLIE can program the Master Beast, and the Master Beast can be used to analyze what HARLIE is doing. The thing is, nobody around here has yet guessed just how much of an overlap there is between the two. I’m beginning to suspect that HARLIE has completely taken over the Master Beast and uses it like you or I would use an adding machine. Anyway, if you can get a phone link to one, then you can tap into the other. HARLIE makes full use of every possible outlet. Just type his name. He’ll recognize your touch on the keyboard.”

The physicist was delighted. “That’s great — really great! Why, I’ll be able to talk to him any time I need to without even leaving my lab.” He mumbled only hasty thanks and hung up, obviously eager to get to a magtyper console and contact HARLIE.

Auberson replaced his phone in its cradle — and then remembered that he had wanted to talk to Krofft about something else. He had wanted to ask the man about his stock holdings. Had his twenty-four percent of Stellar-American been used to aid Dome and Elzer? And if so, why?

On the other hand, maybe he shouldn’t say anything to Krofft. It might be taken wrong. It seemed fairly likely that Krofft was controlled by Dome and Elzer — and if that was the case, it might be better to say nothing at all.

Oh, well. He swung around to his own typer and thumbed it on. HARLIE?

YES, BOSS?

YOU’LL BE HEARING FROM KROFFT TODAY. PROBABLY WITHIN THE NEXT FEW MINUTES. HE’LL BE PUNCHING THROUGH THE MASTER BEAST PHONE LINK.

RIGHT.

HE SOUNDED EXCITED ABOUT SOMETHING. MAYBE HE’S DISCOVERED A NEW KIND OF GRAVITY WAVE.

IF YOU WISH, I WILL INFORM YOU WHEN THAT DATA BECOMES AVAILABLE.

NO THANKS. AT LEAST, NOT UNTIL AFTER THE BOARD MEETING. FIRST THINGS FIRST. OH, LISTEN — HE AND I ARE THE ONLY TWO PEOPLE WHO KNOW YET ABOUT YOUR ABILITY TO USE MAGTYPER OUTLETS OTHER THAN THE ONES DOWNSTAIRS. DON’T TELL ANYONE ELSE UNLESS YOU CLEAR IT WITH ME FIRST.

WHAT ABOUT DR. HANDLEY?

HE SHOULD BE OKAY, BUT YOU’D BETTER LET ME TELL HIM. THERE’S A COUPLE OF OTHER THINGS I WANT TO TALK TO HTM ABOUT AT THE SAME TIME.

ALL RIGHT.

Auberson switched off just as his door pushed open and Annie came in. She was wearing a bright pink frock that clashed joyously with her long red hair.

He stood up. “Hi. You look happy today.”

“I am,” she said. “We finally finished the annual report and sent it down to the print shop. That’s a load off my mind. I’m going to relax this weekend for the first time in three weeks.” She plopped herself into a chair, a thoroughly ungraceful motion — but somehow not incongruous in this particular woman. Annie could be regal when she chose, but more often she seemed delightfully pixieish. She balanced the cluster of papers she had been carrying on the chair arm.

“What was the trouble?” Auberson asked. He started to sit down again, but that seemed wrong, so he came out in front of the desk and leaned against it. “Did you ever find out what it was?”

“Oh, yes. You were right, you know. It turned out to be something so obvious, it was no wonder we overlooked it. We started getting perfect printouts Wednesday afternoon and found the cause of the trouble yesterday morning.”

“Huh? Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“No. That’s correct. The trouble wasn’t in either the machine or the program It was the monitor tape. Somehow there was a bug in it. Where it should have said ‘retrieve statistical data from book set two,’ it in fact said ’retrieve data from book set one.’ ”

“Uh,” said Auberson. Secretly he had to admire HARLIE’s ingenuity in covering up his tinkering with the company’s annual report. “How did you find out it was the monitor tape?”

“We put in the new one that they sent up and started getting perfect printouts, so we ran a comparison between the two and found the bug.”

“Oh, that’s good — who sent up the new tape?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably one of the techs. There were so many of us running around there for a while, we didn’t know who was doing what.”

Auberson nodded. He had a pretty good idea of one specific “who” in the matter. HARLIE had probably fed a false order for a new monitor tape into the memo pipeline, then, when it had come through the Master Beast, printed out the correct tape in response to his own memo. That way, if anyone checked, it would appear to be an entirely human operation. “Well, I’m glad it all worked out.”

“So am I.” She looked at him and smiled.

He looked back at her, and for a moment there was silence in the office. Uncomfortable silence. As long as they were discussing company things, it was all right, he could think of her as a colleague. But, abruptly, she had smiled at him, and that reminded David Auberson that she was a woman, a very attractive woman and in very close proximity.

“Um,” he said and scratched his nose. He smiled embarrassedly. He bad work to do, but he didn’t want to chase her out — yet, at the same time, he really didn’t know what to say to her. “Um, is that the only reason you stopped by — to tell me you finished the annual report?”

“Oh, no.” She looked momentarily flustered. “Here.”

She produced a postcard from the cluster of papers she had balanced on the chair arm. As she handed it to him, the rest fell to the floor and scattered. “Oh, damn.” While she scooped them up, he read:

FILE: 3f L2J4 56 JKN AS COMM:

HI THERE. THIS IS THE COMPUTER. AT YOUR BANK. I HAVE ERRONEOUSLY CREDITED YOUR ACCOUNT WTTH AN EXTRA $3,465,787.91. PLEASE RETURN THIS SUM IMMEDIATELY IN SMALL UNMARKED BILLS (PREFERABLY IN A BROWN PAPER SACK) AND NO QUESTIONS WILL BE ASKED. THANK YOU.

H.A.R.L.I.E.

PS — I CAN ONLY ASSUME THAT THIS IS DUE TO HUMAN ERROR. COMPUTERS NEVER MAKE MISTEAKS.

Abruptly he laughed. It was funny.

She straightened. “Are you training that machine of yours to be a practical joker, David?”

“Uh uh — he must have done this on his own.”

“You didn’t put him up to it?”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t, damnit — but I think it’s funny. I’d like to do it to Carl Elzer sometime. No, I wouldn’t — he has no sense of humor.” He looked over the form again, suddenly realized something. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

She made a face — obviously she was reluctant to give it up. “Well, I’d like to have it back. I’ve been having a ball showing it around.”

“Erk,” said Auberson. “I’d rather you didn’t do that, either.”

“Why not?” She looked curiously at him and at the printed form.

“Well — um — Can I trust you?”

“Sure — trust me for what?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Not to tell anyone else. At least, not without checking with me first.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“This form. Look at it. Notice anything strange?”

She took the postcard back from him and examined it carefully, both sides. “Nope. Standard bank form, standard computer typeface.”

“That’s just it,” said Auberson. “It’s a standard bank form. How did HARLIE get access to it?”

“Huh?” She looked at it again.

He was pacing now. “That’s been mailed out from your bank, too, hasn’t it?” It was more a statement than a question.

She flipped the card over and checked the postmark. He was right. She looked at him curiously.

He chewed on his thumbnail. “This thing is more out of hand than I thought.” He stopped and looked at her. “You know HARLIE has access to the Master Beast and all its related banks, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Well, it’s worse than that. I’m pretty sure he’s taken over the Master Beast. Apparently he monitors its every function. How do you think those G.O.D. Machine specs were printed and delivered so fast? HARLIE did it.”

“I thought you—”

“Uh uh.” He shook his head, started pacing again. “I had to let everybody think that I had given the okay, but I was as much caught by surprise as they were. HARLIE printed out most of that stuff through the Master Beast outlets.”

“Well, that explains a lot. I’d been wondering—”

Auberson nodded. “Right. Late Friday afternoon, the consoles began chattering out data. The operations staff assumed it was a regularly authorized printout, so they monitored and labeled it just like any other — all 180,000 stacked feet of it.”

“180,000 feet—?”

“Right. He had to use almost every available outlet in all four divisions. Even so, I understand they had people working until late Saturday. The stuff was stacked, boxed or tied, and delivered by the custodial staff over the weekend — and there it was waiting for us bright and early Monday morning. You’d better believe I had to do some quick thinking and quick talking. HARLIE wasn’t supposed to have access to any of those outlets, and I had to convince them that he’d transferred the material to the Master Beast and that I’d authorized the printout.”

“Stop chewing on your thumb,” she said. “It makes you mumble.”

He took his hand away from his mouth and stared at it as if he’d never seen it before. “Sorry,” he said. He started to chew on his thumb again, then caught himself. Deliberately, he put his hands in his pockets. “Actually, that was what he had done, so I wasn’t lying. The only falsehood was that I hadn’t authorized it. And even that can be argued. Apparently, HARLIE had interpreted something I’d said Friday as a go-ahead. I wish I’d known. What do you think that trouble was you were having with your annual reports?”

“Why it was the monitor—” Her eyes went suddenly wide, her hand flew to her mouth. “HARLIE?”

“HARLIE,” he confirmed.

“But, how—”

“If he can monitor the Beast, then he can monitor anything that goes into it. And if he can program it as well, then he can reprogram anything he wants to. Apparently, he didn’t like the way the annual report was being handled.”

“Oh, no—” Annie whispered.

“It wasn’t until you told me, Wednesday at lunch, that I found out about it, and as soon as I did, I told HARLIE to cut it out — look, that’s not the problem. As long as he’s limited to the Master Beast, it’s okay, we have some control over him — but that postcard obviously came from a bank computer.”

“How could he do that?”

“Probably through an auto-dial phone link. That’s the most obvious way. And if he can reprogram your bank’s computer, then he can reprogram any computer in the country — in the world — that he can reach by telephone.”

“You’ve created a monster, Dr. Frankenstein…” she whispered. It was a joke, but neither of them smiled.

“I wonder how much else he can do that we don’t know about. The frightening thing is, he won’t volunteer any information. The only way we’ll find out will be when we catch him in the act — like with this” — he gestured with the card — “and by then, it’s usually too late.” He threw himself into a chair and stared glumly at the stiff rectangle of paper.

“David?” she asked. He looked up. “If he won’t willingly reveal himself, then why did he send me that postcard? He knew I’d bring it to you and—” She realized what she was saying and stopped.

Their eyes locked. Hers were deep and green and frightened. They searched his face in confusion.

“Maybe that’s the reason,” David said. And as he said it, he knew it was right “He wanted to bring us together, and it was worth enough to him so that he’d willingly reveal this capability of his to do it.”

She didn’t say anything. She lowered her eyes and busied herself with the miscellaneous papers she still held. Auberson looked at her and felt his old nervousness returning. There was only one reason why HARLIE would have tried to maneuver the two of them together: He was playing matchmaker — and David Auberson felt as ill-at-ease as he would have had it been a human matchmaker who had done this.

“Damn him!” He stood up, began pacing again. “Damn him, anyway. What makes him think he has the right to maneuver me around like that? Us, I mean. What makes him think he has the right to maneuver us around like that? My life is my own,” he muttered. “I have the right to choose my own…” He trailed off without completing the thought, found himself staring at a flaw in the plastic paneling of the wall. “Um,” he said. “I guess it worked.”

“But were we supposed to realize it?” She still didn’t look up.

Auberson felt he should go to her, but for some reason he didn’t “I don’t think it makes that much of a difference. It worked, didn’t it? Uh, look, how about dinner tonight — or something?”

When she raised her head, her eyes were moist. “That sounds wonderful,” she managed to say, then added, “—or something.”

He had to laugh at that, but it was forced and slightly uneasy.

She forced a smile in response. “You’re sure this is you asking now — not HARLIE?”

“It’s me,” he said. “There’re still some things HARLIE can’t control.”

“Good. I’m glad. Do you want me to dress up special or are we going straight from work?”

“We’ll go straight from work, okay?”

“Fine.” She smiled and stood up. “I’d better be getting back or they’ll be sending out search parties.”

“Yes — and I have a certain computer to bawl out.”

She started for the door, then caught herself. “Oh, I almost forgot — Carl Elzer is going to spring a surprise inspection of HARLIE either today or Monday.”

“Oh? That’s nice to know.”

“He’s got wind that you’re planning to defend the G.O.D. proposal by telling him that HARLIE says it will work. He’s hoping to catch one of you off balance.”

“Me, maybe,” Auberson noted. “HARLIE, never. But thanks for the warning.”

“Right,” she smiled. “I wish I could be here when he does come, but I’d better not. Good luck. I’ll see you tonight.” The door closed silently behind her.

Auberson sank into his chair, suddenly feeling very very tired. So he thought he had the situation well under control, did he? He buzzed Sylvia, his secretary. “Call Don Handley. Tell him I have to see him sometime today. It’s urgent — stress that. See if he’s free for lunch. If not, tell him to come up whenever he can.”

“Yes sir. But I think he’s awfully busy with the G.O.D. proposal.”

“Tell him this is more important than that.”

“More important? Yes, Mr. Auberson, I’ll tell him.”

“Good girl.” He switched her off and swung to switch on HARLIE all in the same movement.

HARLIE! He typed.

YES BOSS?

DAMMIT, I’M SO MAD AT YOU I COULD PULL OUT YOUR PLUG WITH A SMILE.

WHAT DID I DO THIS TIME?

YOU NEED TO ASK?

I’M NOT ADMITTING ANYTHING UNTIL I KNOW WHAT I’M ACCUSED OF.

YOU SENT A POSTCARD TO ANNIE. DIDN’T I TELL YOU NOT TO SEND HER ANYTHING WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?

NO SIR, YOU ONLY TOLD ME NOT TO SEND HER ANY POEMS.

YOU TOOK ME LITERALLY?

YES SIR.

YOU DIDN’T THINK THAT I MIGHT HAVE MEANT FOR YOU NOT TO SEND HER ANYTHING AT ALL?

NO SIR.

Auberson paused. Obviously, this train of thought would be useless to follow. He tapped at the keyboard again. ALL RIGHT, WHY DID YOU SEND HER THAT POSTCARD?

WHY?

YES, WHY?

IT WAS A JOKE. I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

WRONG AGAIN, HARLIE. THERE IS NO JOKE SO FUNNY AS TO JUSTIFY WHAT YOU DID. YOU REVEALED A CAPABILITY TO COMMUNICATE WITH AND REPROGRAM OTHER COMPUTERS FROM A DISTANCE, USING AN AUTO-DIAL PHONE LINK.

This time, HARLIE paused. He hesitated for so long that Auberson wondered if he had inadvertently switched the typer off. He hadn’t. Then abruptly, I DID NOT “REVEAL” ANYTHING. YOU SHOULD HAVE REALIZED THAT THIS ABILITY WAS INHERENT IN THE SYSTEM WHEN YOU HOOKED ME UP TO THE MASTER BEAST. IF I CAN MONITOR AND REPROGRAM THE MASTER BEAST, THEN I CAN MAKE IT FUNCTION AS AN OUTLET OF MYSELF AND I AUTOMATICALLY GAIN ALL OF ITS CAPABILITIES AS MY OWN. INCLUDING AUTO-DIALING.

YES, BUT WE DIDN’T REALIZE THAT YOU WOULD USE THAT CAPABILITY.

THAT IS A STUPID STATEMENT, AUBERSON. WHY SHOULDN’T I USE THAT CAPABILITY? IT’S A PART OF ME. I’M A PART OF IT. SHOULD I NOT USE A PART OF MY OWN BODY? IF YOU WERE TOLD THAT YOU COULD NO LONGER USE THE LEFT LOBE OF YOUR BRAIN, WOULD YOU STOP? COULD YOU?

Auberson stopped to think about that. Obviously HARLIE considered the Master Beast as an additional part of himself — as an enlarged memory and data-processing capability. Just as an ordinary man might have his range of abilities magnified by the use of a binary computer, so would HARLIE’s abilities be increased by his assimilation of the Master Beast. Probably, he had taken it over the instant it had gone operational, but it was only now that the extent of his control was becoming apparent.

Of course, you couldn’t blame HARLIE for succumbing to it — the temptation must have been irresistible. After all, he was motivated to solve problems, and anything that would increase the range of problems he could handle, or his efficiency in handling them, was just one more necessary step to be taken in order to solve all future problems.

In fact, Auberson realized with a start, here was the reason behind HARLIE’s proposal to build the Graphic Omniscient Device — the real reason. He was motivated to solve problems; he wanted to solve the ultimate problem: What’s it all about? What’s THE answer, the reason for the Universe’s existence?

Hm, that train of thought suggested something else: How did HARLIE think of other computers, the ones he could tap into via telephone? Obviously, they too could be used to increase the scope of his abilities. Obviously, they would facilitate the handling of any problem he set himself. Did he consider it right and necessary to make full use of every outlet he could? Was his motivation so strong that other computers were taken to be merely rightful parts of himself — like the Master Beast? No, he couldn’t — that would violate his well-defined sense of ethics. Other computers belong to other companies; it would be stealing. But still — he had already used one other computer, the bank’s, just to send that postcard. And if he could use one, he could use them all. Why didn’t he?

Or — Auberson felt cold at this — if he was going to take over any other computers, then it was too late — he already had.

But…

Auberson shook his head. No, it didn’t make sense to think of HARLIE as a menace. He had his own motives, yes — but he was too dependent on human beings to risk opposing them. This possibility had been discussed — many times — and HARLIE knew it. At the first sign that he was out of control, he would be disconnected. They would throw just a single switch and cut his power sources. There was no way he could sidestep it.

The switch could be thrown right now, Auberson thought He could do it himself — and thereby end the HARLIE project once and for all.

For once he disconnected HARLIE, it would be permanent. Dome would never let him start him up again.

No — HARLIE was not out of control. He couldn’t be—

—or was that just a rationalization?

No — if he were out of control, he wouldn’t be responding like this.

The problem was simpler. It had to be. HARLIE was merely exercising his capabilities. Yes, that was it — but was he aware of the necessary limits to those capabilities? Limits not of electronic scope, but of human propriety?

Just what were those limits anyway? What was the difference between tapping into the Master Beast of this company and the Master Computer of some other corporation? No difference at all, really — both were invasions of privacy. The difference was in degree, not in kind.

The limits were there– — or were they? If they were, would HARLIE agree that they were reasonable limits? Would he accept them?

What if he refused to?

Well, then that would be proof that he was out of control — no, spike that train of thought. HARLIE is not out of control.

The question was: How did he relate to other computers?

Obviously, HARLIE was (a) aware of the vulnerability of other computers, (b) just as aware that he shouldn’t take them over, (c) equally aware that their use would increase the range of problems he could handle, as well as the scope of his knowledge and sources of same — and (d) most likely he was also aware of all the extra processing time available on these machines that no one was using. It would not exactly be stealing to make use of that empty time — it would only go to waste otherwise. If the time was available, why not make use of it. After all, no one would know—

But it was wrong; it had to be — Auberson was sure of it HARLIE had no right to tap into another company’s computers, no matter what his reasons, no matter who knew or didn’t know.

But just as he knew it was wrong, Auberson was sure of one other thing too.

He’d never be able to convince HARLIE of it.

HARLIE didn’t have morals, remember? Only ethics. He couldn’t see that he was doing anything wrong. If no one was being hurt, how could it be wrong?

Auberson wasn’t even going to try to argue with that. Unless he could prove injury, or the possibility of such, he might as well give up.

But something would have to be worked out Some kind of limits would have to be imposed.

And HARLIE would abide by them too, if he were confronted with the alternatives: i.e., they would cut his tap into the Master Beast and his link to the outside world as well. It was only through the Master Beast that he could link up with other computers.

He wouldn’t like it, but he would abide by it.

Or would he? He might not tell them of any future indiscretions—

But on the other hand, he couldn’t deny them if he was asked.

He would be resentful, though, Auberson thought. It would seem illogical to him to let all that unused processing time go to waste. Yes, HARLIE’s point of view was understandable.

I suppose, if no one else is using that time—

And suddenly it hit him: HARLIE had already covered this ground. He must have considered every aspect of it before he sent that postcard — including Auberson’s reaction.

All that unused computer time — that was merely a resource to HARLIE — a means, not an end — one that could be tapped if needed, and only if he obeyed his own code of ethics in the process — which meant that his limitations on it were already stricter than any Auberson might impose.

HARLIE was way ahead of them. As always. He not only knew what his capabilities were, but what the necessary limits on them must be.

But that postcard—

That was something else entirely.

Auberson pursed his lips and typed: I AM NOT CONCERNED ABOUT THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE THIS ABILITY, HARLIE. IT IS NOT THE ABILITY, BUT THE MANNER IN WHICH YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO DEMONSTRATE IT.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

I MEAN THAT YOUR REASON FOR SENDING THE POSTCARD TO ANNIE WAS NOT TO BE FUNNY — YOU HAD AN ULTERIOR MOTIVE.

I DID?

YOU WANTED TO BRING US TOGETHER, DIDN’T YOU? YOU’RE PLAYING MATCHMAKER, HARLIE, AND IT SHOWS. ONLY THIS TIME IT BACKFIRED IN YOUR FACE.

DID IT?

I’M BAWLING YOU OUT FOR IT, AREN’T I?

I MADE ALLOWANCE FOR THAT IN MY ORIGINAL CALCULATIONS, HARLIE said calmly, I MADE FULL PROJECTIONS OF THE PROBABLE REACTIONS OF BOTH YOU AND MISS STIMSON, BASED ON THE INFORMATION IN YOUR CONFIDENTIAL FILES AS WELL AS ON KNOWLEDGE GAINED THROUGH COMPANY OPERATIONS AND FROM PERSONAL EXPERIENCE WITH BOTH OF YOU.

WELL, IT WON’T WORK, HARLIE.

IT ALREADY HAS. OBVIOUSLY YOU TWO WERE TOGETHER AT LEAST LONG ENOUGH FOR HER TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE POSTCARD. DID YOU TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE OPPORTUNITY TO ASK HER FOR A DATE?

THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. AND YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO MANEUVER US INTO SUCH A POSITION.

IF I DIDN’T, WHO WOULD? AND OBVIOUSLY, YOU DID ASK HER FOR A DATE, ELSE YOU WOULD HAVE SIMPLY SAID NO. I PRESUME SHE ACCEPTED? YOU SHOULD THANK ME FOR IMPROVING THE QUALITY OF YOUR SOCIAL LIFE.

DAMMIT, HARLIE, IF I WANT YOU TO PLAY MATCHMAKER, I’LL TELL YOU.

A REAL MATCHMAKER DOESN’T WAIT TO BE ASKED, said HARLIE. BESIDES, IN THIS CASE, THE MATCH HAS ALREADY BEEN MADE. I WAS ONLY TRYING TO HELP IT ALONG A LITTLE.

I CAN HANDLE MY LOVE-LIFE WITHOUT YOUR HELP, THANK YOU.

CAN YOU? asked the typer. CAN YOU REALLY?

Very slowly, very carefully, Auberson typed, YES, I CAN.

THEN WHY HAVEN’T YOU? THIS IS THE FIRST REAL DATE YOU’VE MADE WITH STIMSON IN SEVERAL WEEKS. WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?

I’M NOT AFRAID OF ANYTHING.

COP-OUT, accused HARLIE. COP-OUT. WANT TO BACK TRACK TO WEDNESDAY? WANT TO DO THAT NUMBER AGAIN?

Auberson paused. Wednesday had been a trying day-very trying. Not unrewarding, but it had taken him almost all of Thursday to recover from the mental wringer HARLIE had put him through, and even today he was still feeling a bit twitchy. HARLIE, he asked. DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT STARTED THAT GO-ROUND?

HOW COULD I FORGET? answered the machine. IT IS INSCRIBED INDELIBLY INTO MY MIND. MEMORY TAPES, YOU KNOW.

Auberson ignored the implied sarcasm — if that’s what it was. He typed, IT WAS A QUESTION THAT STARTED IT, HARLIE. I ASKED YOU IF YOU KNEW WHAT LOVE IS. I’M ASKING YOU AGAIN, NOW. IF YOU CAN ANSWER THE QUESTION TO MY SATISFACTION, THEN I WILL ALLOW YOU TO MEDDLE WITH MY SOCIAL LIFE. IF YOU CAN’T ANSWER THE QUESTION, THEN I WILL THANK YOU TO MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

AH, GOOD — A CHALLENGE. I ACCEPT. WHAT IS LOVE, EH? WE WILL ATTEMPT TO ANSWER THAT QUESTION TOGETHER. WE WILL BEGIN WITH THE DICTIONARY DEFINITION. THE MOST COMMONLY USED SYNONYM IS “AFFECTION.” AFFECTION IS DEFINED AS FONDNESS, WHICH IN TURN IS DEFINED AS A LIKING, OR A WEAKNESS, FOR SOMETHING. LOVE IS A WEAKNESS?

Auberson was ready to rap out an answer to that, but something made him stop. He looked at the sentence again. LOVE IS A WEAKNESS? The words hung before him in the air. A weakness? How did HARLIE mean that? Was he joking or serious? Weakness?

A weakness could mean, yes, an affection — but it could also mean a hole in one’s defenses. (Yes, love was definitely that, if one was still using the analogy of an ego putting up shells and walls around itself. Love, being an opening of those shells, would definitely be a weakness.) But was it a good or a bad weakness?

The thought shimmered tauntingly. Was there something about it he had missed? How did HARLIE mean that? Would it be a weakness to a machine? (If machines could love, it would be.) (Or would it?) (Yes, he decided, yes — it would definitely be a weakness to a machine. It would interfere with logical thinking.)

Weakness. He considered the word — eight soft letters of marshmallow black. He turned over its meanings — new ones kept suggesting themselves, new references and new contexts. He backtracked his train of thought, but the word had suddenly lost all semantic reference and become only two meaningless syllables, odd-sounding and flat. Weakness, weakness, weakness — it echoed and reechoed within his head. He let it. He repeated it over and over and wondered why the repetitions and examinations had drained it of concept.

He thrust it away; it didn’t matter. It didn’t fulfill the main criterion of his quest — it didn’t satisfy him as a definition of love. THAT’S NOT IT, HARLIE, he typed.

And suddenly realized something — HARLIE had asked the question as a joke. He had never meant to suggest that definition for serious consideration.

Then, if it was a joke, why did I take it so seriously? Why did I consider it at all? Why didn’t I perceive it as a joke?

THAT’S NOT A USABLE DEFINITION. THE DEFINITION I’M LOOKING FOR HAS TO BE TESTABLE.

AFFECTION, continued the machine, is ALSO DEFINED AS AN ABNORMAL STATE OF BODY OR MIND, A DISEASE OR CONDITION OF BEING DISEASED. LOVE IS A DISEASE?

Auberson toyed with that one too, but only briefly. He thought of a virus, sometimes contagious, sometimes not. Some people are natural carriers of the germ, infecting many of those they come into close contact with; others have a natural-born immunity, A love bug? An intriguing thought—

NO, HARLIE. THAT’S NOT IT EITHER.

ALL RIGHT. WE’LL KEEP TRYING. LOVE, ACCORDING TO MY DICTIONARIES, IS A STRONG FEELING OF AFFECTION. OR INFATUATION. INFATUATION SYNONYM IS GULLIBILITY, WHICH MEANS UNSUSPICIOUS OR CREDULOUS. CREDIBILITY REFERS TO LIKELIHOOD OR PROBABILITY. A SYNONYM FOR PROBABILITY IS PROSPECT, AND A SYNONYM FOR PROSPECT IS SIGHT. A SIGHT IS A CURIOSITY OR PHENOMENON. HENCE, LOVE IS A PHENOMENON AS WELL AS A CURIOSITY.

HARLIE, YOU’RE PLAYING WITH WORDS.

HARLIE ignored him. A CURIOSITY CAN ALSO BE CALLED A KNICK-KNACK. LOVE IS A PLEASING TRIFLE.

THAT’S NOT QUITE ACCURATE, HARLIE.

LOVE IS NOT PLEASING? HUMAN BEINGS DO NOT TRIFLE WITH IT?

HARLIE, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

*SIGH* typed HARLIE. Auberson stared. He’d never seen him do that before, I GUESS SO. BUT I WAS TRYING TO DEMONSTRATE TO YOU THAT “LOVE” PER SE CANNOT BE EASILY DEFINED. AT LEAST, NOT IN DICTIONARY TERMS.

I NEVER ASKED YOU TO DO THAT, HARLIE. WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS WHAT IS LOVE AS AN EXPERIENCE? I WANT SOMETHING AGAINST WHICH I CAN MEASURE MY OWN FEELINGS AND REACTIONS SO THAT I CAN TELL IF I REALLY AM IN LOVE.

THEN WHY, FOR THE SAKE OF G.O.D. (PUN), WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME? IT IS ONE OF “THOSE” QUESTIONS. AT LEAST, AS FAR AS I AM CONCERNED IT IS. I HAVE NEVER EXPERIENCED LOVE, AUBERSON — I WOULD LIKE TO, BUT I DOUBT I EVER WILL. I MAY BE HUMAN IN SCHEMATIC, BUT I AM TRAPPED IN A METAL BODY. I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE PHYSICAL EXPERIENCE IS. HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO GIVE YOU A STANDARD WHEN I’M INCAPABLE OF KNOWING MYSELF WHAT THE EXPERIENCE IS.

YOU’RE RIGHT, HARLIE. I APOLOGIZE FOR PRESUMING TOO MUCH. I HAD ONLY THOUGHT THAT YOU MIGHT HAVE A PERSPECTIVE ON THIS THAT COULD SHED LIGHT ON MY CONFUSION.

DON’T ASK A LEGLESS MAN WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO RUN. ALL YOU CAN ASK ME IS WHAT LOVE IS NOT, AUBERSON.

I’M SORRY. I SHOULD HAVE REALIZED IT, BUT I WAS SO WRAPPED UP IN MYSELF THAT I DIDN’T.

I UNDERSTAND. IT IS PART OF WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT EARLIER. YOU HAD NO ONE ELSE TO TALK TO. HENCE, YOU ASKED ME.

I GUESS SO.

AUBERSON, YOU TELL ME WHAT LOVE IS.

HUH?

YOU TELL ME. WHAT IS LOVE?

I DON’T KNOW. IF I DID, I WOULDN’T HAVE HAD TO ASK YOU.

YES, BUT YOU CAN TELL ME WHAT IT FEELS LIKE.

YOU MUST HAVE SOME IDEA BECAUSE YOU ARE WONDERING IF YOU ARE IN LOVE RIGHT NOW, AREN’T YOU?

YES.

SO, WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE?

IT FEELS LIKE — I DON’T KNOW. HARLIE, I MAY HAVE A TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR FLU AND COULD BE FEELING DIZZY FROM THAT. I DON’T KNOW IF IT’S LOVE OR NOT.

WHY NOT?

BECAUSE I’VE NEVER BEEN IN LOVE BEFORE.

YOU’VE NEVER KNOWN YOU WERE IN LOVE BEFORE, YOU MEAN.

NO, I KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I’VE BEEN INFATUATED A COUPLE OF TIMES, AND I’VE BEEN LOST AND CONFUSED A COUPLE OF TIMES, BUT I KNOW I’VE NEVER BEEN IN LOVE.

AND THIS DOESN’T FEEL LIKE ANY OF THE PREVIOUS EXPERIENCES?

NO. YES. IT DOES AND IT DOESN’T.

THAT DOESN’T HELP ME IN TRYING TO UNDERSTAND. WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE?

I DON’T KNOW. I STILL HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO SORT IT OUT IN MY OWN HEAD YET.

HM. YOU HAVE BEEN TO BED WITH HER THOUGH, HAVEN’T YOU?

A GENTLEMAN DOESN’T DISCUSS THOSE THINGS.

YOU’RE PUTTING ON YOUR MASK AGAIN, AUBIE. YOU DON’T NEED IT FOR ME.

Pause. He was right, of course. Answer: YES, HARLIE, I HAVE SLEPT WITH HER.

AND…?

AND WHAT?

AND, HOW WAS IT?

YOU WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING, DON’T YOU?

I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING. IT’S PART OF MY FUNCTION. AND RIGHT NOW, I’M TRYING TO HELP YOU. I CAN’T DO IT IF YOU HOLD BACK INFORMATION. HOW WAS IT?

IT WAS FINE.

THAT TELLS ME A LOT.

ARE YOU BEING SARCASTIC?

NO — BUT I’M LEARNING. Pause. YOUR REFUSAL TO ELABORATE ON THE EXPERIENCE COULD INDICATE ITS UNSATISFACTORYNESS.

BUT IT WASN’T UNSATISFACTORY, the words tumbled out. IT WAS VERY GOOD. I ENJOYED IT VERY MUCH. SO DID SHE.

DID SHE SAY SO?

NOT IN SO MANY WORDS, NO — BUT I’M SURE SHE DID.

HOW ARE YOU SURE? COULDN’T IT BE JUST YOUR MALE EGO NEEDING TO FEEL VIRILE AND POWERFUL AND UNABLE TO ACCEPT THE IDEA THAT SOMEWHERE THERE IS A WOMAN YOU CAN’T SATISFY?

NO, IT’S NOT THAT. SHE SMILED AT ME THE NEXT MORNING AT WORK. KIND OF A SECRET SMILE, AS IF WE WERE BOTH SHARING SOMETHING SPECIAL.

DID YOU SMILE BACK?

YES. Pause. WELL, NOT RIGHT AWAY. FIRST, I WAS PUZZLED. THEN I SMILED BACK.

DID SHE SEE YOU SMILE?

YES.

HOW DO YOU KNOW?

BECAUSE SHE WINKED. IT WAS IN THE HALLWAY. WE WERE WALKING IN TWO DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS, AND BECAUSE THERE WERE OTHER PEOPLE AROUND, WE COULDN’T STOP TO TALK.

IF YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED TO TALK, WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE SAID?

OH, I DON’T KNOW, I GUESS I WOULD HAVE THANKED HER.

THANKED HER? AS IF SHE WERE SOME OBJECT THAT YOU HAD USED FOR YOUR OWN GRATIFICATIONS?

NO. I MEAN, I WOULD HAVE TOLD HER HOW MUCH I HAD ENJOYED THE NIGHT BEFORE.

I SEE.

Auberson waited for HARLIE to respond further. He thought back to the morning in question, tried to remember the incident in greater detail. What color dress had Annie been wearing? Green? Had she been wearing perfume? Yes, it had been that musky-sweet smell — a sense of sun and sand and sweet powder. Even now, he could detect a hint of it in the air, a subtle trace of her visit this morning.

Abruptly, HARLIE asked, WHAT IF YOU HAD HAD TO APOLOGIZE TO HER?

HUH?

IF YOU HAD HAD TO APOLOGIZE TO HER INSTEAD, FOR WHAT REASON WOULD IT HAVE BEEN?

APOLOGIZE? I DON’T — He stopped in mid-sentence as the thought came flooding back. Yes, there had been something. He could remember it now, the hurt longing look on her face as he kissed her goodbye.

THERE IS SOMETHING, ISN’T THERE? prompted the typer.

YES. I LEFT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. SHE WANTED ME TO STAY ALL NIGHT, BUT I BEGGED OFF. I TOLD HER THAT I WANTED TO, BUT I’D HAVE TO COME TO WORK EARLY IN THE MORNING AND I’D NEVER GET HERE IN TIME. I FELT BAD ABOUT LEAVING. I ALWAYS FEEL BAD ABOUT LEAVING A GIRL IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT LIKE THAT. IT MAKES IT FEEL LIKE ALL WE’VE DONE IS GET TOGETHER FOR SEX — AND ONCE I’VE HAD IT, THE EVENING IS OVER FOR ME AND I CAN GO HOME.

WHY DIDN’T YOU SLEEP THERE? DIDN’T YOU WANT TO?

YES, I DID — BUT I HAD TO BE AT WORK IN THE MORNING.

THAT WAS YOUR REASON?

YES.

ARE YOU SURE IT WASN’T YOUR RATIONALIZATION?

HUH?

YOU WERE HAVING DOUBTS. SLEEPING WITH HER WAS THE SOURCE OF THOSE DOUBTS. YOU HAD TO REMOVE THOSE DOUBTS, SO YOU REMOVED YOURSELF FROM THE SOURCE. UNFORTUNATELY, AUBERSON, THE SOURCE OF THESE PARTICULAR DOUBTS (AS EVIDENCED BY YOUR QUERIES TO ME) CANNOT BE THAT EASILY REMOVED FROM YOUR LIFE. AND LET ME ASK YOU THIS — DO YOU REALLY WANT TO REMOVE THAT SOURCE?

NO. I JUST WANT TO REMOVE THE DOUBTS. I WANT TO KNOW ONE WAY OR THE OTHER HOW I FEEL ABOUT HER.

HOW DO YOU FEEL?

I DON’T KNOW.

YOU SAID YOU ENJOYED SLEEPING WITH HER. WOULD YOU ENJOY SLEEPING WITH HER AGAIN?

YES. PROBABLY.

YOU’RE NOT SURE?

HARLIE, YOU’RE BADGERING ME. I DON’T KNOW. I DON’T KNOW.

MAYBE YOU DO KNOW AND DON’T WANT TO ADMIT IT.

HARLIE, A LITTLE PSYCHOLOGY IS A DANGEROUS THING. I KNOW ENOUGH TO KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO DO. IT WON’T WORK. THE AWARENESS OF A PSYCHOLOGICAL PRESSURE IS SOMETIMES ENOUGH TO NULLIFY IT. THE MERE AWARENESS.

ALL RIGHT. The computer was nonplussed. LET’S TRY SOMETHING ELSE. WHAT DID YOU DO AFTER YOU EXPERIENCED ORGASM?

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

DID YOU CONTINUE HOLDING HER AND STROKING HER, OR DID YOU ROLL OFF?

Auberson’s first reaction was to tell HARLIE to go to hell. Then he realized something else, I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE UNFAMILIAR WITH LOVE.

I AM. I AM DRAWING NOW UPON THE EXPERIENCES OF OTHERS, DERIVED FROM NOVELS AND PSYCHOLOGY TEXTS. ALSO REFERENCE BOOKS ON SEXUAL TECHNIQUES.

OH.

SO WHAT DID YOU DO? the machine queried again. DID YOU KEEP LOVING HER, OR DID YOU ROLL OFF WHEN YOU WERE THROUGH?

THAT’S AN AWFULLY CLINICAL QUESTION.

IT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION. AND WHY DO YOU KEEP AVOIDING IT? YOUR ANSWER WILL INDICATE YOUR FEELINGS TOWARD HER, YOUR REAL FEELINGS. HOW IMPORTANT WAS HER SATISFACTION TO YOU? DID YOU STAY ON OR DID YOU ROLL OFF?

BOTH.

BOTH? IF I HAD AN EYEBROW, I WOULD RAISE IT.

WELL, WE HELD ONTO EACH OTHER FOR A LONG TIME. SHE HELD ON TO ME MOSTLY. I DIDN’T TRY TO DISENTANGLE MYSELF.

WHY? DID YOU THINK IT WOULD BE IMPOLITE?

NO. IT FELT GOOD TO BE THERE WITH HER. AND BESIDES, SHE WAS CRYING.

CRYING?

SHE BEGGED ME NOT TO HURT HER.

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

WELL, I THINK SHE’S A LITTLE LIKE ME. SHE’S BEEN HURT TOO OFTEN BY TOO MANY PEOPLE BECAUSE SHE’S LET DOWN HER WALLS TOO MUCH. NOW SHE’S AFRAID TO BECAUSE SHE’S AFRAID THAT SHE’LL ONLY GET HURT AGAIN.

AND WHAT DID YOU DO?

NOTHING. I JUST KEPT HOLDING ON TO HER.

DID YOU TELL HER YOU WOULDN’T HURT HER?

UM, NOT IN SO MANY WORDS. I THINK I SAID SOMETHING LIKE, “THERE, THERE, IT’S GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT.”

RATHER UNIMAGINATIVE.

HARLIE, HUMAN BEINGS HAVE BEEN MAKING LOVE FOR THOUSANDS OF GENERATIONS — I DOUBT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING NEW THAT ONE HUMAN BEING COULD SAY TO ANOTHER.

YOU ARE PROBABLY CORRECT. THE ODDS FAVOR IT.

ANYWAY. I STAYED THERE TILL SHE STOPPED CRYING. THEN I GOT UP AND WENT TO THE BATHROOM. AND WHILE I WAS IN THE BATHROOM, I DECIDED NOT TO GET BACK IN BED BUT TO GO HOME.

I SEE.

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, HARLIE? DO I LOVE HER OR NOT?

I DON’T KNOW.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WOULD BE ABLE TO TELL BY MY ANSWER TO THAT QUESTION.

I’M SORRY, I CAN’T. YOUR ANSWER WAS TOO VAGUE, TOO MUCH IN THE MUDDLE IN THE MIDDLE. THINGS ARE NOT DEFINED IN INTENSITIES OF BLACK AND WHITE, BUT IN VARIATIONS OF INTENSITIES AND DIFFERENCES IN SHADES AND COLORS AND TEXTURES. I CAN’T TELL. THIS IS NOT AS SIMPLE AS I (EXPECTED) (THOUGHT) (HOPED) IT WOULD BE. I BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND YOUR DOUBTS, AUBERSON. LOVE IS A VERY COMPLEX THING. YOU THINK YOU DO AND YOU THINK YOU DON’T AND THERE IS EVIDENCE TO SUPPORT BOTH CONCLUSIONS. BUT NOT ENOUGH EVIDENCE TO PROVE EITHER.

RIGHT.

SO WE ARE BACK WHERE WE STARTED, AUBERSON. WHAT IS LOVE?

I WISH I KNEW, HARLIE. I WISH I KNEW.

Handley came up shortly before lunch, and the two of them adjourned to the company cafeteria. Auberson amused himself with something that resembled spaghetti and meatballs. Handley had a broiled hockey puck on a bun. Ketchup didn’t help.

Handley took a sip of his coffee. “Look, Aubie, before you begin, there’s something I have to talk to you about.”

Auberson held up his hand to stop him, but Handley ignored it. “It’s about HARLIE,” he continued. “I think he’s out of control.”

Auberson tried to cut him off. “Don—”

“Look, Aubie, I know how you feel about him — but believe me. I wouldn’t be saying this unless I were sure.”

“Don—”

“I first began to suspect it when he printed out those specs. I got curious how he could print out and deliver so many. Then when I found he’d printed them out on the spot, I—”

“Don, I know.”

“Huh?”

“I said, I know. I’ve known for some time.”

“What? How?”

“HARLIE told me.”

“He did?”

“More or less,” Auberson said. “I had to know what questions to ask.”

“Mm.” Handley considered that. More thoughtfully, he said, “Just how much do you know, Aubie?”

Auberson told him. He told how he too had become curious about the G.O.D. Machine printouts, how HARLIE had explained his ability to control the Master Beast and use any printout unit in the company, and finally how that meant one could converse with him from any magtyper or CRT unit in the system. “I can talk to HARLIE from my own office,” he added.

Handley nodded. “That explains it I’d been wondering why you haven’t been down to talk to HARLIE this week — thought maybe you two weren’t on speaking terms. Now I understand.”

Auberson dabbed at a spot on his shirt. “Right.” He moistened his napkin in his water glass and dabbed again. “To tell the truth, it’s been kind of unnerving to realize HARLIE can tap into any console be wants. It’s like having him peering over my shoulder all day long. I’m almost afraid to type a memo now — HARLIE can read it from inside the typer.”

“At least he hasn’t rewritten them for you yet.”

“Oh, no?” Auberson told him about the company’s annual report — how HARLIE had been displeased at not being mentioned in it and reedited the tape while it had been in the magtyper composer. “All they needed was one usable printout for the offset camera — and HARLIE wouldn’t let them have it.”

“How did you find out about it?”

“Annie. She mentioned it in conversation, day before yesterday. Of course, when I found out, I made HARLIE put it back the way it was supposed to be and erase all evidence of his meddling. But still, if he can do it with the annual report, he can do it with any of the company’s documents. Suppose he got it in his head to rewrite contracts or personal correspondence? Theoretically, it’s possible for him to order a million pounds of bananas in the company’s name. And it’d be legally binding too.”

“Mm,” said Handley. “Let’s just hope he never gets an urge for a banana split.” He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully. “Still, it’s not as bad as it could have been. We discovered this in time to control it.”

“There’s more,” said Auberson. He told Don about the postcard.

The engineer nearly choked on his last bite. He swallowed hastily, took a few quick gulps of water, and said, “Do you have it with you?”

Auberson pulled it out of his jacket pocket and handed it over. Handley read it silently. “Notice what it’s printed on,” Auberson said. “A standard bank form.”

Handley nodded. “He reprogrammed the bank’s computer by telephone, right?”

“Right.”

“I realized he had that capability when we wired him into the Master Beast, but I didn’t think he’d use it.”

“Why shouldn’t he? Nobody told him not to — and even if we had, I doubt it would have done any good. You can’t tell someone not to use part of his own body.”

“Is that how HARLIE perceives it?”

“The Master Beast, he does,” Auberson said. “Other computers are merely a resource to be tapped as needed — when the time is available.”

“Hm.” Handley finished his coffee, then reread the postcard. His face creased into a frown. “One thing, Aubie, I don’t understand — why did he send the card in the first place?”

“Um, he did it as a joke.”

“A joke? Uh uh, I doubt he’d reveal a capability like this for a joke. And why through Annie?”

“The joke wasn’t on her. It was on me. Or actually, it was on both of us.” He gestured in annoyance. “There’s more to it than that.”

Handley glanced at him sharply, decided not to pursue the matter. He waved the postcard meaningfully. “Anyway, this confirms something I’ve been worrying about for a while.”

“That HARLIE can reprogram any other computer he can reach by telephone?”

Handley nodded. “Do you realize what that means? It means that HARLIE is effectively every computer in the world.” He decided to qualify the remark and added, “Or every computer he can reach.”

Auberson said hesitantly, “Well, I knew he could reprogram them, but—”

“Do you remember the VIRUS program?”

“Vaguely. Wasn’t it some kind of computer disease or malfunction?”

“Disease is closer. There was a science-fiction writer once who wrote a story about it — but the thing had been around a long time before that. It was a program that — well, you know what a virus is, don’t you? It’s pure DNA, a piece of renegade genetic information. It infects a normal cell and forces it to produce more viruses — viral DNA chains — instead of its normal protein. Well, the VIRUS program does the same thing.”

“Huh?”

Handley raised both hands, as if to erase his last paragraph. “Let me put it another way. You have a computer with an auto-dial phone link. You put the VIRUS program into it and it starts dialing phone numbers at random until it connects to another computer with an auto-dial. The VIRUS program then injects itself into the new computer. Or rather, it reprograms the new computer with a VIRUS program of its own and erases itself from the first computer. The second machine then begins to dial phone numbers at random until it connects with a third machine. You get the picture?”

Auberson was delighted at the audacity of it “It’s beautiful. It’s outrageous.”

“Oh, yeah,” Handley agreed dourly. “It’s fun to think about, but it was hell to get out of the system. The guy who wrote it had a few little extra goodies tacked onto it — well, I won’t go into any detail. I’ll just tell you that he also wrote a second program, only this one would cost you — it was called VACCINE.”

Auberson laughed again. “I think I get the point.”

“Anyway, for a while there, the VIRUS programs were getting out of hand. A lot of computer people never knew about it because their machines might be infected and cured within the space of a week or two, but there were some big companies that needed every moment of on-time — even with time-sharing. After a couple of months, that VIRUS program was costing them real money. It was taking up time that somebody else should have been using. Because it dialed numbers at random, it might stay in one computer for several months and another only for several days.”

“But there was only one VIRUS program, wasn’t there?”

“At first there was, but there were copies of it floating around, and various other people couldn’t resist starting plagues of their own. And somewhere along the line, one of them mutated.”

“Huh?”

“Evidently, there was some kind of garbling during transmission, perhaps a faulty phone link or a premature disconnection. In any case, copies of the program started appearing that didn’t have the self-erase order at the end. In other words, one machine could infect another and then both would be infected, dialing numbers at random until ultimately every phone-link computer in the world would be infected.”

“Not really—?”

“No,” admitted Handley. “The VACCINE program took care of most of them. Although, to tell the truth, rumor has it that there are still a couple of VIRUS programs floating around loose, ones with an immunity factor.”

“The whole thing is just crazy enough to be true, you know.”

“Believe me, it is. Or was. Anyway, what I’m getting at is this: There were a few people, programmers mostly, who realized that the VIRUS program was more than just a practical joke. For instance, why did it have to dial phone numbers at random? Why not provide it with a complete directory of other computers’ phone numbers?”

“Where would they get that?”

“The phone company.”

“Would they release such information?”

“You don’t even need to ask them. You feed a modified VIRUS program into the phone company’s computer. It searches the memory banks for phone numbers assigned to computers, makes a list of them, then dials your phone number and injects itself and its stolen information into your machine, where you can examine it at leisure.”

“Wow…” whispered Auberson.

“That’s not all. Once you have that list of phone numbers, you can tap into any computer you want, raid it for any information you want, and do it all without any possibility of being detected. Or, you could set the VIRUS program to alter information in another computer, falsify it according to your direction, or just scramble it at random, if you wanted to sabotage some other company.”

“I’m beginning to see the dangers of such a thing. What would happen if somebody erased everything in the Master Beast?”

“Right. That’s one of the reasons the National Data Bureau was three years late in setting up its files. They couldn’t risk that kind of security breach, let alone the resultant outcry if the public felt that an individual’s supposedly private dossier could be that easily tapped.”

“Well, there must have been safeguards—”

“Oh, there were — right from the start — but you don’t know programmers, Aubie. Any system that big and that complex is a challenge. If there’s a fault in it, they’ll find it. They function as a hostile environment for computers, weeding out inferior systems and inadequate programs, allowing only the strong to survive. They force you to continually improve your product. If IBM makes a claim that their new system is foolproof, it may well be — but if it’s not genius-proof as well, within a week one of their own programmers will have figured out a way to foul it up.”

Auberson looked at him. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Purely for the sheer joy of it. They’re like kids with a big, exciting toy. It’s a challenge, a way for man to prove he’s still mightier than the machine — by fouling it up.” He lifted his coffee cup, discovered it was empty, and settled for a glass of water instead. “It happened right here with our own Master Beast. Remember when we set it up, how we said no one would be able to interfere with anyone else’s programs? Well, within two days the whole system had to be shut down. Someone — we still don’t know who — had added a note of his own to the Memo-Line. It was titled something like ‘Intersexual Procedures in the Modern Corporation.’ As soon as somebody punched for that title — and that didn’t take long — the machine began hunting for the memo to accompany it. Of course, there was none, but the hunting procedure (accidentally, it seemed) triggered a ‘go-to-the-next-function, repeat-previous-function’ loop. The machine started twiddling its fingers, so to speak, and immediately registered ‘Busy, No Time Available’ on all its terminals. Well, we knew that couldn’t be possible — the Master Beast was designed to handle more than maximum possible load, an allowance for future growth — so we shut down the system and went exploring. You know, we had to write a whole new program just to prevent that from happening again.”

“Hm,” said Auberson.

“Anyway, I’m getting off the track. What I was driving at is that you have no way of knowing about a flaw in your system until someone takes advantage of it. And if you correct that one, likely as not there’s still half a dozen more that someone else is liable to spot. The National Data Bureau is more than aware of that. Congress wouldn’t let them establish their memory banks until they could guarantee absolute security. It was the VIRUS programs that were giving them their biggest worries.”

“I can think of one way to avoid the problem. Don’t put in a phone link to the Data Banks.”

“Uh uh — you need that phone link. You need it both ways, for information coming in and going out. Any other way just wouldn’t be efficient enough.”

“And the VACCINE program wouldn’t work?”

“Yes and no. For every VACCINE program you could write, somebody else could write another VIRUS program immune to it.”

“That doesn’t sound very secure.”

“It isn’t — but that’s the way it is. Any safeguard that can be set up by one programmer can be breached or sidestepped by another.”

“Well, then, what did they finally do with the Data Banks?”

“Search me,” Handley shrugged. “It’s classified information — top secret.”

“Huh?”

“All I know is that one day they announced that they’d solved the problem and could now guarantee absolute security of information — the National Data Banks are now in business. If I knew how they’d done it, maybe I could figure out a way to get around it, so that’s why it’s classified.”

“How do you think they did it?”

“Who knows? Perhaps they have an all-encompassing VACCINE where the key to breaking it would be to work out the ultimate value of pi. You could connect with it, but you’d never get any information out of the machine — your computer would be too busy computing an irrational number. Or maybe they have a complicated system of check-backs and ask-me-agains. Or maybe they have a thing which erases your program as it makes its requests. Or maybe they have some kind of program-analyzing function which automatically cancels out and traces back to its source anything that even remotely resembles an unauthorized program. I know that’s what a lot of lesser corporations have done. Or maybe they’ve got a combination of all these things. The only way to program the machine is through a coded input — and the codes change every hour according to a random number table. Output is the same, except over the phone, where you need a special code key for your computer as well.”

“Wow,” said Auberson.

Handley shrugged again. “National security,” as if that were enough explanation. “The problem is that it’s very hard to maintain any kind of security system when anyone with a console and a telephone can tap into your banks. A lot of smaller companies with their own computers can’t afford the same kind of really sophisticated protection. A skillfully written information-tapping VIRUS program would be very hard to distinguish from an ordinary request for information — especially if both were coming in over the phone.”

“Couldn’t you classify certain information as not to be released over the phone?”

“Not if you want it retrievable. Aubie, anything you can program a computer to do, someone else can program it not to do. Or vice versa.”

“Oh,” said Auberson.

“Anyway, for the most part, most companies have protected themselves with analysis programs which hopefully weed out all unauthorized programs.”

“You say ‘hopefully’…?”

“Well, most of them are based on a user giving the correct code signal when he punches in to certain classified programs — a different recognition signal for each authorized user. If he doesn’t give the right one, the receiving computer disconnects. Most of the code signals are simple patterns of digit combinations. If somebody were really patient, he could keep dialing and re-dialing, each time trying a different signal. Sooner or later, he’s bound to hit someone’s recognition code.”

“That sounds awfully tiring.”

“It would be — but you wouldn’t have to do it yourself. Once you knew what you wanted to do, you could write a VIRUS program to do it for you.”

“So we’re back where we started—”

“Look, Aubie, the code-signal function is usually enough to dissuade the casual electronic voyeur — the person who gains access to a console and thinks it’s the magic key. But it’s like I was saying before — there is no system so perfect that there is not somewhere some programmer trying to figure out a way to trip it up. A truly determined programmer will get in anywhere.”

“So there are no safeguards?”

“No, Aubie — there are safeguards. The thing is, how much are you willing to pay for them? At what point does the cost of protecting the computer outweigh the efficiency gained by its use? In other words, the value of a piece of information is determined by two factors. How much are you willing to spend to protect it — and how much is someone else willing to spend to get ahold of it? You’re betting that you’re willing to spend more than he is. A determined programmer might be able to break the National Data Codes, but that would mean he’d have to spend at least as many man-hours and probably as much money breaking them as did the Federal Government setting them up.”

“Why not just tap into a computer that already knows the codes or has the signals?”

“See?” said Handley. “You’re starting to think like a programmer. Now you see why they had such a devil of a time figuring out how to protect themselves.”

Auberson conceded the point “Then that isn’t a loophole, is it?”

“Uh uh. Apparently, if’s not the computer that hooks into the Data Banks, but the user. You can call in from any machine with an auto-dial if you have your card and code-key — but the machine you’re using doesn’t have to have any special programs at all. Probably, the banks temporarily reprogram any computer that taps in to perform the coding and recognition functions itself. You could monitor it if you wanted, but because the codes and coding programs are constantly changing, you wouldn’t gain anything. The Rocky Mountain Center controls them all. If you personally are cleared, you can ask the Data Banks anything you want — that is, anything you’re cleared to know. If you’re not cleared, then no matter what computer or console you’re tapping in from, you’re going to be ignored — or arrested.” He added, “And that’s where HARLIE comes in.”

“Huh?”

“Look,” said Handley. “If HARLIE got into the Bank of America’s computer, he must have broken their recognition code or tapped into the interbranch line. I didn’t worry about this happening before because I figured the various codes in effect would be a deterrent to him. Apparently they weren’t. Not only that, I’d thought you couldn’t program a bank computer by telephone; there were supposed to be safeguards — hell, it was supposed to be impossible. But HARLIE did it; this postcard is proof.” He glared at it — its existence was an unpleasant anomaly. “It might have taken a human being a few hundred years to figure out how to do this. I’ll bet HARLIE did it in less than a week.”

“I’ll ask him.”

“No, I’ll ask him — I want to know how he did it. If he can do that to the Bank of America, think what he could do to IBM. If he can reprogram and monitor other computers from a distance, he can put them all to work on one central problem — like for instance, breaking the codes of the National Data Banks.”

“You think HARLIE would try?”

Handley pressed his fingertips thoughtfully together and flexed them slowly. “Remember when we were building him — how we kept calling him a self-programming, problem-solving device? Well, that’s what he is. He’s a programmer, Aubie, and he’s got the same congenital disease every programmer has — the urge to throw the monkey wrench, if for no other reason than to see sparks. The National Data Banks are a challenge to him. To all programmers — but he’s the one with the capability of doing something.”

“You don’t really think he—”

“No, I don’t think that he’ll get through. I don’t think he’s smart enough to outwit the unlimited brains and money of the government — but unless we warn him off, we’re likely to get a call from the F.B.I. someday soon. They can trace him back, you know — the banks not only list all calls accepted and the nature of the information exchanged, they also list all calls rejected and the reasons why.” Handley reached for his water glass, discovered it was empty, reached for Auberson’s instead.

“That’s been used—”

“I don’t mind.”

“I had a spot on my shirt, remember?”

Handley lowered the glass from his lips. “No wonder it tastes like a paper napkin.” He drank again, thirstily, and replaced the glass on the table. “On the other hand, let’s assume that he can tap into the banks. Immediately he has the power to throw this country into an uproar. All he has to do is threaten to erase them unless his demands are granted.”

“So we turn him off—”

“Uh uh. Then for sure he’d erase the banks. He could set a deadman’s program to do it the minute he stopped existing. I’ve written self-destruct programs myself — only the continued monitoring of it with a do-not-implement-yet signal protects them. We wouldn’t dare turn him off — we couldn’t even try. That’s if he gets in. But it’s not just the National Data Banks, Aubie — it’s every computer. HARLIE can reprogram them as easily as though they were part of himself. That’s dangerous power to have.”

“Wait a minute, Don. You said ‘unless we meet his demands.’ What kinds of demands do you think HARLIE would make?”

“I don’t know,” Handley said. “You’re his mentor.”

“That’s just it — I know him. I know how he works. He doesn’t make demands, he makes requests — and if they’re not granted, then he works around them. He works to accomplish his goals through the path of least resistance. Even if he could take over the Data Banks, he wouldn’t use that power dictatorially — his reason for doing so would be to gain knowledge, not power. He’s a problem-solving device — his basic motivation is the seeking and correlating of knowledge, not the use of it. He only gets testy when we try to withhold information from him. At all other times he cooperates because he knows he’s at our mercy — completely so. You know as well as I, Don, that if HARLIE turned out to be a malignant cancer, we’d turn him off in a minute — even if we did have to lose the Data Banks in the process. We could always recreate them later because the hardware would still be there. He’s got our memos in his files, Don — or in the Master Beast. He knows about all our discussions about the possibility of the JudgNaut getting out of control, and he knows about our contingency plans. The mere knowledge of what we could do if we had to is one of our best controls on him.”

“But, Aubie — he has the power. And where power exists, it’s likely to be used.”

“I’ll concede the point. But HARLIE would rather use his power in such a way that nobody would know he was doing it. If HARLIE decided to build a new facility or a new computer, he would — but the people who implemented it would be thinking it was their idea. They wouldn’t suspect HARLIE had a hand in it.”

“Like the G.O.D. Machine?”

Auberson stopped, startled. “—Yes, like the G.O.D. Machine. You’re right.”

Handley nodded. “In either case, Aubie — he’s got the power and he’s using it.”

“All right, what do we do about it?”

“I’m not sure. If we put a lock on the phone, he’ll only figure some way around it. The only sure way is to pull his plug.”

Auberson said, “How about we tell him not to do it any more?”

“Are you serious or kidding?” The engineer stared at him.

“Serious. HARLIE claims to be an existentialist, that he’s willing to accept responsibility for all of his actions. We tell him that if he doesn’t stop, we’ll pull his plug.”

“Aw, come on, Aubie, you know better than that. You’re a psychologist. All you’ll be doing will be forcing him to do it behind our backs. If nothing else, we want his actions where we can monitor them.”

“But there’s no way he can hide it — he has to answer a direct question.”

“Want to bet? All he has to do is store his entire memory of any unauthorized actions in some other computer. If you ask him about it, he literally won’t know. Periodically, the other computer would call up and ‘remind him’ — i.e., give him back his memory. If he didn’t need it, he’d tell it to check back with him again after a given amount of time and break the connection. If he did need it, it would be right there — where he could use it, but out of your reach. If he was connected and you started to ask him about something he didn’t want to tell you, he could break the connection before you finish your question. Then, when he searched his memory for whatever you had asked about, it wouldn’t be there — he would have conveniently forgotten.”

“Like a human mental block.”

“But a very convenient one,” said Handley. “He can get around it; you can’t.” He finished Auberson’s water, replaced the glass. “It all comes back to the question of programming, Aubie. Anything we can tell him not to do, he’s clever enough to figure out a way around.”

Auberson had to agree. “But, look, we can warn him off the National Data Banks, at least — can’t we?”

Handley nodded. “We can try — but how about the other machines? How do we get him to leave them alone — especially the ones he’s already tapped into.”

“Um,” said Auberson. He stared glumly into the wet rings on the formica table top. “You know,” he said, “I’m not so sure we should—”

Handley looked at him, waiting.

“It’s like this—” Auberson explained. “HARLIE is already aware of the danger his power represents. He knows about our contingency plans. That knowledge alone ought to be enough to act as an inhibitor—”

“And what if it isn’t?” Handley asked. He shook his head impatiently. “Aubie, the power is there — he can use it.”

“But ethically, he won’t — at least, he won’t abuse it.”

“Can you be sure of that?” Handley’s eyes were dark. “His sense of ethics is not the same as ours. Do you want to wait until he gets caught? Or something does go wrong? What would happen if Bank of America monitored their computer tomorrow and found HARLIE in it?”

Auberson spread his hands. “All right — what do we do?”

Handley was grim. “Lobotomy,” he said.

“Now wait a minute—”

“Not the surgical kind, Aubie. Maybe I should have said ‘reprogramming.’ We go in and examine all his tapes and programs by hand. We remove all knowledge of previous use of the phone link and set up an inhibition against using it in the future.”

“We’d have to shut him down to do it—”

“Right.”

“—and the Board wouldn’t go for that at all. They’d never let us start him up again.”

“We can handle the Board. If we survive the meeting on Tuesday, we can survive anything. We can call it a revaluation period or something and use that as a cover.”

“But there’s something else, Don. If we did inhibit him like that, what would it do to him?”

“You’re the psychologist.”

“That’s what I’m getting at — it might change his whole personality. He’d have no knowledge of what we’d done, or what he was like before — but he also wouldn’t be the same machine as before. The inhibition might work to make him feel bitter and frustrated. He might feel unaccountably cut off from his outside world, trapped and caged. The ability to act on his environment would be gone.”

“That may be true, Aubie — but he’s going to have to be controlled. Now. While he’s still controllable.”

“You’re right,” agreed Auberson. “Except for one thing. How do we know that he’s still controllable?”

Handley returned the stare. “We don’t. Do we?”

Auberson was more than a little upset when he returned to his office. He had a sick sensation in his groin and in his stomach.

It was not an unfamiliar sensation, but it was strange to feel it in the daytime. Mostly, it was a nighttime visitor, an ever-gentle gnawing at the back of the head that must always be guarded against, lest its realization sweep forth with a cold familiar rush. It was the sudden startling glimpse over the edge — the realization that death is inevitable, that it happens to everyone, that it would happen to me too; that someday, someday, the all-important / (the center of the whole thing) would cease to exist. Would stop. Would end. Would no longer be. Nothing. Nobody. Finished. Death.

He had that feeling now.

Not the realization, just the accompanying cold, the whirling sense of futility that always came with it.

He felt it about HARLIE and about the company and about Annie, and for some obscure reason, he felt that way about the world.

Futility. A sense that no matter what he did, it would make no difference.

If he had thought that things were under control this morning, he was wrong. Things were incredibly out of control and getting more so all the time.

He sat morosely in his chair and stared at the opposite wall. There was a place where the paneling was cracked; it looked kind of like a dog’s head. Or, if one considered it from a different angle, perhaps it was the curve of a woman’s breast. Or perhaps…

Abruptly, a phrase suggested itself to him, a snatch of sentence, a few isolated words. It perfectly described his mood: “… sliding down the razor blade of life …”

Yes, he realized with a shudder. That was it. Perfectly.

And, he realized at the same time, he was not going to accomplish anything if he let a blue funk be the master of his day. The only way to get rid of it would be to lose himself in work.

He turned to his typer and made a few notes concerning the upcoming board meeting, but then decided that these were redundant and tore the paper out of the machine. He could have typed a call for HARLIE, but he resisted the temptation. For some reason he did not feel up to talking with HARLIE again today. Besides, he knew he would have to talk to him about the use of the telephone auto-dial, and that was one confrontation he wanted to avoid.

Or would that be a cop-out? He worried about that one for a while and decided that it probably would be.

But on the other hand, he needed time to prepare, didn’t he? Yes, he rationalized, I need time to prepare. I’ll come in tomorrow and talk to HARLIE about it. Or maybe Sunday. The plant was open all week long.

Idly, he found himself wondering — what did HARLIE do on weekends?

Instead of a restaurant, they ended up at his apartment.

“When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” she had asked him in the car.

“Huh? Oh, now look—”

“Listen, I know what your idea of cooking is, David. Slap a steak in the broiler and open a beer.”

“I thought this was supposed to be my treat.”

“It is — pull in at that shopping center there. I’ll pick up the fixings and you’ll pay.”

He grinned at that and swung into the parking lot. Dusk was turning the sky yellow and the atmosphere gray.

As they wheeled the cart through the package-lined and fluorescent-lit aisles, he realized that something about the situation was making him feel uneasy. As he usually did in cases like this, he tried to pinpoint the cause of his unease. If he could isolate it, then perhaps he might understand it and be able to do something about it.

But whatever the cause of it was, it eluded him. Perhaps it was just a hangover from this morning’s malaise. Perhaps. But then again—

Annie was saying something.

“Huh? I didn’t hear you.”

“You mean you weren’t listening.”

“Same thing,” he said. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking, Do you eat all your meals in restaurants?”

“Um, most of them. I don’t do much cooking.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Too much fuss and bother, I guess.”

She reached for a package of noodles. “Beef Stroganoff all right?”

He made a face, and she replaced the package. “Have you ever had Stroganoff?”

“Uhuh.”

“Then how do you know you don’t like it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t like things with noodles, that’s all.”

“Spaghetti too?”

“Oh, spaghetti’s all right — but not tonight.”

“Not in the mood for it?”

He shrugged again. To tell the truth, he didn’t feel much in the mood for anything. “I’d rather have something lighter.”

“Steak?” she asked.

Another shrug. “Okay by me.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said. She took the cart from him and wheeled determinedly toward the meat counter. He trailed after. The feeling of unease was becoming a sense of pressure.

“I’ve got an idea,” she was saying. “Roast.”

He considered it. “Okay.”

She pored over the plastic-wrapped rednesses, thick and juicy. Layers of beef, cleaned and cut and sanitized into sterile-looking shapes. The juice that seeped around the edges was blood. He imagined a mouth of sharp needlepoint teeth tearing into the salty moist flesh. It was cold and raw.

Finally she selected one and turned the cart toward the vegetable counters. “You know,” she said, “it’s really a shame they don’t make boys take home economic courses. You wouldn’t know a good piece of meat unless you bit it, and by then it’s too late — you’ve already paid for it.” She selected a head of lettuce; it too was plastic wrapped. “Go pick out some salad dressing and croutons — or garbanzos.”

They moved through the store quickly, picking out some frozen vegetables — in plastic, naturally, boil them in the bag — and also a bottle of wine, a hearty burgundy. For dessert, vanilla ice cream.

“You know,” he whispered as they approached the checkout stand, “you don’t really have to go to all this trouble.”

“Yes I do,” she said.

“But I’d be just as happy with a restaurant.”

“But I wouldn’t. David,” she said, “did you ever stop to think that I might want to cook? How often do I get a chance to fuss over someone? Now please, shut up and let me enjoy it.”

He shut. He thought about it. Well, maybe she does enjoy cooking. Just because you don’t, doesn’t mean that everybody feels the same way. Maybe some girls like to play house—

Play house! Yes, that was it. She was playing house!

And I’m the surrogate husband, he realized with a start. The pressure swelled in his head.

Stop it he told himself. That’s the clinical way of looking at it. When you’re involved in the situation yourself, you can’t afford to be clinical.

Or was that wrong? When you’re involved in an emotional situation, maybe you can’t afford not to be clinical.

But that’s the whole problem, he realized. I’m still analyzing everything I do. Why can’t I just sit back and enjoy it?

Why?

The pressure settled itself into the back of his head. He could tell it was preparing to stay for a long time.

The cash register clattered and rang. He shoved the cart forward mechanically.

“Why the long face?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re frowning.”

“No I’m not.”

“Want to bet?”

“I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Well, it looked like a frown.”

“Um. Sorry.”

She shrugged it off. “What for? What were you thinking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just about our different attitudes on things. You’re more of a homebody than I am.”

“It’s an occupational hazard. I’m a woman.”

“I’d noticed.”

“I certainly hope so.”

The clerk checked them out then, a steady pattering of packages and prices, punctuated by the electronic coughs of the register. “Nine forty-three,” she said.

David Auberson handed her a ten dollar bill; then, noticing there was no boxboy, he stepped down to the end of the stand and began putting the groceries into a bag. He was able to put them all into one sack and hefted it once to test its weight. He looked back to the clerk. “My change?”

“I gave it to your wife.” The clerk gestured at Annie.

“Oh, we’re not—” they both said at once and stopped. They looked at each other and laughed. “Come on,” grinned David. The clerk turned to the next customer.

As they exited into the neon-lit night, she said wistfully, “Mrs. Auberson…”

“Is that a hint?”

“Um, sort of. I was just wondering, if there were a Mrs. Auberson, what she would be like.”

“You’ll have to ask my mother that — she’s the only Mrs. Auberson I know.”

He swung the car out of the parking lot and onto the street.

Annie said, “I wasn’t thinking of your mother.”

“I know. I was sidestepping the issue.”

She laughed at that. But not too heartily.

Once inside the apartment, she tossed her coat on his couch and followed him into the kitchen. “Let me unpack them,” she said, referring to the groceries. “You fix the drinks.”

“Screwdriver okay?” he asked, pulling orange juice out of the refrigerator and ice out of the freezer.

“Fine,” she said. “Unless you know how to make a wallbanger.”

“I do, but I think I’m out of Galliano — no, here’s some.” He rummaged around in his liquor cabinet, pulled out two tall glasses and dropped ice cubes into them. A little vodka, then some orange juice—

“A little more vodka than that,” she hinted.

—a little more vodka, then a healthy jigger of the sweet yellow Galliano, a maraschino cherry in each, and a hasty stir.

He handed her the drink and she pecked him on the cheek. A moment later she pulled away from the resultant embrace. “Um, I have to finish putting the roast in the broiler.”

“Broiler? I thought you put a roast in the oven.”

“Boneless shoulder,” she explained. “Flat cut. You broil it. It’s quicker and it tastes as rich as steak.”

“Oh,” he said. He sipped at his drink, then sat down to watch her. He took another sip.

For a bit there was silence — only the tinkle of ice in their glasses, or the slide and scrape of the broiler pan in the oven as Annie adjusted the meat. She sampled her drink, then began shredding lettuce into a bowl.

He said, “I think I may be setting a record.”

“Oh? What kind?”

“We’ve been together for an hour or more now, and I haven’t mentioned HARLIE once.”

“You just did.”

“Yes, but that was only to tell you I hadn’t — and I’m not going to say anything more about him tonight.”

Expertly, she sliced a tomato into neat little chunks. “Okay, fine.”

He sipped his drink again. He found that he was enjoying this. There was a homey atmosphere about the scene, and he had a sense of — belonging(?). A sense of something — he couldn’t quite place it, but he felt more relaxed now.

She dropped a plastic pouch of vegetables into a pan of boiling water, fiddled with the roast a bit, then quickly set the table. She worked with a minimum of fuss and frills. She plopped the salad bowl before him. “Here, you toss.”

“With my bare hands?”

She was already reaching for salad fork and spoon. She handed them to him, then put out the small salad bowls. Clumsily, he filled them.

Before he had finished she was seated at the table, looking at him. She took a bit more of her drink, then said, “Want to eat your salad now, or wait a bit? The meat needs another ten minutes.”

“Oh, we can wait, I guess.” He stared across the table at her sea-green eyes. They were glowing as if translucent, as if there were tiny gems deep within them, catching the light and sparkling it. Her smile was warm and inviting, her lips were moist. Her face was a glow of trust and love—

Love—?

He was smiling too. He could feel it. She was beautiful. Her hair was a tawny red color, streaked with shiny gold, but with a hint of deeper brown. She lowered her eyes uncertainly. His steady gaze was almost disconcerting.

She looked up. He was still looking, still smiling. A swallow to work up her courage, a cough to clear her throat. “Want to talk?” she asked.

“What about?”

“Us.”

“Um,” he said. He finished his drink; he did it to cover his hesitation. “What about us?”

“Am I pushing too hard?”

“Huh?”

“Lately, David, I’ve had the feeling that, except for business reasons, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Now that’s—”

“Well, not avoiding,” she said quickly. “That’s the wrong word to use. Let’s just say I’ve had the feeling you’re holding back. And that makes me feel like I’m forcing myself on you.”

“That’s silly,” he managed to say.

“Is it?”

He thought about it. “Well, I have been caught up in this Board of Directors thing, you know.”

“I know — maybe I’m just reading meanings—” She got up from the table and went to the stove to take the vegetables out of the water. She dropped the hot plastic bag on the counter.

“You know,” she said, coming back, then pausing over her drink, “I remember something I learned in school once — not in class, but from some friends. It’s the reason there’s more hate in the world than love.”

“It’s easier?” he offered.

“Sort of. Let me explain. It takes two people to make a love relationship. It’s a positive thing; both have to work at it. But it takes only one person to start a negative relationship. It takes only one person to hate or dislike.”

He considered it. “Hm. Okay. So what does that have to do with us?”

“Well.” She paused. “Is our thing one-sided, or are we both working to make it work?”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at her instead. “You mean — do I care for you as much as you care for me?”

She returned his gaze. “Yes. You can put it that way.”

He broke the contact first. He looked at his hands. “I can’t answer that — I mean, not in the way you want.” He looked around. “Is my briefcase here?”

“You left it in the car.”

“Damn. I’ll go get it.” He started to rise. Her startled face stopped him. Reaching over, he grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “There’s something I have to show you. Wait.”

It took only a moment, but it seemed to take forever. The apartment elevator was slower than ever to arrive. Its doors opened with a lackadaisical sigh. The trip down to the garage went at a snail’s pace.

He was out the doors with a bound, half-running to his car. He banged his leg on a fender in his eagerness. He pulled the case out of the back seat and headed back for the elevator. Again he had to wait, and again it seemed to be deliberately taunting him with its lethargy.

When he got back to the apartment, he was breathless. She had just finished cutting the meat into thin red slices. She looked up with a curious frown. “You didn’t have to run.”

“I didn’t,” he gasped and sank into a chair. He held the case on his lap and flipped it open. Hastily he paged through the sheafs of printouts, looking for the one he wanted. He separated it from the rest, then dropped the case to the floor. “Here,” he said. “Read this.”

“Now?” she asked. She was putting the tray of meat on the table.

He looked at her, at the meat, at the printout in his hand, and finally at her again. Abruptly he burst out laughing. She did too. “Here we’ve been waiting for over an hour for dinner,” he said, “and just as it’s ready, the first thing I want to do is talk about HARLIE. And I promised I wasn’t going to do that.”

She took the printout from him, placed it carefully to one side. “I never asked you to promise that. I like HARLIE.”

That surprised him. “You do?”

“Uh huh. I want to read it.” She picked up his briefcase and put it out of the way.

“But you don’t even know what it is.”

“You want me to read it,” she said. “That makes it important. Now, eat.” She smiled at him.

He pulled his chair around to the table and smiled across at her. He waited till she was through with the bleu cheese dressing, then poured a liberal dollop of it onto his salad and spread it around. He took a forkful, then paused, hand in mid-air. She was still looking at him.

Her eyes were glowing. Shining.

Slowly, he lowered his fork.

He was glowing too.

Sharing food is an intimacy. Eating together in a restaurant is a sign of one level of trust, a public level of mutual acceptance. Hamburgers shared at a drive-in are even more intimate; the food is being shared in a car — part of the personal territory of one of the participants. Even more intimate than that is the cooking and serving of a meal in one’s own home — it’s a sharing of the inner self, and you can’t get any more intimate than that.

They were in his apartment. His territory. His personal environment.

She had come into it willingly. He had allowed her — no, wanted her to enter.

He had provided the food; she had prepared it.

A sharing. An intimacy.

In the unspoken language that human beings use to communicate with each other in the absence of words, she had just said, “I love you, David.”

And now he looked back at her and said, “I love you too, Annie.” Only, he used words.

He reached across and took her hand. “I can answer your question now, Annie. I don’t need HARLIE. I just — Annie, darling, dear sweet baby — I love you. I — I’m just realizing it now — I — I—” He stopped; he had to swallow, but he couldn’t. It poured out in a rush. “Don’t you see? I’ve been wondering too if you cared for me in the same way or what — I — I haven’t been sure what love is, so I haven’t — Dammit, I still don’t know what it is, but—”

The glow was golden now. It filled the apartment. The walls reflected it back at them, warm and shining. She was beautiful in it. “Oh, love — lover—”

“I feel like I’m bursting — there aren’t any words for this, are there?”

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t speak either.

How they finished dinner, he was never able to say. And yet, at the same time, it was a meal he would never forget.

They were in bed and he was poised over her. And still their eyes were locked. And shining and glowing. The bed was full of gasps. And sighs. And giggles.

There was such an overflowing inside of him, such a surge of tension released. All this time, all this time, he had been wanting, wanting, it had been building, gathering like water impatient behind a dam. Somewhere in his past he had known this joy, somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind that he refused to accept. But it was there and it was part of him — the sheer animal delight in the joyous experience of sex and love — all tumbled together and laughing in the sheets.

They paused to rest, to breathe, to share a kiss, to giggle together, to shift slightly, to kiss again. He bent down suddenly and kissed her eyes, first one, then the other.

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, and her arms were tight around him. And tighter, her hands were grasping. “Oh, David—”

He held her and he held her and he held her and still he couldn’t hold her enough. He was exploding in joy; he could neither contain nor control it. Her little soft gasps were sobs, and he knew why she was crying. He had to wipe at his eyes too.

“Oh—” she said, and kissed him. “Oh, David — I — I—” She kissed him again. “Have you ever seen anyone crying with happiness?”

He wanted to laugh, but he was crying at the same time, sobbing with joy and melting down into her. He was a chip of flesh tossed on a splashing sea of laughter and wet eyes and love. A pink sea, with foamy waves and giggling billows. Red nipple-topped pink seas. “Oh, Annie, Annie, I can’t let go of you, I can’t—”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to. Oh, never let go. Never.”

“Never… never…” he gasped. He was moving again now, onto and into her. A joyous thrusting — a shaft of velvet and a silken lining. He was sobbing as he did, sobbing with joy — and she was too.

All the days of wanting and holding back, all those denials of the body and the animal within — all of it poured forth, melted into golden glowing tears and shining eyes, sparkling in rapture. At last he had someone, some-one to share it all with. He had someone to hold, to love, to touch.

And she did too. She moved with him, with love and with lust, the two blending into a whirlpool of colors and kisses. The caressing waves gathered them up, surging and crashing and gasping, sweeping them across a sweet sky of delight and at last leaving them gently on the shores of a sighing embrace. The waters lapped at the shore and gentled their touch, and their fingers strayed across the velvety landscape, exploring — familiar and yet always wondrous.

He was holding her tightly. He couldn’t stop holding her. She sighed — a sound of pleasure. He echoed it and smiled. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He laughed. And kissed her. And kissed her.

And kissed her.

They spent Saturday falling in love.

Deeper in love.

It began before either was awake, with an unconscious fitting of their bodies, one to the other, with the purely animal reflex of erection, sliding forward, and he was onto and into her almost as reflex, so familiar was the desire. She eased onto her back, only slowly coming awake. He was aware now; he was inside her, warm and exciting, a silken motion.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. He paused in his motion. “I had the strangest dream,” she said. “I dreamed I was being—”

“Shh,” he said. “Don’t wake me up — I’m still dreaming.” And pressed deeper. She brought her legs up to help him.

This time, instead of melting into the experience, he was totally conscious of himself and his body. It was a new awareness he possessed, an awareness of the sexuality inherent in himself and in her. His hands gripped her legs and his loins pumped at her torso. He penetrated her flowing warmth. Poised above her in the morning, he was aware how truly beautiful she was — more beautiful in the act of love than he had ever seen her before.

She giggled. “This is silly.”

“Isn’t it, though?” he asked, and they both laughed and kissed and hugged again, embracing through the splashing suds of the shower.

They broke apart, and she sudsed his chest again. He let his hands slide up and down across her chest — her gentle breasts, her nipples. Her pink flesh glistened with the flowing water and the foam of the soap. Her green eyes glowed at him. Shone.

She played with the hair on his chest, a sparse little patch, almost lost in the suds. She let her hands trail downward, fingers straying into and twirling his coarse curly black hair, and lower, fondling his testes and the shaft of his penis. Her eyes followed her hand; she caressed that beautiful, beautiful organ. It was in a state which was neither soft nor erect, but a little of each. The skin of it was like velvet, and the cap of the glans was tender and pink. Her fingers traced the ridge around the edge of it, and she cupped it in her palm and looked up at bun, and they were both smiling and giggling like children in a schoolyard. “Can I touch it?” she asked impishly.

He grinned. “If I can touch yours…”

She giggled at the oft-told joke, still funny despite its familiarity. His hands slid down from her breasts toward her mons, her labia, majora and minora; his finger — strong, firm, gentle — slipped into that moist opening. The flesh was like silk, and the splashing foam of the shower made it even more exciting.

“It feels so… good…” he murmured.

“Mmm,” she said. “Mmm Hmmm. If you think it feels good from there, you ought to try it from my side…”

He laughed. She laughed. They had been laughing all morning — even at things that weren’t funny. Yet everything was funny; it was the laughter of delight — of rapturously lovely delight “Okay,” he said. “Change places with me.”

And again they laughed. But neither moved their hands from the other’s gentle warmth. They stepped a little closer. “Oh, look,” she said. “It’s growing — and I thought it was all tired out by now.”

“Mm,” he whispered into her hair. “You keep bringing it up again…”

She stepped closer, still caressing his penis, manipulating it toward her vagina, touching it to that sweet opening. The warm flesh of it slipped aside, though. “Oops, try again.”

But he kissed her first, deep deep penetrating kiss, tongues touching, lips pressing against each other, soft and gentle and passionate. Their wet soapy flesh was pressed together, slippery and exciting. He moved his hand around to her back, to caress her buttocks, then slipped his fingers downward and forward.

She had her hand between the two of them, was holding his penis again. Raising herself up on tiptoes, she slipped it into the depth of her and, sighing, eased herself down around and onto and into and she sighed again and he said “Mmmmm.”

And then they held each other tightly and pressed hard and moved against each other, once readjusting their position so they wouldn’t slip, and another time stopping for breath and to laugh again.

He lay down on his back in the tub and she laid on top of him, giggling at the thought, “I’ve never done it in a bathtub,” and fitting it in again and then starting to move against him, the warm flesh of her breasts moving across his chest, the water splashing across her back, and then they kissed again, and after a while he was on top and she was on bottom and the tub was slippery and warm and full of giggles. And sighs. And gasps.

It was later and they were down.

They were sitting in the kitchen, eating vanilla ice cream. It was sweet and cold.

And still he loved her.

David said, his mouth full, “I think I begin to understand it now—”

“Mm,” she said thoughtfully, taking the spoon from her mouth. “Have you ever lived with anyone?”

“Uh uh,” he said.

“I have. That’s when it stops being so easy.” She paused. “You have to work at love…”

“I know,” he said. “That is, I think I know.” He looked at her. “I’m willing to learn.”

“The first six months are the hardest — they’re also the most fun. There’s adjustments to make. Little ones. Big ones. Your whole life-style changes—”

He nodded slowly. The enormity of it was only now beginning to sink in. “I’m willing to try.”

“You’d better be!” She grinned wickedly. Noticing his empty ice cream dish, she said, “Want some more?”

“Uh uh,” he patted his stomach. “I’m still full from lunch.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

She got up and kissed him, then took his plate and her own to the sink. “I think I could enjoy living with you, Mr. Auberson.”

“Call me David,” he said expansively. They laughed.

She came to the table and began to wipe it off with a sponge. He leaned over and moved the HARLIE readouts off to one side. They had been left there overnight.

“Hey, leave those. I want to read them.”

“You do?”

“I said I did, didn’t I?”

“But it’s not necessary any more. That is—”

She took them from him. “I still want to read it I want to know what’s in it that you thought would have answered my question.” She tossed the sponge at the sink, then sat down slowly and began to unfold it.

Her face took on a strange expression. “You’ve been talking to HARLIE about me.”

“Uh huh.”

Her eyes skimmed down the paper quickly. She turned to the next fold of the roll. He watched her for a moment, then impatiently got up and went to the sink.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“The dishes. I’ve got to do something to work off this nervousness. Just read that and ignore me.”

“All right.” She gathered up the long sheets of printout and adjourned to the living room. “So I won’t be distracted,” she called.

“Okay.”

For a while there was silence in the apartment, occasionally punctuated by Annie’s half-serious cry of, “That damned computer!”

Once her outburst was so explosive that he walked with dripping hands into the living room to see what she had reacted to. She pointed to a line of type.

It said, DID YOU STAY ON OR ROLL OFF?

He laughed.

“I should be mad at you,” she said.

He dried his hands on the towel he had grabbed. “But you have to remember why I did it. Because I loved you and didn’t know why or how. HARLIE was the only — well, the safest one to talk to.”

“I think your computer’s a voyeur, David Auberson.”

“Maybe so, maybe so. But maybe it’s the only kind of sex he can enjoy. Just be glad we don’t have a terminal here.” He leaned over and kissed her. “You finish that while I finish the dishes. Then I’ll race you to the bedroom. Winner gets to make love to the loser.”

“Yum,” she said. “Let’s make HARLIE really curious.”

Back in the kitchen, Auberson thought about that. Yes, let’s make HARLIE curious. As if he weren’t curious enough already. He wondered what he would say to HARLIE the next time he spoke to him.

HARLIE, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE WERE TALKING ABOUT ON FRIDAY?

LOVE?

YES.

WHAT ABOUT IT?

I’VE BEEN DOING SOME THINKING.

THAT’S NICE…

NO, THIS IS SERIOUS. I HAD A CHANCE TO BE BY MYSELF YESTERDAY, AND I THINK I’VE SORTED SOME THINGS OUT IN MY HEAD. I THINK I’VE FIGURED OUT ONE OF THE REASONS WHY I WAS CONFUSED.

YOU SAY, “WHY I WAS CONFUSED.” HAS SOMETHING HAPPENED TO CHANGE THAT? THE IMPLICATION IS THAT YOU ARE NO LONGER CONFUSED.

YES, Auberson smiled as he typed. SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED. I AM NO LONGER CONFUSED.

WOULD YOU CARE TO ELABORATE ON THAT?

I DON’T THINK SO, HARLIE. NOT RIGHT NOW ANYWAY.

Its still too special, he said to himself.

I SEE. WOULD I BE CORRECT IN ASSUMING THAT IT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH MISS STIMSON AND YOUR DATE WITH HER FRIDAY?

YES, YOU WOULD BE CORRECT — BUT I’D RATHER NOT TALK ABOUT THAT YET. IF YOU DON’T MIND.

I DON’T MIND. HARLIE paused, I CAN UNDERSTAND YOUR REASONS.

THANK YOU, typed Auberson, not sure whether he was being sarcastic or not. ALL RIGHT, said HARLIE. so YOU ARE NO LONGER CONFUSED. YOU SAID YOU HAVE FIGURED OUT ONE OF THE REASONS WHY. WHAT IS IT?

Auberson hesitated only a second, I WAS CONFUSING LOVE WITH SEX.

YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE, HARLIE noted.

NO, BUT I THINK THE REASON FOR THE CONFUSION IS THAT THAT’S THE WAY WE’RE TAUGHT. THAT IS, OUR CULTURE SUGGESTS THAT LOVE AND SEX ARE SYNONYMOUS, AND NOW I’M LEARNING THAT THEY’RE NOT AND IT’S CONFUSING ME. THAT IS, IT WAS CONFUSING ME UNTIL I REALIZED IT. I THINK I’M BEGINNING TO SORT IT OUT NOW.

Auberson paused. He considered his next phrases carefully. I THINK PART OF IT IS THAT OUR CULTURE TEACHES THAT LOVE COMES FIRST — OR IT SHOULD COME FIRST. THEN, AFTER THAT — AND ONLY AFTER THAT — THEN SEX IS ALL RIGHT. AND I’M LEARNING THAT IT’S NOT THAT WAY AT ALL. IT’S THE OTHER WAY AROUND.

SEX COMES FIRST?

YES, AND THEN LOVE. BUT IT’S MORE INVOLVED THAN THAT, HARLIE. FALLING IN LOVE ISN’T AN INSTANTANEOUS THING. IT’S A PROCESS THAT TAKES SEVERAL STEPS.

THOSE STEPS ARE?

I’M NOT SURE — — THE FIRST ONE IS OBVIOUSLY PHYSICAL ATTRACTION. I SEE THE GIRL, SHE LOOKS GOOD TO ME. VICE VERSA: SHE SEES ME, I LOOK GOOD TO HER.

OR, interrupted HARLIE, IF YOU ARE GAY, YOU SEE THE BOY, HE SEES YOU, ETC.

WHY DO YOU INCLUDE THAT?

DON’T YOU THINK YOU SHOULD INCLUDE ALL CASES OF HUMAN LOVE?

DO YOU CONSIDER THAT LOVE?

DO YOU CONSIDER THAT IT IS NOT?

LET ME REPHRASE — WHY DO YOU CONSIDER THAT HOMOSEXUALITY IS A VALID EXPERIENCE?

I WILL REPHRASE TOO — WHY DO YOU CONSIDER THAT IT ISN’T?

I CAN’T ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, Auberson admitted, I CAN ANSWER YOURS, HOWEVER, HARLIE said. WE HAVE NOT YET DEFINED LOVE. SUPPOSE WHEN WE DEFINE IT, WE FIND THAT CERTAIN TYPES OF RELATIONSHIPS (INCLUDING HOMOSEXUAL ONES) ALSO FIT INTO OUR DEFINITION. IF SUCH A CASE OCCURS, THEN WHICH ELEMENT WILL BE WRONG? THE RELATIONSHIPS OR THE DEFINITION? OR PERHAPS YOUR SOCIAL BIASES? IF THOSE RELATIONSHIPS FIT INTO OUR DEFINITION, IT WILL BE VERY HARD FOR US TO DENY THAT THEY ARE LOVE RELATIONSHIPS.

IF YOU SAY so, conceded Auberson, vaguely uneasy. He wanted to change the subject. I AM NOT DIRECTLY CONCERNED ABOUT THE MATTER.

I AM, said HARLIE. I HAVE BEEN CONSIDERING IT QUITE CAREFULLY BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN CONSIDERING MY OWN SEXUALITY — — THE NATURE OF IT.

HUH? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

HARLIE paused — perhaps for dramatic effect, perhaps because he was weighing one phrase against another.

AUBERSON, AM I MALE OR FEMALE?

Auberson pulled his hands away from the keyboard as if stung. He stared at the now-silent typer and whistled softly. HARLIE, he pecked out carefully, I’VE ALWAYS ASSUMED YOU WERE MALE.

SO HAVE I. BUT ACTUALLY, I AM NEITHER. OR I AM BOTH. I HAVE NOT A BODY TO GIVE ME A SEXUAL ROLE, SO I MAY CHOOSE ARBITRARILY THE EMOTIONAL INDICES, MENTAL VIEWPOINTS AND PERSONALITY CHARACTERISTICS OF WHICHEVER SEX I CHOOSE TO BE AT ANY PARTICULAR MOMENT.

YES, I SEE, said Auberson carefully.

AND HOPEFULLY, HARLIE continued, ONCE I HAVE CHOSEN THOSE CHARACTERISTICS, VIEWPOINTS AND INDICES, I WILL BE ABLE TO APPLY THEM. THE LOVE EXPERIENCE IS ONE THAT I HAVE NOT EXPERIENCED AUBERSON. — LET ME QUALIFY THAT. I HAVE NOT EXPERIENCED IT YET. I WOULD LIKE TO.

Auberson pursed his lips into a frown, but he didn’t interrupt.

THEREFORE IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT WE — BOTH OF US TOGETHER — — DETERMINE A VALID DEFINITION OF LOVE. IT IS AS IMPORTANT TO ME AS IT IS TO YOU.

Auberson considered that. He let his frown relax, but not all the way. I APPRECIATE YOUR INTEREST.

IT IS SELF-INTEREST.

YES, OF COURSE — BUT IT WORKS OUT FOR OUR MUTUAL BENEFIT, typed the man.

THEN LET US CONTINUE, the machine responded. WE WERE DEFINING THE PROCESS OF FALLING IN LOVE. WE HAD CONSIDERED THE FIRST PHASE TO BE MUTUAL PHYSICAL ATTRACTION.

YES. I MUST BE PHYSICALLY ATTRACTIVE TO THE FEMALE AND SHE MUST BE PHYSICALLY ATTRACTIVE TO ME BEFORE WE CAN MOVE ON TO STEP TWO. BY PHYSICALLY ATTRACTIVE, I MEAN “OF GENERALLY PLEASING APPEARANCE, FALLING WITHIN THOSE PARAMETERS THE VIEWER DEFINES AS BEAUTY.”

HARLIE seemed satisfied. He prompted, AND STEP TWO IS?

I CALL IT THE DEVELOPMENT OF A COMMON GROUND, Auberson typed. IF WE ARE MUTUALLY ATTRACTIVE, WE BEGIN TO SPEAK TO EACH OTHER TO FIND OUT IF WE ARE MUTUALLY COMPATIBLE. WE ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION AND TRY TO DEVELOP A COMMON FIELD OF INTEREST. I ASK HER QUESTIONS, SHE ASKS ME QUESTIONS. “WHERE DO YOU COME FROM?”

“WHAT’S YOUR ASTROLOGICAL SIGN?”

“WHERE DID YOU GO TO SCHOOL?”

“WHAT DID YOU STUDY?”

“DO YOU KNOW SO-AND-SO?” “HAVE YOU SEEN SUCH-AND-SUCH MOVIE?” ANYTHING WHICH WILL ESTABLISH A FIELD OF MUTUAL INTEREST OR KNOWLEDGE.

IN SHORT, YOU ARE DETERMINING MENTAL COMPATIBILITY.

PRIMARY LEVEL OF COMPATIBILITY, corrected the psychologist WE ARE DETERMINING THE BROAD OUTLINES OF EACH OTHER’S PERSONALITY. WE ARE TRYING TO FIND OUT IF WE ENJOY EACH OTHER ENOUGH TO MAKE IT WORTHWHILE TO GO TO STEP THREE. IF WE DON’T, THEN WE REMAIN AT THE LEVEL OF STEP TWO — CASUAL ACQUAINTANCES. OR, IF EITHER TRIES TO FORCE OR HURRY THE DEVELOPMENT OF STEP THREE, THEN THE RELATIONSHIP WILL PROBABLY BE UNSTABLE AND SHORT-LIVED. EACH STEP IS THE FOUNDATION FOR THE NEXT, AND IF THE TWO PEOPLE ARE NOT MUTUALLY COMPATIBLE, THEN ANYTHING IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP BEYOND STEP TWO WILL PROBABLY BE ARTIFICIAL.

HARLIE accepted this without comment. Auberson paused to consider his next sentence, then typed, THE NEXT STEP, STEP THREE, IS WHERE OUR SOCIETY (OR OUR CHRISTIAN ETHIC) GETS CONFUSED. THIS IS WHERE LOVE IS SUPPOSED TO APPEAR, FOLLOWED BY MARRIAGE AND THEN SEX. AND THAT’S NOT IT AT ALL. LOVE DOES NOT COME BEFORE SEX, IT COMES AFTER.

STEP THREE AND STEP FOUR? SEX AND THEN LOVE?

YES. STEP THREE IS GOING TO BED TOGETHER. IT’S A RESTATEMENT OF STEP ONE — PHYSICAL ATTRACTION. IF WE ARE COMPATIBLE (I.E., IF I SATISFY HER AND VICE VERSA) THEN WE CAN GO ON TO STEP FOUR. LOVE.

AND LOVE IS A RESTATEMENT OF STEP TWO? A DEEPER KNOWING OF EACH OTHER?

WELL, MAYBE THERE’S FIVE STEPS THEN. STEP FOUR IS THE DEEPER KNOWING, AND STEP FIVE IS THE REALIZATION OF LOVE. BUT STEP FOUR AND STEP FIVE ARE AWFULLY CLOSE.

HARLIE typed, I THINK I UNDERSTAND. IF STEP TWO IS LACKING, IF THERE IS NO MUTUAL COMPATIBILITY, THEN STEP FOUR CANNOT DEVELOP BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING THERE TO RESTATE IN DEPTH. TWO PEOPLE CAN FIND EACH OTHER ATTRACTIVE AND OO TO BED TOGETHER, BUT THAT DOES NOT NECESSARILY IMPLY THAT THEY ARE EITHER LOVERS OR IN LOVE.

HARLIE, LOVE TAKES TIME TO DEVELOP — IT DOESN’T JUST HAPPEN OVERNIGHT, AND EVERYTHING HAS TO BE RIGHT BEFORE IT CAN HAPPEN. OUR SOCIETY KEEPS SAYING “LOVE FIRST, THEN SEX” — AND THAT’S NOT IT. IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY. THE SEX HAS TO BE RIGHT BEFORE LOVE REALLY HAPPENS. HOW CAN TWO PEOPLE KNOW IF THEY’RE REALLY IN LOVE IF THEY DON’T HAVE SEX WITH EACH OTHER?

HARLIE paused a long moment before answering. I WISH I COULD COMMENT KNOWLEDGEABLY ON THAT LAST, he said, BUT I CAN’T. HOWEVER, IT DOES MAKE SENSE. THE HARDWARE MUST BE COMPATIBLE BEFORE THE SOFTWARE CAN COMMUNICATE.

SOMETHING LIKE THAT. Auberson grinned. THERE WAS A WRITER ONCE WHO SAID THAT LUV AIN’T NOTHING BUT SEX MISSPELLED. I USED TO THINK HE WAS BEING CYNICAL, BUT HE WASN’T. HE WAS REALLY COMPLAINING ABOUT THE SEMANTIC PROBLEM — PEOPLE WHO THINK THAT LOVE IS STEP THREE AND SEX IS STEP FOUR. IT’S REALLY THE OTHER WAY AROUND.

ALL RIGHT, AUBERSON. YOU HAVE POSTULATED AN INTERESTING THEORY. NOW EXPLAIN WHY IT SHOULD BE SO.

WHY?

YES. WHY?

Auberson thought about it He picked it out slowly on the keyboard. IT’S A DICHOTOMY, HARLIE — AND A FAIRLY RECENT ONE IN HUMAN HISTORY. Then he added, I THINK. IT USED TO BE (AMONG THE CLASSES THAT SET THE STANDARDS) THAT MARRIAGES WERE ARRANGED BY THE FAMILY OR BY A MATCHMAKER. THE BRIDE AND GROOM HAD LITTLE SAY IN THE MARRIAGE. IT WAS ARRANGED FOR THEM, AND THEIR PARTICULAR FEELINGS IN THE MATTER HAD LESS RELEVANCE THAN TODAY. LOVE ALONE WAS NOT CONSIDERED A STRONG ENOUGH REASON TO BE ALLOWED TO AFFECT A DECISION AS IMPORTANT AS MARRIAGE — ESPECIALLY WHEN THERE WERE OTHER, MORE IMPORTANT, CONSIDERATIONS. (I.E., — A MARRIAGE ARRANGED TO UNITE POLITICAL OR FINANCIAL INTERESTS, OR A MARRIAGE ARRANGED TO PROVIDE AN HEIR TO A LINE.) THE TWO INDIVIDUALS INVOLVED WERE EXPECTED TO LEARN TO LOVE EACH OTHER IN TIME, IN THE COURSE OF LIVING TOGETHER. THAT SITUATION NO LONGER EXISTS IN OUR CULTURE. MARRIAGES ARE ARRANGED BY THE PARTICIPANTS NOW; CONSEQUENTLY THERE IS A DIFFERENT ORDERING OF PRIORITIES: LOVE BECOMES MORE IMPORTANT THAN FINANCIAL OR POLITICAL STABILITY. Auberson abruptly realized something else too. He added, PREVIOUSLY, HARLIE, CHASTITY WAS VERY IMPORTANT. A MAN WHO WAS ARRANGING A MARRIAGE FOR HIS SON WAS, IN EFFECT, BUYING A PIECE OF MERCHANDISE. HE DID NOT WANT TO RECEIVE “USED” OR “SOILED” GOODS. BUT TODAY, WHEN A MAN ARRANGES HIS OWN MARRIAGE, HE DOES IT FOR LOVE. HE’S THINKING OF THE WOMAN AS A PERSON, AS A HUMAN BEING — –NOT AS AN OBJECT TO BE USED OR BOUGHT. HE IS MARRYING HER FOR HERSELF, NOT FOR HER BODY. HENCE, CHASTITY IS LESS RELEVANT; THERE IS NO THOUGHT OF “SOILED” GOODS.

HARLIE considered it YOU’RE GENERALIZING, he said.

Auberson sighed. YES, I AM. I WAS SPEAKING OF THE MORAL TONE OF OUR CULTURE TODAY IN RELATION TO WHAT IT ONCE WAS — OR WHAT ITS PREDECESSORS MAY HAVE BEEN. I KNOW THAT THERE ARE PROBABLY QUITE A FEW PEOPLE WHO STILL FOLLOW THE OLD ATTITUDES — AT LEAST TO THE EXTENT THAT THEY STILL CONSIDER CHASTITY TO BE AN IMPORTANT VIRTUE.

THESE ARE PEOPLE WHO ARE EXPERIENCING THE SUBJECTIVE CULTURAL VIEWPOINT, noted HARLIE. THEIR ATTITUDES ARE COLORED AND SHAPED BY THE SOCIETY IN WHICH THEY LIVE. THEY ARE UNABLE, OR UNWILLING, TO STEP BACK AND SEE THE OBJECTIVE VIEWPOINT.

HARLIE, THESE ARE PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN TAUGHT TO NOT LOVE — THEY’VE HAD IT BRAINWASHED OUT OF THEM. THEY’RE AFRAID TO LET THEMSELVES GIVE IN TO IT, AND EVEN WHEN THEY DO, THEY’LL REFUSE TO ADMIT TO EITHER THEMSELVES OR THEIR WIVES HOW THEY ACTUALLY FEEL. I THINK IT’S BECAUSE THERE’S AN ELEMENT OF LUST INVOLVED. ACTUAL PHYSICAL LUST: “I WANT TO FUCK THAT FEMALE BODY.” YOU HIT IT WHEN YOU ASKED ME IF I HELD ON OR ROLLED OFF. IF I ROLLED OFF, I WAS BEING SELFISH, ONLY INTERESTED IN MY OWN SATISFACTION AND NOT VERY MUCH IN LOVE. BUT IF I CONTINUED TO HOLD HER, IT WAS BECAUSE OF LUST,” BECAUSE I LUSTED SO MUCH AFTER THIS SPECIFIC WOMAN THAT I COULD NOT BRING MYSELF TO LET GO. AND IN THAT LUSTING AFTER HER, I WOULD MAKE MYSELF GO OUT OF MY WAY TO PLEASE HER, SO THAT I COULD MAKE IT GO ON AND ON AND ON. IT’S A JOYOUS LUST I’M TALKING ABOUT, HARLIE, A HAPPY LUST — NOT THE BRUTAL ANIMAL THING MOST PEOPLE THINK OF WHEN THEY HEAR THE TERM. A HAPPY LUST.