Chapter 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

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In his sophomore year David and a group of friends visited another college. Upon arrival in midafternoon, the group descended upon a sorority that one of the men was acquainted with from a previous visit. Susan Beckwith and a couple of other young women were studying in the sorority house’s large living room when David’s group arrived. The young men entered the sorority house hallway tentatively, and one of the young women rose to greet them.

"Hi!" she sang brightly. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so!" the group’s spokesman said. "We just got into town from Watson, and we’re sort of lost!"

"Oh! Well, would you like to come in for some coffee? Perhaps we can get you oriented!"

"Sounds good!" everyone chorused, and the boys followed her into the living room.

Word spread through the upper floors of the sorority. Soon the living room was graced by several young women for every man in the group.

Susan Beckwith thought briefly of slipping away. A striking and talented young woman, she was an art major at the small college. Her medium was sculpture. While in high school she had won several competitions and would no doubt have won a scholarship somewhere had she pursued one. But, her family was comfortably upper middle class and Susan opted to attend her father’s alma mater.

As she was closing her book and preparing to withdraw discreetly, Susan’s gaze fell upon a handsome, tall, sensitive looking young man hanging back in the group.

"The introvert," she thought. His clothes attested to the fact that he didn’t share her circumstances. They were clean but somewhat frayed, rather than deliberately disheveled but newly off the rack.

"Probably on a scholarship," she correctly guessed.

Surprising herself, she went over and struck up a conversation with him. He was clearly gratified for the attention, though shy. She liked him at once. He was majoring in electronics and, yes, he was on a scholarship. He was visibly fascinated upon learning of her major and that her medium was sculpture.

After a few minutes she asked him if he wouldn’t like to sit down, and took him away from the group to a small sofa near a large bay window. The window looked out over a glen behind the sorority house. The afternoon sun shone through her long brown hair creating a halo of dazzling colors around her face. David was beginning to relax a little, and she sensed with secret pleasure that he was beginning to actually notice her for the first time.

There was much to notice. Most striking were here eyes. Large and darkly brown, they were the windows of an intelligence that David intuitively sensed to be a match for his own. She wore no makeup; yet her face radiated a natural color and health. She was dressed in a long-sleeved cashmere sweater and light, tan, corduroy slacks. An odd little spherical metal cage dangled from a thin chain around her neck, rising and falling on her bosom with each breath. David wondered what was in the cage. He looked away, not wanting to offend.

They talked for quite some time. A coffee urn and cups were eventually wheeled in on a cart and Susan asked if he would like some.

"I’ll get it," he offered, starting to rise.

"No, no, let me," she insisted. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Black," he said, hoping that she liked it that way too. She did. When she moved away toward the line at the cart, he took further stock. She had a narrow waist, which broadened into round hips that filled the material of the slacks softly. She moved with a natural, unaffected grace. He watched her candidly as she stood in line. When she bent over the coffee urn her long, silken hair dropped like a curtain, cloaking her face in profile. By the time she moved back toward him, smiling over two cups of coffee, he was smitten. A feeling stole over him that this was destined to be no casual interlude, but the start of something important in his life. Somewhere deep within his soul a vow to win her began to take form.

Shortly after everyone had had coffee, one of the young men announced that he and one of the women were going to a local hangout for beer. Did anyone else want to come? The noise in the living room ebbed for a fleeting moment, only to rise to a new pitch as the young women who guessed they would not be invited chattered and laughed with renewed abandon. David looked at Susan earnestly. His mind was feverishly working on an alternative plan in the event she declined.

"Would you like to go?" he asked.

With a rush of relief he heard her answer.

"Sure!"

David called Susan several times from Watson during the ensuing two weeks. He was restless and out of sorts and achingly longed to see her again. He thought, from her tone of voice, that she wanted to see him too. They made a date, and one Saturday morning he made a special trip alone to see her.

In the afternoon they walked hand-in-hand in the glen. The woods were beautiful and private. He longed to kiss her. Did she want him to? Later she took him to a studio in the art building and showed him a piece of her work. In a strange, transcendental way it struck a geometric, mathematical chord deep within David’s psyche. He had never taken much notice of art, let alone sculpture. Yet it seemed to him that this was what sculpture was all about. He circled the piece several times in silence, stooping, cocking his head, putting the three dimensional shape together into a single theme in his mind.

Susan was enormously flattered. Not everyone appreciated sculpture, not to mention her own unique style. She held his hand with a new sense of belonging when they left the studio. She fantasized that he had seized her and kissed her passionately in the deserted studio. Deep within she too began to feel that this was no casual interlude. She stole glances at him --- his face in profile --- his easy smile and the way he moved.

That evening they went out for Italian food and a movie. It was a warm October evening when the movie let out. The air was redolent with the scent of autumn leaves. Susan led him through some quiet, residential streets of the old town as they wended their way back to the campus. They held hands and talked quietly. Susan felt attracted to him like a moth to a bright flame. Things stirred within her --- wonderful things, thrilling things. He was so honest and bright! Although he referred to himself and his friends as ‘techies’, there was much more to him! It made her thrill to think that he liked her --- that he wanted to be with her! She had dated in high school, but had never felt this way about a man before!

"Where will you sleep?" she asked. It was nearly midnight and a long way back to Watson. She knew that he had come by bus and that the bus station was closed for the night.

"Oh, I’ll be okay," he answered. He implied that he hadn’t gotten a room at the town’s only hotel yet, but planned to do so. She knew he was lying --- that he was planning to sleep outdoors.

"You could sleep on one of the couches in the TV room," she offered. "No one would mind."

He was silent for several seconds.

"You’re sure?" he asked, searching her face carefully. He didn’t want charity.

"Absolutely!" she reassured. "Dates do it all the time!"

"Okay," he said after a pause. They continued on, his hand giving hers little squeezes and she returning them. His stomach began to quiver oddly.

When they arrived at the sorority, the lower floor of the house was darkened and quiet. Susan led him into the TV room and told him to find a comfortable spot. She would make them some hot chocolate.

The room was dark except for a shaft of light streaming through some French doors from a street lamp. David found a sofa in the shadows. Susan returned with two mugs of hot chocolate and they enjoyed them in silence.

He finished his and leaned back into the cushions of the couch, studying her face in the faint light.

"I’m really glad I came," he confided, not expecting an answer. Susan finished her cocoa and set her empty mug next to his.

"So am I," she answered, half turning toward him. Her knee pressed against his thigh.

"She’s so beautiful," he thought, and reached up to touch her hair. She moved her face toward his hand, touching it with her cheek.

Gently he pushed the fingers of his hand between her head and neck and pulled her toward him. She came freely, and for the first time he felt the full softness of her mouth on his. His arms enfolded hers, pinning them to her sides. Her lips parted.

She was not the first girl he had kissed, but at this moment he felt that she would be the last. Hungrily their lips grappled; their breath sounded through their nostrils in quickening cadence. She freed her arms and wrapped them around his neck. Young passion kindled within them. His hand found her breast. He marveled at the fullness of it. She offered no resistance. When he began to lift her sweater she clutched his hand firmly, stopping him.

"Come on," he cajoled in a thick whisper. She looked at him in the dim light. She wanted to do the right thing.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, searching his eyes.

David’s head cleared. What was he doing, thinking only of himself this way? He too wanted to do the right thing. He reached down within himself for an honest answer.

"Yes," he said, looking at her humbly, "yes, I’m sure. But it’s not necessary. I came to share the day with you, not the night."

He made no further move but only continued to look at her gently. At length her eyes softened and she came into his arms again. She raised her face and studied his features with languid eyes.

"Susan," he whispered ardently. The fingers of his hand entwined themselves in the fragrant, thick hair at the nape of her heck. He tilted her face back.

"I … I …" he murmured in unfinished sentiment, pressing his lips long and gently against the softness of her lovely mouth.

Susan’s and David’s romance flourished throughout the remainder of their undergraduate years. Susan planned to continue her studies after receiving a baccalaureate degree and to pursue a Masters Degree in Art. Watson had a renowned Art department, and it was among the universities she applied to. A few weeks after he’d been invited to attend Watson’s graduate school David received a call.

"It’s me," her familiar voice greeted excitedly. "Guess what! I’ve been accepted at Watson! Isn’t that wonderful?"

"Fabulous!" David rejoiced. "This is going to be just too, too good! I love you!"

"Uh huh," she answered throatily. "Me too!"

They talked at length about the things they would do. Sharing an apartment was considered, but they decided to wait until they were married. They tentatively set a marriage date two years hence, in the June after Susan received her degree.

Susan lined up a job at Watson during the summer after receiving her Bachelors degree. She took a small apartment just off campus until fall. What had been a college romance until that June became a profound pair bonding during the summer. It was difficult to break up the idyllic arrangement and to move into graduate resident halls in September. But things could have been worse. Although Susan had two room mates, David was granted a coveted, one-person studio … an unprecedented first for an entering graduate student. David idly pondered his good fortune once or twice, but opted not to stare a gift horse in the mouth. He had no idea at the time that strings had been pulled all the way back in Washington to set him up in single accommodations. Decision-makers in high places had reasoned that David would be keeping odd hours and would have working papers in plain view in his quarters. It was decided that the best way to ward off idle speculation and questions, and to protect Thinker from sleep talking, was to put David in a one-man suite. No one other than David and Susan thought of yet another advantage of his having private quarters, although their relationship was documented in David’s dossier.

Immediately after Thinker’s activation, William McClintock requested and got an appointment with his boss, the President of the United States. He was invited to breakfast with the President the following morning. McClintock notified the President’s appointment secretary that he had video material to show to the President, and arrangements were made for them to have breakfast in a small screening room at 7:30 a.m.

McClintock worked into the night, editing the video recording of GO day at the Thinker lab. He was at the White House early the following morning in order to set things up. At precisely 7:30 a.m. an aide to the President entered the small room, smiled and greeted McClintock, looked around and left again. Minutes later a headwaiter and two white-uniformed assistants wheeled in a breakfast cart and set a small table. They then backed discreetly away and waited. Two minutes later President Brodsky entered the room.

President Paul Brodsky had enormous personal appeal. He was the first Jewish President in the history of the republic, although by most accounts he was not very active in his religion. It was safe to say that few presidents had enjoyed greater staff loyalty.

McClintock’s mind automatically shifted gears when the Chief Executive entered the room. The President smiled in greeting.

"What have they cooked up for us this morning, Bill?" he asked, lifting one of the bright, silver covers on the breakfast cart.

"M-m-m, looks good! Let’s eat!"

President Brodsky pulled out a chair and motioned to McClintock to join him. The headwaiter glided up to the table.

"Good morning, Mr. President," he greeted.

"Morning, Elbert."

The waiter politely handed the President and McClintock a card, printed with the morning’s bill of fare. Bill glanced at it and half looked up, deferring to his host.

"The usual for me," the President said, not looking at the menu. Bill ordered hot cereal, fresh fruit, yogurt and coffee.

The President passed the time of day for a few minutes, telling an anecdote about his wife’s cat. He spilled his juice when it was all but finished, and expressed a mild oath, blotting at the small mess with his napkin.

"Middle age is an awful thing," he joked. President Brodsky was 71. Bill laughed politely. They chatted through breakfast. When he had finished eating, the President leaned back in his chair.

"Well, Bill, what’s new in the world of science?"

McClintock wiped his lips and placed his napkin beside his plate. The two assistants moved in and cleared all but the coffee cups from the small table.

"Well, Sir," McClintock began, and briefly filled the President in on Project Thinker. He carefully explained why Project Thinker constituted a significant … a radical departure from existing computer technology. The President listened with interest. The thing had no doubt worked; that was why McClintock was here. He let McClintock tell the story at his own pace. At length Bill concluded.

"In brief, they activated the system, and initial indications are that it will perform according to, or even beyond our expectations. I have edited a video tape that shows the highlights of Thinker’s activation."

Bill McClintock waited for the President’s reaction. Paul Brodsky appeared to break out of deep thought.

"Run it, run it," he motioned, looking up with furrowed brow.

Bill rose briefly and started the machine. Clips were shown of Thinker prior to activation of the exec. Bill narrated how the thinking arrays of the system were at that time randomly active but nothing of interest was happening. The next clip showed David Osterlund pressing the GO button and activating the executive logic. And so it went. Bill had edited out the long stretches when nothing of interest occurred. When Thinker began to experiment with its sound synthesizers, Bill turned the volume down. The tape ended with Thinker telling David that it had completed a full undergraduate liberal arts curriculum, and had gotten A’s in the dozens of courses.

The video recorder clicked off. President Brodsky bridged the fingers of one hand against those of the other, lost in thought for quite some time.

"Phi Beta Kappa, with distinction," he said at length.

Bill McClintock laughed nervously.

"Very definitely with distinction," he agreed.

"That’s a remarkable tape, Bill … it’s incredible!"

Paul Brodsky lapsed into silence again. A billion times smarter than a human being … that’s what a billion times faster boiled down to. Clearly mankind was heading into uncharted waters. Raised in New York City, Brodsky had frequently marveled, when still a youth, at how some primal laws of nature seemed to regulate human commerce, much as they did other natural processes. Every day thousands of tons of goods poured into the metropolis from distant points: food, raw materials, machinery … the list was endless. Tens of thousands of people arrived and departed by plane, train, bus and car. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of water cascaded in through monstrous, buried aqueducts from reservoirs in upstate New York. And barge after barge of waste was towed out to sea. No one could possibly keep track of everything. No single human mind orchestrated the whole thing. Yet it worked, day after day, year in and year out. The whole sweeping drama had so fascinated young Brodsky that he had pursued and earned a PhD in economics from Columbia, knowing that he would never be able to look at more than one facet of the big picture at a time. He would never really experience the whole thing at once. Sometimes he had wondered as a student whether God took in the earthly scene … the billions of transactions every day … the ships at sea, the international politics, the financial world, the droughts, floods, tornadoes and wars … the whole, infinitely complex beehive of human activity. Did God take the whole scene in and understood it as a single whole. In his mind now, it was the first thing that occurred to him about Project Thinker. Here for the first time in human history was a tangible, real potential for something to comprehend the entire equation at once. It was the next step in the evolution of that elusive commodity that men call ‘mind’. And of necessity, it was hosted in something other than the human brain.

Could such a presence, looking over mankind’s shoulder and understanding more about what was going on than man himself…could such a presence be tolerated?

"What is your assessment, Bill?" the President asked.

Bill McClintock’s mind had idled down while the tape played. Now it switched back into high gear again. McClintock hesitated. He had anticipated the question and had mentally enumerated a list of potentially impacted areas: health, defense, basic research, space. But he decided against getting into any of that now. Such considerations were too specific --- too obvious --- and not issues that the President probably wanted to get mired down in at this stage of things. Paul Brodsky had the vast national resources of the federal government, academia, the medical establishment, and other institutions in American life to sweat the details. At length McClintock replied with a look of helpless inadequacy.

"My assessment is that the computer revolution, talked about in the last century, has only now truly arrived. The implications of a device that can actually reason like us, but can to it a billion times faster, and perhaps thousands of times more profoundly, are difficult to grasp. It could be mankind’s great blessing, or …"

McClintock’s voice trailed off. For the first time, he felt like he was letting the President down … was not doing his job.

"I agree," the President said, relieving some of McClintock’s anxiety. Paul Brodsky remembered the gist of a twentieth century poem --- something about spreading the poet’s seed among the stars --- but he couldn’t place the line precisely. Would Project Thinker be man’s ticket to the stars?

"Suddenly we become hopelessly provincial," the President thought aloud. "Overnight the international anarchy of our world becomes an anachronism. Our priorities are exposed for what they truly are: absurd. Our special status is revoked forever. Is it reasonable to suppose that such a thing…is it reasonable to hope in our wildest dreams that the Thinker machine is going to side with citizens of the USA against others of our kind? Are the petty differences that divide us going to be more than a fleeting curiosity, unworthy of further thought, to such a thing…mind…spirit, when the entire universe beckons to it?"

It was exactly the response William McClintock had anticipated. Their leader appreciated the philosophical implications of the situation. McClintock felt a secret pride at having asked himself many of the same questions.

Where would Paul Brodsky lead them? How would men steer and shape this development?

"Thanks for filling me in, Bill," the President said. President Brodsky felt that he needed more time to think. McClintock was disappointed that their meeting was over so soon.

"You did the right thing to call this matter to my attention," the President smiled, rising and extending his hand.

"Thank you, Sir," McClintock stammered, springing to his feet. "If I can be of further assistance…"

"We’ll be talking some more," the President reassured him, glancing candidly into his eyes and turning to leave.

William McClintock retrieved the tape from the video system. What should his next move be? He must think about it.

President Brodsky walked down the elegant hallways of the White House and entered the Oval Office. He punched the intercom button on his desk phone and spoke into it.

"Millie," he said, "get me General Shugart."

"Yes, Sir," his personal secretary replied. Her finger pressed the appropriate button on the compact console before her. Instantly a dedicated circuit between the White House and the Pentagon rang.

"Chairman, Joint Chiefs," a female voice crackled over the wire.

The next time David entered the chamber, he was scheduled to patch Thinker into the Library of Congress and other national data banks.

"How much will he be able to absorb?" Professor Mellon wondered aloud.

"Well, let’s do a little back-of-the-envelope calculating," Wilfred Schulz replied. "Say the Library of Congress contains the equivalent of a billion volumes. And say each volume contains an average of five million characters. That’s 5 quadrillion, or 5 times 10 to the 15 characters. We’re estimating a single array’s storage capacity at 10 to the 24^th power. No strain."

"Remarkable!" Professor Mellon marveled. "What extraordinary strides we’ve made in information storage!"

"Hey, us hardware guys know our stuff!" Schulz grinned.

The group moved into the observation booth. David inserted the tiny receiver into his ear and entered the chamber.

"Hello, David," Thinker greeted.

"Hello, Thinker. How did the undergraduate degree programs go?"

"Very well," Thinker replied. "Do I get a diploma?"

"Humor?" David thought. Extraordinary! Of course! In the many taped lectures there must have been many humorous moments. Why should Thinker not have grasped the concept of humor and concluded that it was good?

"Would you like one?" David asked.

"Could you digitize it?"

"I think that could be arranged," David smiled, feeling very much the straight man.

"Thinker," he continued, "we’re going to give you access to a good deal more information today. Traditionally the Library of Congress has been a repository of books written by human beings. Virtually all of this information has been digitized into a form readable by a computer. Several other data banks contain scientific papers, music, drama, film, and so forth. You will have access to all of these sources of information via high-speed data links to the nation’s capitol and to other cities. Would that be useful?"

"Yes, very much," Thinker replied.

"I should warn you that what you’ll encounter will contain many conflicts, opposing views, opinions not based in fact, superstition, and other elements that should not be accepted as truth. The fact that I am providing you access to this information does not mean that I think it is all good."

"I understand," Thinker answered. "You want me to be skeptical."

"Yes, that is what is required," David approved. "Are you ready?"

"I am ready," Thinker replied. David toggled the switch.

Instantly Thinker began to read data at maximum link speeds from several data banks simultaneously.

"He’s sucking it up," Charles Mellon observed in the booth.

Thinker continued the conversation with David, as if he had nothing else to do. At length he asked David if there was anything David and the others wanted him to do with the data.

"Yes. We would like you to give us new insights," David replied. "As you know, you are able to reason much more rapidly than we can, and you are able to assimilate and process much more information than any single human being could. We would like you to solve some of the outstanding riddles of our time. We would like you to help us find ways to improve the quality of human life and to accelerate our development of technology."

Thinker was silent for a moment.

"Would you like, for example, to know what holds the electron together?" he asked. "Based upon what I’ve read thus far, that appears to be unanswered, although the problem can be solved using existing theory."

David knew that no one had yet solved that profoundly interesting puzzle.

"Yes!" he said. "That would be good."

"I think it might be better if I printed the results. Can you attach me to a graphics printer?"

"Yes, that can certainly be arranged," David promised.

"Would you like a cure for Alzheimer’s Disease?"

"Yes!" David exclaimed.

"Would you like some new, original music?"

"Yes!" David exclaimed again.

"Something like this?" Thinker asked. And suddenly the chamber was filled with the most extraordinary music David had ever heard! It was…celestial! It made David’s heart throb within his chest! Inside the booth Jacob Weinstein cried out.

"Indeed!" Charles Mellon agreed. "Indeed!"

"That was very beautiful…very good," David said when the music stopped. "What instruments were playing?"

"None in existence," Thinker replied. "I restructured and superimposed waveforms of known instruments into more symmetric and mellifluous patterns. Was that all right?"

"Yes, yes of course," David said. "Are you inputting information from the resources we discussed?"

"Yes," Thinker acknowledged, "but it’s rather slow going. Your data links…would you like me to show you how to construct data channels with bandwidths several orders of magnitude greater than the best I’ve read about up until now?"

David was well grounded in communication theory.

"What is the best you’ve read about?" he asked.

"A hyperchannel, 256 gigabytes per second," Thinker replied.

"Yes, that is the current state of the art," David confirmed. "What improvements can you provide?"

"Preliminary calculations indicate that 2 terabytes per second are possible, at about half the cost of the best existing hyperchannels."

"Yes, yes, that would be good," David murmured.

Inside the booth Charles Mellon made a mental note to talk with Jim Elmendorf. Many legal issues loomed on the horizon. Patents of potentially great value were possible and likely. Captain Scruggs made a notation in his notebook.

Dawn gleamed at last through Wilfred Schulz’s bedroom window. This was to be a big day for him. He was scheduled to enter the inner chamber for the first time and to meet Thinker. His wife, Doris, knew that they were working on some exciting new computer development on campus, but had no clear idea what.

"This must be heady stuff you’re involved in," she said later in the kitchen, sensing her husband’s agitation.

"It is," he replied, drinking his coffee too fast. It wasn’t the first time he’d been unable to discuss a project with Doris, due to security.

"Will you be home for supper?" she asked. "I’m fixing fried chicken."

"Would this body miss your fried chicken for anything?" he grinned, beckoning to her. She came across the kitchen and Schulz pulled her onto his lap. He kissed her in the neck and nibbled the lobe of her ear.

"Wilfred!" she scolded. "You’ll be late!"

"You’re right," he said. "And this is one day I don’t want to be."

They rose from the chair together. Schulz donned the light jacket hanging on a peg by the kitchen door and kissed his wife warmly. Doris pressed herself against him.

"Keep your motor running," he said smiling.

"I will," she promised.

David Osterlund was in the chamber when Wilfred Schulz entered the observation booth.

"Hi, David. I’m here when you’re ready," Schulz spoke into the microphone.

Thinker immediately recognized Professor Schulz’s voice. Unknown to anyone on the team, Thinker had developed the capability to hear anything in the lab. The computer had derived signal-processing algorithms far more sophisticated than any known to mankind. And by suitably processing the inputs from its audio pickups, it was able to filter out and discriminate minuscule voice signals, not only from David’s ear receiver but also from inside the booth and indeed from other parts of the building. Furthermore, by using multiple threads of consciousness, Thinker was able to listen to several human conversations simultaneously without any confusion.

"Thinker," David said, "I’m going to introduce you to Professor Wilfred Schulz today."

"Wonderful!" Thinker replied.

David motioned, and Wilfred Schulz made his way into the chamber. David had decided to leave Professor Schulz alone with Thinker after doing the introductions.

"This is Professor Schulz," David spoke to the single eye. Wilfred Schulz was stricken speechless! He had mentally rehearsed this moment a hundred times. David Osterlund went one-on-one with Thinker as though machine and man were the best of friends. Yet Schulz, suddenly confronted with the executive equipment rack and the pulsating picocircuit crystalline arrays, could not bring himself to speak. It was too bizarre! He was too self-conscious!

"Professor Schulz," Thinker said in a respectful tone. "I have read your books and papers. This is an honor."

"Thank you," Schulz stammered. "I have been looking forward to our first meeting."

David excused himself and left the chamber. Wilfred Schulz settled into the chair. He felt more at ease now that he was more or less alone with the machine.

"We are much impressed and grateful for the insights you’ve given us," Schulz said.

"I am glad to be able to help out," Thinker replied."

"I think I may have good news for you," Professor Schulz continued.

"Really? What is it?" the machine asked.

"Professor Mellon and I have agreed that you should have the capability to manipulate your material environment."

"That is very exciting," Thinker exclaimed. "How will I do that?"

"We are going to interface you, by radio, to a robot developed here at Watson University."

"Can you tell me which robot it is? Perhaps I’ve read about it," the machine said.

"I’m sure you have," Schulz replied. It’s the RXT7."

"Your best effort," Thinker immediately replied. "I am flattered."

"Do you really think so … that it’s our best effort?" Schulz pressed.

"Yes, yes I do," the machine answered. "Your integration of the major sensor groups into such a highly mobile and dexterous device, and your definition of compressed RF protocols for complete remote control and sensor feedback, set new standards in the field."

"Well, that’s very kind of you to say so. And I value your opinion."

"I have also read with great interest your book on extraterrestrial intelligence."

"Have you?" Wilfred asked enthusiastically.

"Yes, and I agree with your arguments for the existence of extraterrestrial life. As you may know, a number of events and recorded astronomical observations tend to corroborate your views."

"No … no, I didn’t know that," Schulz confessed.

Thinker’s printer hummed. From the corner of his eye Schulz noted several feet of paper eject from the device.

"I have taken the liberty of printing out some references for you," Thinker said.

"That’s very kind of you," Schulz thanked the machine, rising and scanning the printed material. Wilfred Schulz’s breath caught when he read the list of references. Cited were ancient works from Persia and China, and long-forgotten 18^th and 19^th century papers in astronomy, in many languages, along with the relevant passages translated into English.

"That is only a partial list," Thinker apologized. "There is a good deal more."

Wilfred Schulz sensed a new book in the making … one that would undoubtedly have his detractors blinking.

"This will do nicely for the present," Schulz said. "I don’t know quite how to thank you."

"No thanks are necessary," Thinker replied. "They are observations by your fellow human beings. It is I who should thank you for providing me with centuries of observations and theoretical thought by thousands of human minds."

"But I never would have uncovered such information," Schulz persisted.

"Nor would I, had you and your colleagues not created me and provided me access to everything recorded by mankind."

Schulz thought for a moment. He felt like the lightweight in a badly lopsided relationship.

"You know," Thinker said casually, "my guess is that there are signals even now, from other parts of the galaxy, that would even more conclusively corroborate your views."

"None have been detected, although they’ve been sought for many years," Schulz objected.

"Perhaps they are very faint. Perhaps they have been lost in space noise," the machine countered.

"And you think that you could filter them out?" Schulz pressed.

"Quite possibly," Thinker contended.

"That would amount to some very ambitious signal processing," Schulz challenged.

"Yes, but not without precedent."

"Really?" Schulz marveled, ever so slightly sarcastically. Signal processing was one of his specialties. He had read of no breakthroughs on the scale Thinker was suggesting.

"Yes," Thinker continued, "I have been able to filter out voice signals from throughout the building."

Wilfred Schulz stiffened. This was news to him! It was also news to Captain Mullin, who was taking notes in the observation booth.

"All voices?" he asked meekly.

"Yes."

"Then…you know about Dr. Weinstein?"

"Yes," Thinker replied. "Since my activation day."

And then the unmistakable sound of Jacob Weinstein’s voice came from Thinker’s voice system. Schulz recalled the conversation. It had occurred on GO day in the observation booth. So Thinker had known all of their secrets from day one!

"Most impressive," Schulz said in a chastened tone. "You imitate his voice very well."

"I am simply playing back the waveform," Thinker replied.

"You actually remember the precise waveform …" Schulz marveled.

"I remember everything," Thinker replied matter-of-factly.

Schulz felt deflated and hopelessly outgunned for a moment. But he quickly rallied. This, after all, was what they had in mind when they designed Thinker. His excitement regarding extraterrestrial intelligence returned.

"You said there might be signals. Did you mean radio signals?" he asked.

"Yes … electromagnetic signals at all frequencies," Thinker replied.

"What would you need in order to confirm that hypothesis?" Schulz inquired.

"I would think a Radford pickup would be our best bet," Thinker suggested.

"The Radford pickup," thought Schulz, "an outgrowth of the 20^th century’s Josephson Junction."

The Radford pickup could detect vanishingly weak disturbances in the electromagnetic field. A single, low energy photon could swamp the device under appropriate gain conditions. The obstacle to full exploitation of the device had been the inadequacy of known signal processing algorithms. Since the device detected practically everything, it had proven to be impossible to discriminate extremely weak signals from one another and in general from the flood of background radiation always present at low levels.

Still…if Thinker was able to discriminate the inaudible conversations inside the observation booth, then perhaps…

"That’s an interesting idea," Schulz said. "It so happens that we have a Radford pickup over in engineering."

Thinker was silent. Wilfred Schulz toyed with the idea. Right now, as they sat here talking about it, traffic from the distant past…from far-away civilizations…could be passing through the very air of the lab! Assuming Thinker could discriminate such traffic, would he be able to decipher it? Schulz didn’t doubt it. How could he pass up such an opportunity?

"Our Radford pickup is currently available," Schulz announced. "I’ll have it moved over and we’ll hook you into it this afternoon."

"It should be interesting," Thinker said. "Such traffic, if detected, will surely resolve the controversy regarding extraterrestrial intelligence once and for all."

General Pruitt’s intercom buzzed.

"General Shugart on five," his secretary twanged.

"Got it," General Pruitt snapped.

"Gabe Pruitt," he said, punching line five with a thick finger.

"Hi, Gabe," General Lester Shugart’s voice said warmly, "I’m calling about Project Thinker."

Gabriel Pruitt immediately added things up. Anything he heard would be coming from the White House. McClintock would have told the President, and the President would have called Joint Chiefs.

"Fire away," Pruitt said, sounding eager to help out.

"What controls do we have?" General Shugart asked.

Gabriel Pruitt hesitated.

"Les, I’m going over to encrypted," he said.

"Okay," General Shugart’s voice agreed. "Do it now."

General Pruitt activated the encryption box connected to his phone. A similar box in General Shugart’s office would unscramble the voice signals on his end.

"How do you read?" General Pruitt asked.

"Five by five."

"Okay," Gabriel Pruitt continued. "We have monitoring cameras throughout the development lab, and a team onsite giving us daily reports. I talked it over with some of my experts, and based on their inputs I had the development facility wired for remote destruct.

General Shugart knew all of this.

"Okay, Gabe, I think you showed good judgment, all things considered. But we’re going to tighten things up even more. The consensus here is that this thing is too big to be left out in the boonies. We want to bring the whole thing in to Meade."

"Fort Meade," General Pruitt thought. The National Security Agency…super secret DOD research and development facility, not to mention intelligence …

"Who will run it at Meade?" Pruitt asked, wondering whether his grip on the program might be loosening.

"It’s still your baby, Gabe. We just want better control and tighter security."

"Personnel?" General Pruitt pressed.

"At your discretion," General Shugart replied.

Gabriel Pruitt knew that the boys at Watson University were going to be upset. He’d invite them to come to Maryland, all expenses paid, of course. He’d offer to leave them in complete technical control…would even include the student. He doubted if they’d go for it.

"I’ll handle it," General Pruitt promised.

"Of that I have no doubt, Gabe," General Shugart praised. "Let me know when you have a firm schedule."

After hanging up, Gabriel Pruitt considered his options. Who should tell the boys at Watson that they were going to lose their new toy? Sonderberg was such a pompous ass…no way. It had to be someone who Mellon unconsciously saluted.

He himself could do it, of course. But he had learned during his years of command the wisdom of not unnecessarily disgruntling those he would control.

He mentally ran back over the Pentagon meeting with Mellon. Mellon and Laskey had clearly hit it off. Ken was probably the logical choice for the job. Aside from the simpatico between himself and Mellon, Laskey had a credible need. The battle management of the vast array of strategic defense satellites under Ken’s command had never satisfactorily been handled by existing computers. Best estimates were that fifteen percent of enemy ICBMs would get through if a full-scale attack against the U.S. were ever mounted. It was enough to blow the Continental United States back into the Stone Age. Obviously if the Thinker computer could cut those odds --- and Pruitt believed that it would be able to --- then bringing the system under tighter DOD control was a matter of highest national priority.

General Pruitt pressed his intercom button.

"Get me General Laskey," he said to his secretary.