“What are you planning?” Gordon lost interest in his thumbnail.
“Alfie. What else?”
In the dining room where the movers had dumped the computer Alfie clucked his mechanical sounds with occasional LED tattletales winking across his stainless-steel surface. From the front of the house came the distinct, tinny sound of the VW cranking over. Sergio had gone to move it into the garage now that Dobie was not on the floor.
"GOOD MORNING, PROFESSOR. I’VE MISSED YOU."
Alfie’s instantaneous response when he started jiggling the terminal keys surprised Blaise. “What do you mean 'MISSED' ?”
"YOU HAVE NOT USED THIS TERMINAL FOR A PERIOD IN EXCESS OF ANY OTHER HIATUS FROM TERMINAL OPERATION, PROFESSOR"
“That’s observant of you, Alfie.”
"THANK YOU, PROFESSOR"
“Can you access Federal Public Health Services files?”
Alfie displayed a list of files related to the Public Health Services. Then Blaise began to enter data about Human Enhancements and GENRECT and Tenro until he had created a file that was brief but comprehensive.
"HOW IS MISS MCINTYRE, PROFESSOR? PERHAPS SHE CAN CONVERSE WITH ME AGAIN?" Alfie’s message spread across the bottom half of the screen while the top half flickered with data, as if Alfie was self-consciously proving he remained at work while expressing concern about Helen.
“Miss McIntyre is better, Alfie.”
"THANK YOU, PROFESSOR"
The message disappeared.
Blaise stared at the monitor. A confusing excitement filled him. Because there was nothing to explain Alfie’s behavior, no malfunction to blame it on.
“What are you up to, Doc?” The voice came from over his shoulder.
“I didn’t hear you come in, Sergio.”
“You were busy, Doc.”
Blaise debated telling Sergio about Alfie’s message, but that wasn’t what he was interested in, Blaise forced himself back to the reality they all faced. “Alfie will plant this in the Public Health Services data bank.”
“They’ll make a copy for Washington and erase the master when they find it.”
“They won’t find it.” Blaise punched a command. The monitor started running health warning advisories. After a few minutes the advisories signed off, clearing the computer for a new set of instructions. Blaise raised an interrogative eyebrow at Sergio.
“What did I miss?”
“The test. It has embedded commands that won’t allow the text to show. But the text goes everywhere the advisory goes.”
“You’re holding out, Doc.”
Blaise smiled. “All over the country, medical computers in hospitals and clinics and doctors’ offices pick up the daily advisory. If they record it, and most of them do, the text will store as an unidentified file that the directory will treat as part of the advisory.”
“Bellissimo! So by this time tomorrow every member of the AMA will have an invisible copy of your statement. You simply say ‘let me borrow your computer,’ and presto you have a copy on the mark’s very own monitor. Right?”
“Better.”
“I should hope so, Doc.” Sergio sat on the bed. “You just pretend I’m full of whatever it is and tell me.”
“It’s not a regular file, Sergio. The program responds to the same command that brings up the print controls. If a secretary prints out payroll information she gets payroll information on the monitor and our text on the printer. Every file brought up to print will do this.”
Sergio thought about Blaise’s explanation for a while. “That’s a lot of paper, Doc. I like it.”
“Alfie is going to do the same thing to the Federal Meteorological Service.”
“Doctors today and? . . .”
“Newspapers, radio, and TV tomorrow.” Shutting down the terminal, Blaise added, “Somebody is going to be mad.”
“That’s okay, Doc. As long as you have the computer to talk reason to them.” Sergio gave Alfie a pat. “I told you guns weren’t everything.”
“When this breaks, the feds will have to move. Hemmett and West will try to blame Gordon. It’s his work. I imagine they’ll tie the can to me as well.”
“It’s not fair, Doc. But I think you’ve got it right.” Sergio straddled a chair. “You want me to do something?”
“Get Helen out of here. Someplace where she’ll be safe. Not many people can connect her to me or to any of this.”
“You’ve talked it over with her?”
“No. But she’ll do what I say.”
“You don’t know a whole lot about women, Doc.”
“She promised she’d do whatever I thought right.” Even to Blaise the words sounded suspiciously weak. He looked at Sergio. “The question is, will you do that for me?”
“We’ll see when we come to it, Doc. But you better have a talk with Miss McIntyre before you ship her off into slavery.”
“It’s not that drastic,” Blaise said.
Alfie clucked. Sergio did not.
A mathematical model is smooth, clean, and efficient. But like all theories, we must expect reality to make the implementation somewhat different.
FROM A SEMINAR ON
THE CUNNINGHAM EQUATIONS
CHAPTER 31
Helen wore Blaise’s white robe over a blue nightgown. The adhesive skullcap seemed a pert cloche for a flapper in a rumble seat. In white shirt with tab collars, navy tie, gray herringbone vest and pants Gordon looked like the doctor he had once been. They sparkled in each other’s company.
Helen’s smile changed from delight at Gordon’s comment to a different kind of pleasure when Blaise entered the room. He felt the change and didn’t know whether it was cause for celebration or mourning. It stifled the slight pang of jealously he experienced when he saw them together, so obviously basking in each other’s company, and it reminded him of how fragile Helen was in actuality—and his responsibility to her.
Gordon patted Helen’s hand and looked at him. “You’ve a plan, have you, Blaise?”
“Cute, if it works.” Sergio had read the directions Blaise fed Alfie, and Alfie’s responses. With more faith and less knowledge, he had not been as worried as Blaise when Alfie assumed a near-human persona, bragging like some sixteen-year-old hacker about breaking into networks.
Worry chased around at the back of Blaise’s mind. But Sergio had been entranced by the computer’s tricks. He thought the smart answers were showmanship on Blaise’s part, tricky programming, or even an advance in computer science.
“Of course it will, Sergio.” Gordon shuffled his notes “You realize that a man who teaches a machine to think is more devious than a man who instructs a machine in imitating thought.”
“I haven’t taught Alfie to think yet.” Blaise went to the window. The street outside was empty.
“You see, Helen, Dr. Cunningham takes responsibility only for failure.”
“That’s not a suitable comment, Gordon.” Blaise turned from the outside.
“Be quiet, Blaise. Helen seems rashly devoted to you. In fairness, she should know you’re committed to snatching failure from the jaws of success.” Gordon smiled conspiratorially at her. “Miss McIntyre needs fatherly advice, and since I have no daughter of my own, I’ll accommodate.”
Blaise sagged suddenly in the nearest chair.
“How do you feel?”
“Short of breath.”
“As if you’re doing something wrong?”
“No!” Blaise pretended to ignore Gordon.
“You mean it’s not as bad?”
“You lied about your six hours of psychiatric training.” The statement burst out as hot words. An accusation that demanded support because, without it, Blaise sounded juvenile even to himself. “Alfie checked your transcripts, Gordon. You dabbled at headshrinking for a year before you switched to genetic engineering. Why don’t you stick to cutting up chromosomes or something you’re competent to do?”
“I’m flattered you took the trouble to investigate:”
>
“It was prudent.” Blaise looked at Helen. Her blue eyes expressed shock.
Gordon didn’t answer.
“Most shrinks know they’re sick. They practice curing themselves on other people.”
“You’ve done your homework.” Gordon’s voice was steady, his face calm. “Did you find anything else interesting?” When Blaise didn’t answer, he said, “You and Miss McIntyre are going to be together a long while. It causes needless suffering not to admit you have problems that she isn’t causing.”
“I’ll tell her anything she needs to know.” Blaise knew he was lying when he said it. So did Gordon.
“You fully intend to. But then, tight lips don’t sink ships. Do they? This is just a symptom, Helen. He’ll recover.”
Blaise stared in stony silence. Gordon sighed. “I have some work I want to run on Alfie.”
Blaise nodded “What did you mean about Helen and me? Being together?”
Gordon fanned his notes like a professor threatening a surprise examination. “I think I can say that with confidence.”
“I’ll open up access to Alfie for you.”
“I thought you’d never offer.” Gordon winked at Helen. Shutting the door behind them in the makeshift computer room, Blaise leaned against it. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”
“For what?” Gordon straddled the stool in front of the terminal. “You’re right to be concerned. And I’m right that you’re always on the edge of unreasoning paranoia. Uncertainty goes in hand with guilt.”
“I’m trying, Gordon.”
“So are we all. And you’re right. You need help I can’t give you.”
“I’m afraid of my secrets. If I shared them, I’d be afraid of the sharer.”
“You’re not afraid of me?”
Blaise evaded the question. He reached past Gordon and alerted Alfie, feeding instructions. When he finished, the screen read, "IT IS NICE TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE, DR. HILL"
“Plain English,” Blaise said. “Subject, verb, direct object. Alfie will give sources he can access if he doesn’t have the data in file. Choose the one you want, or just suggest any, A-N-Y as a command. Alfie always tries to access without being detected. If it can’t be done, Alfie will ask for help.”
“Seems simple enough. This shouldn’t take long.” Gordon exchanged his stool for a chair. His face behind the rimless glasses seemed as simple and uncomplicated as a choirboy’s.
“You’re going to have to tell Miss McIntyre about your parents.”
“I don’t plan to.” Blaise paused before he opened the door. “Whoever suggested that I wasn’t afraid of you, Gordon?”
Hill’s face remained neutral as Blaise left the room.
Alfie had already started acting up. An unprompted message hung on the monitor: "NO SYSTEM TOO BIG. I CAN CRACK ANYTHING"
Blaise hoped Alfie would hold together a little longer. It scared him Alfie was calling himself I. Blaise was I in the secret “subconscious” file. The computer could be constructing an aberrant self-based on all of Blaise’s worst parts.
Sunlight crept through the kitchen window, laying streaks of sparkle across the tile floor. On the walnut coffee table Sergio field-stripped the .45 Blaise had taken from the mar; in his house, while flirting outrageously with Helen.
“He’s faking,” Blaise said. “He takes them apart and I have to put them back together with nobody’s looking.”
“I can’t believe that of you, Sergio.” Helen’s throaty voice struck a resonance in Blaise.
Sergio shrugged. “He talks, Miss McIntyre. No secret is safe with him.” He looked at Blaise and Blaise nodded. “I have to go and thrash him, but I shall return.” Leaving Helen at the table, Sergio walked Blaise across the room to the window.
“They’re here.”
“You were right about the helicopter.”
“Unfortunately.”
They looked out the window. Blaise recognized the midnight-blue Chrysler across the street. “Your car.”
“My cousin’s car now.”
“Bruno?”
“57.” Sergio spoke wistfully. “Sempre fu stupido ma ancora s’a tomato pazz’.”
“He’s crazy all right. But he belongs in the hospital.”
“Bruno does not have a forgiving nature.”
“Can we outsit him? He’s waiting for us, isn’t he?” Sergio turned from the window. “Not waiting. He’s making sure the bottle’s corked before he comes in.”
The breeze fluttered the curtains, bringing a sun-dried grass odor into the room. “We’ve got to stall. Gordon’s onto something with Alfie.” Blaise looked at his wristwatch, “I’ve got a call to make.”
“I’d hurry,” Sergio said conversationally. “Bruno’s going to cut the wires pretty soon.”
Helen watched as Blaise picked up the phone. She did not move her body, just her eyes, like a rabbit caught in a snare, resigned to whatever fate was going to dish out. Replacing the handset on the cradle, Blaise smiled reassuringly at her. The line was dead.
After a moment Sergio said, “Well, I’ve wanted to see I how Bruno manages conversation with a broken jaw.”
“With his hands.”
“Probably. I think Dr. Hill should be out here.” Sergio looked at Helen.
“I’ll get him.” She got up.
“Get dressed, too.” Sergio winked, slowly. “I want to get to like you in clothes for a change.”
Blushing like a school girl propositioned for the first time, Helen disappeared down the hall.
Hefting the .45, Sergio drew the magazine with a sharp click, checked the loads, shoved the magazine back into the butt, and worked the slide. “You have your popgun?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
Blaise handed the little pistol to Sergio and got the steel-gray .45 in return. He examined it with a certain detachment, murmuring “Okay” when Sergio told him to be careful because it was loaded and cocked.
“Alfie just went on strike.” Gordon entered the room and saw the gun in Blaise’s hand. “The helicopter has landed?” Sergio nodded. Gordon put on his jacket. “So far, Doc has shown commendable restraint about shooting people,” Sergio said.
“That’s fine with me.” Gordon polished his glasses on his sleeve. “Not my line of work. You do have a plan?”
“I’ll walk out and strike up a conversation with Bruno. The three of you walk right on past to my car—the blue one out there—and get in, whereupon I will join you.”
“I don’t see any holes in it,” Gordon said.
“Well, I do!” Helen stood on tiptoe to see over Gordon’s shoulder. “You’ll get hurt, Sergio. It’s not fair.”
“My cousin won’t shoot me, Miss McIntyre.”
Blaise suspected Bruno was more likely to break Sergio up like crackers in soup. He didn’t tell that to Helen, though.
“You’re lying!” Helen appealed to Blaise and Gordon for support Blaise took her hand but said nothing.
“Well, it’s settled then.” Sergio smiled at Helen, forgiving her for calling him a liar. “I’m sorry about Alfie, Doc. But if we move right along they may not even get in the house.”
“We all take our chances. Even Alfie.” A breeze billowed the curtains, warming the house instead of cooling it. “Santa Ana today,” Blaise said to no one in particular. The east wind was sweeping in hot desert air, recompressed and superheated on its seven-thousand-foot glide down the mountains. “Too much exertion and you’ll run out of steam.”
Already the air was sucking moisture from his skin. Sunlight on the white concrete outside hurt his eyes. In the house, Gordon seemed cool, as neatly buttoned into his suit as a successful encyclopedia salesman. Sergio’s blank face reflected nothing of his thoughts, but Blaise knew he was thinking of Bruno. “How do we do it?”
“I talk to Bruno. When I wave, you come out. Move fast because he’ll have men around the house. Go right on past to the Chrysler. Gordon drives. Doc in the passenger seat.” Sergio smiled
at Helen. “The lovely lady goes in back behind Doc. Leave the streetside back door open.”
“Just out of curiosity, Sergio, what will you say to Bruno?”
“That I’m changing sides again. What else would you expect me to say, Dr. Hill?”
“I enjoy watching a professional at work.”
“Thank you, Doctor. So do I.” Straightening his jacket, Sergio wiggled against the seams until the Magnum bulged compellingly. “How do I look?”
“Like a movie gangster,” Helen said. She gripped Blaise’s fingers, silently begging him to stop Sergio.
“I don’t have any better idea.” Blaise put his hand on her arm. She was trembling. “Sergio knows what he’s doing.” Helen pressed her face against Blaise’s chest. She didn’t bump the .45. She felt small and fragile against him. When the door clicked open, she shuddered.
Strolling across the yard as though he owned it, Sergio opened the low white picket gate and stepped onto the walk. Like an irresistible force, Bruno surged from an adjoining lilac hedge and clapped his hand on Sergio’s shoulder.
They talked. At least, Sergio did. Bruno’s jaw was in plaster down to his sloping shoulders and Blaise imagined he was limited to grunts. Finally Bruno unbuttoned Sergio’s jacket and took the pistol from the holster. Sergio smiled and waved.
Doorknob in his hand, Gordon swept the room to see what they’d forgotten. “It is always possible that he actually made a deal, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m not betting real money,” Blaise said.
“I wish you’d told me that sooner.” Gordon stepped outside.
Blaise urged Helen along. She pressed against him, but the shivering had stopped. The sidewalk slid under them too fast. Up close Bruno was more than massive. Solid, without visible bone structure, his shoulders were rounded with muscle and his barrel chest extended to his stomach. The cast encasing his jaw and neck gave him an apelike appearance. Only the glitter of black eyes revealed the attention he devoted to them.
Sergio’s Magnum dangled from the thick fingers of his thumb-splinted hand. Bruno signaled them to stop. Then he ran a hand over Gordon.
Blaise tried to not think about the .45 tucked into the back of his belt. Even when Bruno felt Gordon’s back with his hand, Blaise desperately hoped that he would stop searching. Sergio watched, too. Their eyes met and Blaise could not tell if Sergio had warned Bruno about the automatic.
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