Very different from WidgetMasTer is the "Mechanic's Special." For instance, if you tap out, H-O-W R-E-M-O-V-E S-T-U-C-K N-U-T? the wide screen answers:
EXPERIENCE SHOWS IF YOU HAVE SIX NUTS, FIVE MAY BE EASY; ONE WILL STICK. IF THE BOLT HAS TWISTED OFF, REFER TO BROKEN BOLTS. IF NOT, AND YOU HAVE AN EXTRA NUT, REFER TO NUTSPLITTER. IF NOT, REFER TO HEAT. ALSO REFER TO DIRT, EYES, KNUCKLES, FIRST AID, VICEGRIPS, CHAIN WRENCH, LEVERAGE, IMPACT, BRASS NUTS, INACCESSIBLE, BLOCKED, RUSTED, SEIZED, ROUNDED, SLOW TUNES AND CAN PRAYER HELP?
One Mechanic's Special is worth many WidgetMasTers. But, so far, the trade market has a wider selection of WidgetMasTers.
Of course, whatever you're looking for, the device not only needs to be good in itself. It also has to fit the situation. If, for instance, what you are looking for is a gift for a younger member of the family, considerable thought may be needed.
A checker or chess-playing model, for instance, can often keep a boy happy and out of trouble for upwards of half-an-hour at a time—but be sure to get the kind that can be "backstepped" to show previous moves. Otherwise, there will be howls that the handheld cheats. Incidentally, the "Disrupt" button, that knocks a temporary hole in the chess handheld's calculating ability, is not to be sneered at. It gets tedious pushing the "Reset" button to start a new game.
Any game-playing model, of course, may seem "non-educational"; but then, nearly everyone agrees that a dater is educational; and do you really want:
"Say, do you know what happened in 1066? . . . No, no. Everybody knows that. I mean, do you know what else happened? You don't? You don't know? You mean to say you don't know? Well—"
Then there is the very educational "Historical Facts" model:
"You've heard of Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant, haven't you? . . . Okay, quick—What do the 'E' and the 'S' stand for?"
Avoid like poison the "Political Science" jobs. Those so far available obviously were put together either with the kindly help of the Central Committee of the Communist Party, or by charter members of the Death-To-Taxes League.
All these specialized models are, at least comparatively speaking, standard traditional devices. So are the:
6) Pocket computers. Most of us have had some chance recently to find out what can happen when we first design our own programs. The newer handhelds of this type may have a still larger storage capacity, faster speeds, easier programs, newer microtapes with more ingenious prerecorded programs, crystal-needle master programs, new sensing and acting attachments, independent detachables—and with all this extra latitude, it is, of course, possible to get into a worse mess; but, at least, it is still a mess of a familiar kind.
It is the recently marketed "companion computer" or "pocket buddy" model that adds the tricky new dimension to handhelds. With these you can lose more than your money and your disposition.
Take, for instance, the "CCI," which is "Mark I" of the new "Constant Companion" series. This device fits in your shirt pocket, has a "receptor"—a kind of little eye on a flexible stalk—that sticks over the pocket's edge—and a grille that "hears" and on occasion "talks."
CCI was introduced at a price of ten thousand, now sells for six thousand five hundred, and, to the non-enthusiast, it is well worth this price not to have one. It is rumored that the price will come down further in the near future. The value of not having one seems likely to stay up.
How does CCI work?
There is the first catch.
No explanation of its construction is given, and curious competitors have found that it self-destructs when opened. This means you do not really know its strengths or limitations. It is rumored by the salesmen that the device is in contact with a ring of satellites which in turn are in touch with four gigantic interconnected computers.
And what does CCI do? A quote from the brochure will give the idea:
". . . your Constant Companion is at all times on the alert. Beyond the reach of human failings, he (sic) never forgets, never falters, and never fails . . . If you have an appointment or a birthday to remember, your personal friend and pocket private secretary will prompt you at the proper time . . . If you wish to review a scene or an event, CCI has it. If you want to reexamine a spoken agreement, test again the nuances of personal expression, your Constant Companion will unfailingly help you . . ."
CCI is a personal portable combination reminder service, bug, and memory. But, how does it work? How, for instance, does the device communicate with the ring of satellites? What if you drive through an underground tunnel, or board a submarine for a submerged cruise? Does CCI somehow stay in contact with the ring of satellites? If not, why don't the instructions warn you? If so, the Defense Department will be interested.
Incidentally, CCI is already reported to be the subject of study by a government "task force" to determine the legal and technological means to, in effect, subpoena your "Pocket Pal," in case you ever land in court.
Meanwhile, if you have an argument with someone who insists you said what you know you didn't say, you can "back-key" to the appropriate stage of the argument, set the device for "Databanks—Repeat Conversation" and have the indescribable thrill of hearing your own voice blow your own argument to bits.
As if they had not done enough already, the manufacturers of CCI are out with a handheld boasting "extended capabilities." This is CCCI—"Constant Companion and Counselor, Mark I." This device incorporates an earphone on a cord that goes down the back of the neck under the shirt collar, to just behind the shirt pocket, where a pin-type connector passes through into CCCI itself. The cord and earphone permit CCCI to talk directly into your ear.
CCCI has its own sensing apparatus, plus tiny skin and pulse attachments, and a set of special glasses ("two hundred flattering styles available"). Its sensing apparatus follows what's happening, its skin and pulse monitors watch your emotional reactions, and the special glasses enable the device to tell where you are looking; the device's circuits then correlate what is going on outside with your inner responses.
That it can do this is, of course, impressive. But do you want it doing it to you?
CCCI was, naturally enough, made to sell, and to do that somebody has to buy it. It is priced at twenty-five thousand. There is a little problem there. Who will pay for it?
Two answers seem to have been arrived at.
First, it can be rented. Under a "special introductory offer," you can now use it for a week for "only three hundred and fifty dollars." That's the first answer.
In groping for a second answer, the planners seem to have asked: What might lead anyone to pay the price?
To see the answer arrived at, consider the slant of this sample from the advertising brochure, which incidentally is headed, "You Don't Have Everything If You Have No Constant Companion To Guide You In the Most Intimate Affairs of Your Life." The brochure reads:
". . . In this ultramodern era, the powerful logic and memory capabilities of the high-speed electronic computer have long since revolutionized manufacture, transportation, and communication—but they have left mankind still wandering in jungles of personal emotional ignorance.
"NOW, with the scientific miracle of CCCI, for the first time the mighty djinn of the Computer Age stands at your side to guide you adroitly through the mazes of ignorance to mysterious pleasure palaces of the senses. The jeweled secrets of ecstasy, hidden to others, are opened to you, who know their value to be beyond price.
"Where others blunder and hesitate, your guardian djinn guides you on a magic carpet to the heart of whatever tempestuous interest rouses your imperious fancy.
"Wise in the ways of human nature, encoded deep in its capacious memory banks for instant reference and lightning retrieval, CCCI represents a fusion of new knowledge and ancient wisdom, of—"
In case anyone hasn't caught on, the following paragraphs get the idea further pinned down for the wide-eyed reader, using words like:
"Houri . . . enchantment . . . delights . . . forbidden knowledge . . . wisdom . . .
harem . . . silken . . . seductive . . . sensuous . . ."
Without ever exactly getting to the specifics, the general idea planted in the mind of the prospective buyer is clear enough. And—Who knows—this approach may make sales.
But what is the device worth?
Consider the experience of an acquaintance we will disguise as "S. L.," for "Secret Lover."
S. L. was secretly fascinated by a certain brunette, but was also sunk in tortured despair because of his own inadequacies. The exact nature of S. L.'s inadequacies can be left to the imagination, the important thing being that, to deal with them, he rented CCCI for a week, and at once confided his troubles to his new "constant companion and counselor."
"I'm scared," he concluded, after unloading his store of tortured doubts into CCCI's capacious memory banks. "What if she rejects me? What can I do?"
Into his ear there spoke a wise elder-statesman voice:
"Success is impossible at a distance. Closeness creates opportunity."
This sounded reasonable. So, after some further vacillation, S. L. got himself invited to a party whose only redeeming feature was the likely presence of the brunette. As S. L. circulated amongst the guests, the wise elder statesman voice in his ear was reassuring:
"Confidence is the key. You are assured and confident. There is every prospect for success. You will succeed . . . That is she? . . . Yes, pulse, respiration, visual focus, and all other indicators agree. The subject is now being fixed for reference in memory banks, and all channels are—One moment—"
The elder-statesman voice suddenly sharpened, freezing S. L. to the spot as he stared at the girl, who also froze, staring wide-eyed at him, while in S. L.'s ear, CCCI poured out urgent warnings:
". . . Attention! Subject is equipped with an Allectronics Elder Brother Mark III Protector! This is a dual-function device to guard against emotional entanglement in the user while repelling external advances, using high-voltage fine-wire shock prods!"
S. L. stared, paralyzed by this intelligence.
The girl stared back, blushed, winced, and suddenly whirled and walked fast toward a door leading to an inner hall of the apartment. CCCI was pouring instructions into S. L.'s ear:
". . . pursuit is inadvisable! The Allectronics Mark III will deliver a warning shock to subject if she has any interest, and will deliver a severe shock to you on contact. This will condition subject against you, and you against subject. The correct tactic is to withdraw at once, and attempt to determine—"
S. L. abruptly jerked the plug out of his ear, and went through the door after the girl. Totally forgetting CCCI, he called out in a low angry voice, "What are you running away for? I haven't done anything!"
"Because," came the angry reply, "every time you looked at me, I get an electric shock!"
"Well—that isn't my fault!"
"Well, it certainly isn't mine! All I'm trying to do is protect myself! You've got Wolf Wiring!"
S. L. had never heard CCCI spoken of as "Wolf Wiring" before. But the unexpected exhilaration of the conversation carried him past the confusion:
"If you don't like Wolf Wiring, I'll get rid of it. At least, I'm not a human lightning rod!"
"Ouch! Damn this thing!"
"Why not send Elder Brother home, too?"
"All right! I can't stand this!"
Anyone who considers this incident can decide for himself just what CCCI and Elder Brother Mark III Protector are actually worth.
The thing to do seems clear enough. Stick to handhelds of types that have been around for a while, and try one at twenty bucks or less first. That makes it easier to get an idea how they work, what the one you have lacks, and what you want, before you spend more.
As for any existing model that will benevolently run your life for you—Well, as they say: "This approach shows great potential promise for the future; at present, however, considerable further development work appears to be needed."
The last word on this subject seems to be that there isn't any last word yet; but keep your eyes open and your guard up—They no doubt are already struggling with that "further development work" that appears to be needed.
THE DRUG FACTORY
Rx For Chaos
Morton Hommel, Ph.D., Director of the Banner Value Drug and Vitamin Laboratories, Inc., pressed himself flat on the floor as the bullets stitched a line of holes through the laboratory wall at about waist height overhead.
A foot away, against the wall, sat a sample of the cause of the trouble, and as Hommel lay pinned from either side by his breathless assistants, he could not help seeing the label on the little bottle: DE-TOX The Antacid Detoxifier. Take one to three tablets per day as required, to counteract harmful mental effects of mild overindulgence in alcoholic beverages, sleeping pills, stimulants, stay-awake pills, nicotine, tranquilizers, etc., etc. De-Tox is a new formulation, designed to fortify the critical faculties of the human brain. Used in moderation as directed, it will overcome that groggy, fuzzy feeling that follows mild over-indulgence. . ..
Hommel had thrown himself under the table with the haste of a man who has only a fraction of a second to pick his spot and dive for it. Now that he was under there, he remembered the half-full carboy of sulfuric acid that was in the lab somewhere. Was it on a neighboring bench, or was it directly overhead?
He lay paralyzed, hardly able to breathe, with his heart hammering to the whine of the bullets, the clatter of breaking glass, and the smash and rattle of falling plaster. A heavy thud made the floor jump beneath him. Viola Manning clung moaning and trembling to his left arm, and Peabody, his fanatical young research chemist, kept trying to mumble the results of his latest experiments in Hommel's right ear. And all the while, scarcely a foot away, that bottle of little pale-green pills stared him in the face. The flag at the bottom of the label, and the motto underneath, seemed to jump out at him:
"A Banner Value Product of the Banner Value Drug and Vitamin Laboratories, Inc. At all better druggists, everywhere."
That, he thought, was the trouble. The stuff was all over the world, like aspirin. No, even that didn't do it justice. It was more widespread than aspirin. Any place where they ate, drank, or breathed anything that befogged their wits, there was a ready-made market for De-Tox.
Hommel experienced the fervent wish that he'd thrown the original report in the wastebasket. Or touched a match to it. Or just slid it in a drawer of his desk, ignored its possibilities, and put the men onto something else. In the beginning he could have suppressed it in any number of ways. Instead, never imagining how it would turn out, he had gone straight out to the golf course, where old Sam Banner himself instantaneously saw the commercial possibilities, and said, "O.K. Push it."
Hommel had come back with a faint professional contempt for Banner's apparently snap decision, but quickly lost that as the old man breathed fire down his neck. Meanwhile, the work unfolded like a freshman laboratory exercise, no untoward side-effects showed up, and the next thing Hommel knew, they were in production.
After that, it was a succession of new sales records, bonuses, and salary raises, plus fantastic coverage in national magazines, with Banner himself turning down honorary degrees, and trying to explain that he was a business man, not a Benefactor of Humanity. Banner solved the problem by shoving the credit off on Hommel, while Hommel, who would willingly have kept the credit, had it violently wrenched away from him by the chemist who had sent in the original report.
The uproar finally died down, the new drug became a standard household item, and there was nothing to do but work the cash register, and send out friendly reminders that De-Tox was a registered trademark, and not to be referred to as "de-tox" or "detox."
It was not many months after this that Hommel, a little before noon one morning, got word to come to Sam Banner's office without delay.
Banner was seated at his desk, swirling a glass about half-full of water, and staring out the window. He glanced at Hommel.
"Something funny about these De-T
ox pills."
"What do you mean?"
Banner swung his chair away from the window. "This psycho thing. They can't put the subject under after he takes the pills."
Hommel frowned. "You mean, the drug interferes with induction of the hypnotic trance?"
"Can't put them under," corrected Banner, who had a distaste for long words. "They go through all the usual stuff, and the subject won't go under. Even when they've got him trained to go under at the snap of a finger. Funny."
"Hm-m-m," said Hommel. "That is curious."
Banner nodded, and set down his glass. "TV sales are down."
Hommel blinked, but said nothing. If there was a connection, it would appear shortly.
Prescription for Chaos Page 4