Prescription for Chaos

by Christopher Anvil

  "I'm afraid that's it."

  "Nothing programmed for this problem?"

  "The problem isn't cut and dried. There are stratagems, evaluations, sequences of moves. It depends on what Bisbee does. And boxing isn't all skill. It depends on condition, guts, will. We picked Magnus because he was a promising fighter. We didn't know he was going to take his training easy. I'm surprised he's lasted this long."

  "I've got a lot on this bout."

  "We all have. The press acts as if this decides it for skill implants."

  Norton shook his head. "The technology will go on. Maybe some illusions will go."

  "I can think of one—let technology do all the work. If Magnus loses, it will be that that did it."

  The bell rang.

  Magnus moved quickly out of his corner. After an exchange of blows in the center of the ring, the champion moved in impatiently. Magnus's brief show of strength gave out, but he succeeded in tying up the champion and slowing him down, though he himself landed few blows that had much force. The round passed in a silence from the crowd, and just as the next round started, a familiar cracked voice spoke up:

  "Okay, Champ. Take him."

  Norton gave a low curse, and crouched lower in his seat.

  Bisbee crossed the ring before Magnus seemed to realize what was happening, then Magnus, nearby in the ring, pivoted to land a blow to Bisbee's head. Bisbee, seeming unaffected, smashed Magnus to the midsection, to double him over, then abruptly delivered a sequence of head and body blows that brought the crowd to its feet, and suddenly Magnus was down, near the edge of the ring closest to Bohlen and Norton.

  Now, for the first time, there was a shout of "Bisbee! Bisbee!"

  The girl, crying, stood up, clutching Bohlen's arm.

  Bohlen realized the count had already reached three. He shook his head.

  As the count reached seven, Magnus opened his eyes. He turned his head, to see the crying girl. At the count of nine, he struggled to his feet.

  Bohlen, frowning, noted blood running from a cut above Bisbee's right eye. That must have happened in the exchange of blows just before Magnus went down. Bisbee, seeming unaware of it, forced the fight, and Magnus again showed his skill in defense. Just before the bell rang, Magnus landed a blow that hit the champion above the right eye. Then he dragged himself to his corner and dropped onto the stool.

  Bohlen sank back in his seat.

  Norton said grudgingly, "The skill is the chip's. But he's got guts, all right. I think I'd have stayed on the deck."

  Bohlen nodded. "I don't know any way to program courage. Bisbee's eye doesn't look good, either."

  "No. But this dents our slogan that 'Anyone's an expert with an XPert Implant.' There's more than skill involved. You can't turn everything over to the implant."

  "No, I don't think anyone would care to try it. It isn't the chip that feels the blows."

  The girl was sitting, trembling, with her eyes shut and head bowed. Bohlen looked at her thoughtfully, then heard the bell.

  This time, both fighters were cautious, as Magnus circled to get a blow at Bisbee's eye, and Bisbee sought to prevent it. Bohlen, watching the seemingly academic series of combinations as both fighters boxed, was surprised to note how often Magnus, though plainly the weaker, still managed to score. By the end of the round, the cut over Bisbee's eye was visibly worse, and the eye nearly shut. But Magnus seemed scarcely able to stay on his feet.

  Norton said, "Damn it, even if he half-blinds him, how will he put him down?"

  "Be glad he's still conscious."

  "If he lives through it, I hope next time he trains. Damn it, if he hadn't had an implant, he'd have trained!"

  "Every time we get a technological advance, we lose something. People expect the technology to do it all."

  "Ah, it's the usual thing. Tough barbarians from the northland erupt into the tropics, and conquer the weaklings lying around in the sun. A couple of generations later, they get whipped themselves by a fresh batch of barbarians. Now we make an oil burner and put the tropics into the home. The chip is the worst. It's supposed to do the thinking and planning. The problem has been around since the Vandals, and we're losing ground."

  "I wonder if actually it might be possible to somehow program the training routine into the chip?"

  The bell rang.

  From the back of the hall, a cracked voice called, "Champ—You've got to force him."

  Norton shook his head. "That guy ought to be in Bisbee's corner. If he'd just shut up, we might live through this yet."

  Bisbee, seeming to pay no attention, tried to box Magnus at long range, while Magnus tried to circle, to take advantage of the poor vision of that swollen right eye. The fight turned into a sparring match, and Bohlen, groggy himself, watched with less and less attention. Toward the end of the round, he became aware that Magnus had just landed a blow to the head. Bisbee's broad back was to Bohlen, who didn't realize anything more had happened until he saw Magnus's head snap back, and Magnus went back on the ropes. Bohlen came awake to see Magnus, doubled over, take a murderous right uppercut that straightened him up, then he dropped unconscious to the floor.

  Bisbee turned and walked across the ring.

  The count, monotonously intoned, reached eight, and Magnus had yet to move or open an eye.

  The bell rang.

  Bisbee gave his head a slight shake, and walked to his corner.

  Bohlen, groggy, glanced at the girl, who sat staring dazedly at her hands, as if afraid to look in the ring. Bohlen, who felt the same way, made the effort to look up.

  In the ring, officials were conferring. Someone, apparently a doctor, was examining Magnus.

  The bell rang.

  Norton said, "What round is this?"

  "Don't ask me."

  "Wasn't that an unusually short break between rounds?"

  "If you can still judge time, you're better off than I am."

  Magnus, his guard up, was facing the champion, who bored in as Magnus gave an exhibition of skill that reduced Bisbee to a look almost of clumsiness. By the end of the round, Bisbee's right eye was nearly shut.

  At the close of the round, as Bisbee and Magnus sank onto their stools, someone cheered, and the crowd joined in.

  Norton leaned over beside Bohlen. "Not to take any credit away from Magnus, but I'm wondering. Speaking as a surgeon, a mere mechanic for bodies, it seems to me an opponent could beat Magnus to a pulp, and that chip would keep calculating moves for him. The chip isn't going to get dazed at all, is it? No matter how dazed Magnus gets?"

  "I've taken it for granted that if he's groggy, he can't function. It looks as if I was wrong."

  "The impression I have is that his skill improves after Bisbee knocks him half-unconscious. We never saw this before. No one ever got this far before."

  "It's certainly a point. He acts dead on his feet, but his skill, if anything, improves."

  "Well—let's hope he stays a little dazed. If Bisbee gets him again, I'm not sure the bell can save him."

  "As it is, I think he's winning on points."

  The bell rang. Again the two boxers approached each other. This time, Bisbee seemed determined to take advantage of his strength. Despite another display of skill from Magnus, the blows Bisbee dealt seemed on the edge of putting Magnus down. But when the bell rang, Magnus was still on his feet, and Bisbee's eye was almost shut.

  Again the officials conferred, and now a doctor examined Bisbee.

  The crowd, apparently worn out themselves, watched in silence.

  The bell rang.

  As the fight resumed, again Magnus was able to hit almost at will, as Bisbee covered himself, retreated, backed away, and suddenly, as if out of nowhere, smashed Magnus with his left hand, sprang forward, and moving too fast to be clearly seen, landed a sequence of murderous blows.

  Again, Magnus was on the floor.

  Bisbee stood over him, breathing hard, as the referee tried in vain to get him to move away. Finally, with a heavy s
igh, Bisbee turned and walked away.

  The count started, and reached eight.

  Magnus tried to get to his feet, and failed.

  The referee counted, "Nine."

  The bell rang.

  Bohlen sat unmoving, dazed. Around him, there was a near-total silence. Again the officials conferred. A doctor examined Magnus.

  Norton nudged Bohlen. "Let me by. I think she's fainted."

  Bohlen looked dully at the girl, slumped in her seat.

  Somewhere, a bell rang.

  Bohlen sat in a daze, then looked up without curiosity at the ring.

  The two fighters were circling each other, both wary, exchanging blows meaningless to Bohlen. It dawned on him that he had missed something. Now the fight seemed almost even. It had obviously been Bisbee's at the end of the last round.

  Bohlen looked away, and wondered idly if there was some food around somewhere. Then he asked himself why he felt as he did. Next he wondered how he did feel. It took a while to find a comparison. He felt as if he were a reporter in the Second World War, and the slaughter was still going on now after decades of fighting, and he still didn't know who was going to win.

  The bell rang.

  "Good God," said Norton.

  Bohlen felt a twinge of curiosity, and glanced at the seat to his left.

  The girl was gone. "What did—"

  Norton said, "I sent her out. It was killing her."

  Bohlen nodded absently, "Not a very doctorly way to put it. Your professional manner is underdeveloped."

  "I don't feel very doctorly. I feel like a wet rag. How would you put it?"

  The bell rang, to signal the beginning of another round.

  Bohlen's thoughts moved like glaciers. After a while, he said, "I'd look profound, and say she was being emotionally traumatized by this experience."

  Norton, watching the ring, nodded judiciously. "There's still time for you to go to medical school."

  There was a crash from just above them, in the ring, and a murmur of voices, then someone said, "One."

  Bohlen looked up.

  Bisbee lay outstretched on the canvas.

  Bohlen stared, trying to see Magnus lying there, because it was Magnus he expected to see. But the fighter stretched out there was Bisbee.

  At the count of seven, the champion tried to get up. As he turned his head, Bohlen could see that now his left eye was swollen almost shut. Bisbee fell back onto the canvas.

  At the count of nine, he scrambled to his feet.

  Magnus crossed the ring, hit Bisbee, and hit him again. The blows weren't heavy, but Bisbee couldn't defend.

  Bisbee then covered his head. He was fighting now as he had fought in the first round, but now both eyes were swollen, and blood was trickling down as Magnus methodically opened up a cut over his left eye.

  Bisbee lashed out at his tormentor, who moved easily aside, and struck back to catch Bisbee in the mouth. Again Bisbee covered himself.

  Magnus hit Bisbee, hit him again. Magnus, though obviously tired, was moving with smooth coordination. Suddenly he laughed.

  "Sweet dreams," he said, and landed a sudden heavy blow to the side of Bisbee's head.

  Bisbee staggered.

  The bell rang.

  Norton said, "They've got to stop this."

  A few moments later, they declared Magnus the winner, and he stood with upraised fists, smiling, as the cheers echoed around him. But Bohlen could see no one close to the ring who was cheering. He glanced at Norton, who shook his head.

  Bohlen said, "What happened?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Bisbee had him. Then I looked away. I was tired of watching it."

  "You should have bet on it. You wouldn't have looked away."

  "The last I saw, Magnus was on the mat. What happened?"

  "It was the same thing again. Magnus was out on his feet, but he moved like a dream. Bisbee couldn't connect. His eyes were swollen shut, and he couldn't follow what Magnus was doing."

  "I suppose I should be glad," said Bohlen.

  Norton grunted. "At the end, I was hoping Bisbee would win. It would have cost me money, but it would have been worth it. Look at Magnus."

  Bohlen didn't look at the ring. "He won on luck. And guts, give him that. But the bell saved him at least twice."

  "That's not what he thinks."

  Bohlen looked at Magnus. "He thinks he's unbeatable. Damn it! It's the implant!"

  Norton said, "And you programmed it."

  "Not alone," said Bohlen defensively. "It wasn't my idea."

  "I'm not blaming you. What I'm saying is, he's standing up there, taking the cheers. It was luck and the implant that saved him, and you programmed the implant, and I put it in. I tell you, one slip, and he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't have lived through the operation. But is he giving anyone else credit?"

  "No."

  "There's a problem here, Bo."

  Bohlen said, "I won't argue with that."

  "It never hit me we were making a Frankenstein's monster."

  "Well—I wouldn't go that far."

  "I would. This isn't the only expert chip there's going to be. This is just the first. This guy is a Boxer. Pretty soon we're going to be making Soldiers. Somewhere, right now, they're doubtless asking how to make Assassins. Sooner or later there'll be a Ninja implant chip. What's it going to be like to live in the same world with this stuff? For the first time, anyone with the money, or who has a backer with the money, will be able to acquire real skill without making the effort to earn it."

  Bohlen stared at Magnus, saw Magnus smile easily, condescendingly, to the reporters as they crowded around, asking him to make a muscle, snapping pictures of him with fists raised. Magnus's lip was swollen, and one of his eyes was partly shut, but that didn't dent the easy air of superiority.

  Norton said, "How does he look so casual when Bisbee had him on the mat twice?"

  "Three times."

  Norton blinked. "That's right."

  Bohlen shook his head. "Maybe it's just his personality. This may not happen with everyone who gets an implant. He's the first. There will be others. It could even become commonplace."

  "Not for a while. There aren't enough surgeons who want to do the operations."

  "Yeah, but—"

  Norton looked at him.

  "But what?"

  "That's the next expert implant—the surgical chip."

  "You're serious?"

  "I wouldn't make this up. It's perfectly logical. The bottleneck, all along, was the interface. A big part of that is the process of implantation. We need capable surgeons. Therefore, develop an implant to increase the number of capable surgeons. That will end the bottleneck. Q. E. D."

  Norton swore.

  Bohlen said, "Will you refuse the implant?"

  "I don't end to end up like Magnus."

  "Then you'll be passed by colleagues less capable now than you are."

  "I can think of the very cretins who'd jump at the chance." He looked at Bohlen, and suddenly his eyes glinted. "And when does the programmer's chip implant come up?"

  Bohlen shook his head. "Third on the list. Another bottleneck."

  Norton smiled. "Programming should be a natural for this technique."

  "I'm not certain it can be done. But I wouldn't bet against it."

  "There are a lot of angles to this thing. Magnus has the idea he is different and superior. I wonder how competition would hit him. I think Bisbee deserves the chance to even things up."

  "Would he do it?"

  "We could find out."

  Bohlen laughed. "It may end up like college. Almost everybody has to have a degree, now. I can see it a few years from now: 'What field is your implant in?'"

  "Not so fast. Even with lots of willing surgeons, there's still the operation. Who wants it?"

  "It could end up like tonsils and adenoids. Then, after a little more improvement in technique, like going to the dentist."

  "People will send their chi
ldren to the chip-implanter?"

  "Why not?"

  Norton gazed off into the distance, and shook his head.

  "There's one thing we can be reasonably sure of."