The Computer Connection

“The bad cases usually end up masturbating. We’ll pull her through. Put her in that chair, Guig.”

“I’m afraid she’ll tear my head off.”

“N, N. She’s completely dissociated. She’s been functioning on the unconscious level.”

So I put.

“Now we’ll have a tea party,” Borgia ordered. “Whatever you drink at this hour and lots of casual conversation. Bring a tray of goodies, Guig. Talk, everybody. About anything. That’s the scene I want when she comes to.”

I loaded my biggest floater with spin-globes, caviar, and pastries, and when I sailed it into Fee’s room you would have thought it was a diplomatic party from Talleyrand’s (the real one) time. M’bantu was deep in conversation with Natoma, trying to discover whether any of the jillion languages and dialects he speaks had roots in common with Cherokee. She was laughing and practicing her XX on him. The princess and the Chief were arguing about how to get Sabu out of the cellar (ramp v. derrick). Nemo and Borgia were on his current obsession, transplants. The only one who seemed out of it was Edison, so I served him first.

Ed spun two mouthfuls into himself (probably his full quota for a year) and by the time I’d finished serving the first round he was beaming like a clown. “I will now,” he a

The Group was superb. Not a sign of anguish appeared on any face. We all spun and ate and looked at Ed with eager anticipation. At that moment the blessed Fee-5 Cyclone stretched, yawned, and croaked, “Oh, sorry. Excuse me. I think I dozed off.”

I forward-passed the tray to her. “Just a little celebration,” I said.

“Celebration of what?” she asked as she stood up to harbor the floater. Then she glanced into my room and her dark eyes widened. She let the floater hang and went into my room. I started to follow but Borgia shook her head and motioned us to go on talking. We go on and I was now stuck with Ed’s fu

“Hey,” Fee said. “What happened to this place?”

Borgia took over as usual. “Oh, a kid got in and ripped it.”

“Who kid? What kid?”

“A three-year-old.”

“And you just let her?”

“We had to, Fee.”

“I don’t understand. Why?”

“Because she’s a relation of yours.”

“A relation?”

“Your sister.”

“But I haven’t any three-year-old sister.”

“Yes, you do. Inside yourself.”

Fee sat down slowly. “I’m not twigging this. You’re saying I did it?”

“Listen, love. I’ve seen you grow up overnight. You’re a woman now, but a part of you was left behind. That’s the three-year-old kid sister. She’ll aways be with you and you’ll have to control her. You’re not freaked out. We all have the same problem. Some of us shape up and cope; others not. I know you’ll make it because I… all of us… have tremendous admiration for you.”

“But why? What happened?”

“The brat in you thinks she was deserted by her father, so she ran wild.”

“Her father? In Grauman’s Chinese?”

“No. Guig.”

“He’s my father?”

“Vero. For the past three years. But he got married and a cyclone erupted. Now… Would you like to meet his new wife? Not your new mother; his new wife. Here she is, Natoma Curzon.”

Fee-5 got up, went to Natoma, and gave her that lightning raking inspection that only women are capable of. “But you’re beautiful,” she burst out. Then she ran to the Chief and buried herself in him and began to cry. “I love her, but I hate her because I can’t be like her.”

“Maybe she’d like to be like you,” the Chief said.

“Nobody would want to be me.”

“Now I’ve had enough of this nonsense, Fee-Fie. You’re my pride and joy and we have a date in the sterilizer.”

“The centrifuge.” Fee sniffled.

“You’re a remarkable girl. Unique. And I need your help now more than ever before. I need you as much as Guig needs his wife. Now what do you want most in life?”

“To — to be needed by you.”

“You’ve got it. So why all the S?”

“But I want everything else, too.”

“Don’t we all! But we’ve got to work for it.”

A naked model appeared on all fours and spoke while a giant Irish wolfhound mounted her. “The only organic food for your beloved pet is Tumor, the new, improved energizer that gives fast, fast relief from the sexual separation of species…”

“I thought this house was insulated,” Borgia complained.

The voice of the Syndicate came from below. “It is my fault. I could not close the door.”

Ed looked guilty and shot out of the room as the Greek entered, polished and assured as ever. He encompassed us with his captivating smile but paused when he saw Natoma. After a moment he raised his eyeglass and said, “Ah.”

I started to explain but he cut me off. “If you please, Guig. I am not altogether devoid of faculties. Does madam speak Spang, Euro, Afro, XX? What is her language?”

“She speaks nothing but Cherokee.”

“Try spik wenty.” Natoma smiled.

“So.” The Syndicate went to Natoma, kissed her hand a hell of a lot more gallantly than I ever did, and said in Euro, “You are the sister of Dr. Guess — the resemblance is unmistakable. You are newly married — the flowering of the face and body of a girl of your age is unmistakable. There is only one man in this room worthy of your love — Edward Curzon. You are the new Mrs. Curzon and I felicitate you.”

(Now how can you compete with class like this?)

“Jas,” Natoma smiled and came to me and took my arm proudly.

The Greek reflected. Then he said in XX, “I have a small plantation in Brazil. It is outside Barra on the Rio São Francisco — about a thousand hectares — it is my wedding gift to you.”

I started to protest but he cut me off again. “Disraeli will draw up the documents of transfer.” He turned to Hiawatha. “I am pleased to report that I may have discovered the answer to your cryonaut perplexity. Value as yet unknown.”

Geronimo and Fee were electrified, and all of us began to shell Poulos with questions. He endured the barrage patiently but at last spoke in his most persuasive voice. “Please.”

We all please.

“Consolidated Can ran a test of a new product at the bottom of the exhausted Appalachian mine, which is twenty kilometers deep. The object: to discover the shelf-life of a novel amalgam container in a neutral environment. Test animals were included in the experiment, housed in sterile habitats in suspended animation. When the research team checked six months later, the containers had held up but the animals were gone. No trace except a small spot of slime in each habitat.”

“Dio!”

“I have here the report. Ecco.” The Greek pulled a cassette out of a pocket and handed it to Sequoya. “Now, query: Could there be any penetration of radiation from space to the depth of twenty kilometers beneath the surface of the Earth?”

“There would be the normal background terrestrial radiation with which we’ve lived and evolved for a billion years.”

“I said from space, Dr. Guess.”

“God, there are a hundred possibilities.”

“As I said, value as yet unknown.”

“Does Consolidated twig?”

“No.”

“Have they examined the slime?”

“No. All they’ve done is file a caveat with the patent office describing the phenomenon and the steps they are going to take to research it.”

“Imbeciles,” the Chief muttered.

“To be sure, but what more can you expect of middle management? I beg you, Dr. Guess, come to Ceres and I.G. Farben.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “What’s a caveat?”

The Syndicate gave me a kindly smile. “You will always be poor, Guig. A caveat is a warning to the world that a patent will be filed when the research is completed.”