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release, giving up my salvage rights when I accepted the compensation check.
You did too, I'm sure."
Brandon said, "But why the force field? Why all the privacy?"
"I don't know."
"The wreck isn't worth anything even as scrap metal. It would cost too
much to transport it."
Shea said, "That's right. Funny thing, though; they were bringing pieces
back from space. There was a pile of it there. I could see it and it looked
like just junk, twisted pieces of frame, you know. I asked about it and they
said ships were always landing and unloading more scrap, and the insurance
company had a standard price for any piece of the Silver Queen brought back,
so ships in the neighborhood of Vesta were always looking. Then, on my last
voyage in, I went to see the Silver Queen again and that pile was a lot
bigger."
"You mean they're still looking?" Brandon's eyes glittered.
"I don't know. Maybe they've stopped. But the pile was bigger than it
was ten-eleven years ago so they were still looking then."
Brandon leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Well, now,
that's very queer. A hard-headed insurance company is spending all kinds of
money, sweeping space near Vesta, trying to find pieces of a twenty-year-old
wreck."
"Maybe they're trying to prove sabotage," said Moore. "After twenty
years? They won't get their money back even if they do. It's a dead issue."
"They may have quit looking years ago."
Brandon stood up with decision. "Let's ask. There's something funny here
and I'm just Jabrified enough and anniversaried enough to want to find out."
"Sure," said Shea, "but ask who?"
"Ask Multivac," said Brandon.
Shea's eyes opened wide. "Multivac! Say, Mr. Moore, do you have a
Multivac outlet here?"
"Yes."
"I've never seen one, and I've always wanted to."
"It's nothing to look at, Mike. It looks just like a typewriter. Don't
confuse a Multivac outlet with Multivac itself. I don't know anyone who's seen
Multivac."
Moore smiled at the thought. He doubted if ever in his life he would
meet any of the handful of technicians who spent most of their working days in
a hidden spot in the bowels of Earth tending a mile-long super-computer that
was the repository of all the facts known to man, that guided man's economy,
directed his scientific research, helped make his political decisions, and had
millions of circuits left over to answer individual questions that did not
violate the ethics of privacy.
Brandon said as they moved up the power ramp to the second floor, "I've
been thinking of installing a Multivac, Jr., outlet for the kids. Homework and
things, you know. And yet I don't want to make it just a fancy and expensive
crutch for them. How do you work it, Warren?"
Moore said tersely. "They show me the questions first. If I don't pass
them, Multivac does not see them."
The Multivac outlet was indeed a simple typewriter arrangement and
little more.
Moore set up the co-ordinates that opened his portion of the planet-wide
network of circuits and said, "Now listen. For the record, I'm against this
and I'm only going along because it's the anniversary and because I'm just
jackass enough to be curious. Now how ought I to phrase the question?"
Brandon said, "Just ask: Are pieces of the wreck of the Silver Queen
still being searched for in the neighborhood of Vesta by Trans-space
Insurance? It only requires a simple yes or no."
Moore shrugged and tapped it out, while Shea watched with awe.
The spaceman said, "How does it answer? Does it talk?"
Moore laughed gently, "Oh, no. I don't spend that kind of money. This
model just prints the answer on a slip of tape that comes out that slot."
A short strip of tape did come out as he spoke. Moore removed it and,
after a glance, said, "Well, Multivac says yes."
"Hah!" cried Brandon. "Told you. Now ask why."
"Now that's silly. A question like that would obviously be against
privacy. You'll just get a yellow state-your-reason."
"Ask and find out. They haven't made the search for the pieces secret.
Maybe they're not making the reason secret."
Moore shrugged. He tapped out: Why is Trans-space Insurance conducting
its Silver Queen search-project to which reference was made in the previous
question?
A yellow slip clicked out almost at once: State Your Reason For
Requiring The Information Requested.
"All right," said Brandon unabashed. "You tell it we're the three
survivors and have a right to know. Go ahead. Tell it."
Moore tapped that out in unemotional phrasing and another yellow slip
was pushed out at them: Your Reason Is Insufficient. No Answer Can Be Given.
Brandon said, "I don't see they have a right to keep that secret."
"That's up to Multivac," said Moore. "It judges the reasons given it and
if it decides the ethics of privacy is against answering, that's it. The
government itself couldn't break those ethics without a court order, and the
courts don't go against Multivac once in ten years. So what are you going to
do?"
Brandon jumped to his feet and began the rapid walk up and down the room
that was so characteristic of him" All right, then let's figure it out for
ourselves. It's something important to justify all their trouble. We're agreed
they're not trying to find evidence of sabotage, not after twenty years. But
Trans-space must be looking for something, something so valuable that it's
worth looking for all this time. Now what could be that valuable?"
"Mark, you're a dreamer," said Moore.
Brandon obviously didn't hear him. "It can't be jewels or money or
securities. There just couldn't be enough to pay them back for what the search
has already cost them. Not if the Silver Queen were pure gold. What would be
more valuable?"
"You can't judge value, Mark," said Moore. "A letter might be worth a
hundredth of a cent as wastepaper and yet make a difference of a hundred
million dollars to a corporation, depending on what's in the letter."
Brandon nodded his head vigorously. "Right. Documents. Valuable papers.
Now who would be most likely to have papers worth billions in his possession
on that trip?"
"How could anyone possibly say?"
"How about Dr. Horace Quentin? How about that, Warren? He's the one
people remember because he was so important. What about the papers he might
have had with him? Details of a new discovery, maybe. Damn it, if I had only
seen him on that trip, he might have told me something, just in casual
conversation, you know. Did you ever see him, Warren?"
"Not that I recall. Not to talk to. So casual conversation with me is
out too. Of course, I might have passed him at some time without knowing it."
"No, you wouldn't have," said Shea, suddenly thoughtful. "I think I
remember something. There was one passenger who never left his cabin. The
steward was talking about it. He wouldn't even come out for meals."
"And that was Quentin?" said Brandon, stopping his pacing and staring at
the spaceman eagerly.
"It might have been, Mr. Brandon. It might have been him. I don't know
that anyone said it was. I don't remember. But it must have been a big shot,
because on a spaceship you don't fool around bringing meals to a man's cabin
unless he is a big shot."
"And Quentin was the big shot on the trip," said Brandon, with
satisfaction. "So he had something in his cabin. Something very important.
Something he was concealing."
"He might just have been space sick," said Moore, "except that--" He
frowned and fell silent.
"Go ahead," said Brandon urgently. "You remember something too?"
"Maybe. I told you I was sitting next to Dr. Hester at the last dinner.
He was saying something about hoping to meet Dr. Quentin on the trip and not
having any luck."
"Sure," cried Brandon, "because Quentin wouldn't come out of his
cabin."
"He didn't say that. We got to talking about Quentin, though. Now what
was it he said?" Moore put his hands to his temples as though trying to
squeeze out the memory of twenty years ago by main force. "I can't give you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl rafalstec.xlx.pl
release, giving up my salvage rights when I accepted the compensation check.
You did too, I'm sure."
Brandon said, "But why the force field? Why all the privacy?"
"I don't know."
"The wreck isn't worth anything even as scrap metal. It would cost too
much to transport it."
Shea said, "That's right. Funny thing, though; they were bringing pieces
back from space. There was a pile of it there. I could see it and it looked
like just junk, twisted pieces of frame, you know. I asked about it and they
said ships were always landing and unloading more scrap, and the insurance
company had a standard price for any piece of the Silver Queen brought back,
so ships in the neighborhood of Vesta were always looking. Then, on my last
voyage in, I went to see the Silver Queen again and that pile was a lot
bigger."
"You mean they're still looking?" Brandon's eyes glittered.
"I don't know. Maybe they've stopped. But the pile was bigger than it
was ten-eleven years ago so they were still looking then."
Brandon leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Well, now,
that's very queer. A hard-headed insurance company is spending all kinds of
money, sweeping space near Vesta, trying to find pieces of a twenty-year-old
wreck."
"Maybe they're trying to prove sabotage," said Moore. "After twenty
years? They won't get their money back even if they do. It's a dead issue."
"They may have quit looking years ago."
Brandon stood up with decision. "Let's ask. There's something funny here
and I'm just Jabrified enough and anniversaried enough to want to find out."
"Sure," said Shea, "but ask who?"
"Ask Multivac," said Brandon.
Shea's eyes opened wide. "Multivac! Say, Mr. Moore, do you have a
Multivac outlet here?"
"Yes."
"I've never seen one, and I've always wanted to."
"It's nothing to look at, Mike. It looks just like a typewriter. Don't
confuse a Multivac outlet with Multivac itself. I don't know anyone who's seen
Multivac."
Moore smiled at the thought. He doubted if ever in his life he would
meet any of the handful of technicians who spent most of their working days in
a hidden spot in the bowels of Earth tending a mile-long super-computer that
was the repository of all the facts known to man, that guided man's economy,
directed his scientific research, helped make his political decisions, and had
millions of circuits left over to answer individual questions that did not
violate the ethics of privacy.
Brandon said as they moved up the power ramp to the second floor, "I've
been thinking of installing a Multivac, Jr., outlet for the kids. Homework and
things, you know. And yet I don't want to make it just a fancy and expensive
crutch for them. How do you work it, Warren?"
Moore said tersely. "They show me the questions first. If I don't pass
them, Multivac does not see them."
The Multivac outlet was indeed a simple typewriter arrangement and
little more.
Moore set up the co-ordinates that opened his portion of the planet-wide
network of circuits and said, "Now listen. For the record, I'm against this
and I'm only going along because it's the anniversary and because I'm just
jackass enough to be curious. Now how ought I to phrase the question?"
Brandon said, "Just ask: Are pieces of the wreck of the Silver Queen
still being searched for in the neighborhood of Vesta by Trans-space
Insurance? It only requires a simple yes or no."
Moore shrugged and tapped it out, while Shea watched with awe.
The spaceman said, "How does it answer? Does it talk?"
Moore laughed gently, "Oh, no. I don't spend that kind of money. This
model just prints the answer on a slip of tape that comes out that slot."
A short strip of tape did come out as he spoke. Moore removed it and,
after a glance, said, "Well, Multivac says yes."
"Hah!" cried Brandon. "Told you. Now ask why."
"Now that's silly. A question like that would obviously be against
privacy. You'll just get a yellow state-your-reason."
"Ask and find out. They haven't made the search for the pieces secret.
Maybe they're not making the reason secret."
Moore shrugged. He tapped out: Why is Trans-space Insurance conducting
its Silver Queen search-project to which reference was made in the previous
question?
A yellow slip clicked out almost at once: State Your Reason For
Requiring The Information Requested.
"All right," said Brandon unabashed. "You tell it we're the three
survivors and have a right to know. Go ahead. Tell it."
Moore tapped that out in unemotional phrasing and another yellow slip
was pushed out at them: Your Reason Is Insufficient. No Answer Can Be Given.
Brandon said, "I don't see they have a right to keep that secret."
"That's up to Multivac," said Moore. "It judges the reasons given it and
if it decides the ethics of privacy is against answering, that's it. The
government itself couldn't break those ethics without a court order, and the
courts don't go against Multivac once in ten years. So what are you going to
do?"
Brandon jumped to his feet and began the rapid walk up and down the room
that was so characteristic of him" All right, then let's figure it out for
ourselves. It's something important to justify all their trouble. We're agreed
they're not trying to find evidence of sabotage, not after twenty years. But
Trans-space must be looking for something, something so valuable that it's
worth looking for all this time. Now what could be that valuable?"
"Mark, you're a dreamer," said Moore.
Brandon obviously didn't hear him. "It can't be jewels or money or
securities. There just couldn't be enough to pay them back for what the search
has already cost them. Not if the Silver Queen were pure gold. What would be
more valuable?"
"You can't judge value, Mark," said Moore. "A letter might be worth a
hundredth of a cent as wastepaper and yet make a difference of a hundred
million dollars to a corporation, depending on what's in the letter."
Brandon nodded his head vigorously. "Right. Documents. Valuable papers.
Now who would be most likely to have papers worth billions in his possession
on that trip?"
"How could anyone possibly say?"
"How about Dr. Horace Quentin? How about that, Warren? He's the one
people remember because he was so important. What about the papers he might
have had with him? Details of a new discovery, maybe. Damn it, if I had only
seen him on that trip, he might have told me something, just in casual
conversation, you know. Did you ever see him, Warren?"
"Not that I recall. Not to talk to. So casual conversation with me is
out too. Of course, I might have passed him at some time without knowing it."
"No, you wouldn't have," said Shea, suddenly thoughtful. "I think I
remember something. There was one passenger who never left his cabin. The
steward was talking about it. He wouldn't even come out for meals."
"And that was Quentin?" said Brandon, stopping his pacing and staring at
the spaceman eagerly.
"It might have been, Mr. Brandon. It might have been him. I don't know
that anyone said it was. I don't remember. But it must have been a big shot,
because on a spaceship you don't fool around bringing meals to a man's cabin
unless he is a big shot."
"And Quentin was the big shot on the trip," said Brandon, with
satisfaction. "So he had something in his cabin. Something very important.
Something he was concealing."
"He might just have been space sick," said Moore, "except that--" He
frowned and fell silent.
"Go ahead," said Brandon urgently. "You remember something too?"
"Maybe. I told you I was sitting next to Dr. Hester at the last dinner.
He was saying something about hoping to meet Dr. Quentin on the trip and not
having any luck."
"Sure," cried Brandon, "because Quentin wouldn't come out of his
cabin."
"He didn't say that. We got to talking about Quentin, though. Now what
was it he said?" Moore put his hands to his temples as though trying to
squeeze out the memory of twenty years ago by main force. "I can't give you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]