The man said, “Good afternoon, swearers and guests. I am Randolph T. Hoch, in charge of the Baltimore ceremonies this year. The swearers have met me several times now during the progress of the physical and neurological portions of this examination. Most of the task is done, but the most important matter is left. The swearer himself, his personality, must go into Multivac’s records.
“Each year, this requires some explanation to the young people reaching adulthood. Until now” (he turned to the young people before him and his eyes went no more to the gallery) “you have not been adult; you have not been individuals in the eyes of Multivac, except where you were especially singled out as such by your parents or your government.
“Until now, when the time for the yearly up-dating of information came, it was your parents who filled in the necessary data on you. Now the time has come for you to take over that duty yourself. It is a great honor, a great responsibility. Your parents have told us what schooling you’ve had, what diseases, what habits; a great many things. But now you must tell us a great deal more; your innermost thoughts; your most secret deeds.
“This is hard to do the first time, embarrassing even, but it must be done. Once it is done, Multivac will have a complete analysis of all of you in its files. It will understand your actions and reactions. It will even be able to guess with fair accuracy at your future actions and reactions.
“In this way, Multivac will protect you. If you are in danger of accident, it will know. If someone plans harm to you, it will know. If you plan harm, it will know and you will be stopped in time so that it will not be necessary to punish you.
“With its knowledge of all of you, Multivac will be able to help Earth adjust its economy and its laws for the good of all. If you have a personal problem, you may come to Multivac with it and with its knowledge of all of you, Multivac will be able to help you.
“Now you will have many forms to fill out. Think carefully and answer all questions as accurately as you can. Do not hold back through shame or caution. No one will ever know your answers except Multivac unless it becomes necessary to learn the answers in order to protect you. And then only authorized officials of the government will know.
“It may occur to you to stretch the truth a bit here or there. Don’t do this. We will find out if you do. All your answers put together form a pattern. If some answers are false, they will not fit the pattern and Multivac will discover them. If all your answers are false, there will be a distorted pattern of a type that Multivac will recognize. So you must tell the truth.”
Eventually, it was all over, however; the form-filling; the ceremonies and speeches that followed. In the evening, Ben, standing tiptoe, finally spotted Michael, who was still carrying the robes he had worn in the “parade of the adults.” They greeted one another with jubilation.
They shared a light supper and took the expressway home, alive and alight with the greatness of the day.
They were not prepared, then, for the sudden transition of the home-coming. It was a numbing shock to both of them to be stopped by a cold-faced young man in uniform outside their own front door; to have their papers inspected before they could enter their own house; to find their own parents sitting forlornly in the living room, the mark of tragedy on their faces.
Joseph Manners, looking much older than he had that morning, looked out of his puzzled, deep-sunken eyes at his sons (one with the robes of new adulthood still over his arm) and said, “I seem to be under house arrest.”
Bernard Gulliman could not and did not read the entire report. He read only the summary and that was most gratifying, indeed.
A whole generation, it seemed, had grown up accustomed to the fact that Multivac could predict the commission of major crimes. They learned that Corrections agents would be on the scene before the crime could be committed. They found out that consummation of the crime led to inevitable punishment. Gradually, they were convinced that there was no way anyone could outsmart Multivac.
The result was, naturally, that even the intention of crime fell off. And as such intentions fell off and as Multivac’s capacity was enlarged, minor crimes could be added to the list it would predict each morning, and these crimes, too, were now shrinking in incidence.
So Gulliman had ordered an analysis made (by Multivac naturally) of Multivac’s capacity to turn its attention to the problem of predicting probabilities of disease incidence. Doctors might soon be alerted to individual patients who might grow diabetic in the course of the next year, or suffer an attack of tuberculosis or grow a cancer.
An ounce of prevention—
And the report was a favorable one!
After that, the roster of the day’s possible crimes arrived and there was not a first-degree murder on the list.
Gulliman put in an intercom call to Ali Othman in high good humor. “Othman, how do the numbers of crimes in the daily lists of the past week average compared with those in my first week as Chairman?”
It had gone down, it turned out, by 8 per cent and Gulliman was happy indeed. No fault of his own, of course, but the electorate would not know that. He blessed his luck that he had come in at the right time, at the very climax of Multivac, when disease, too, could be placed under its all-embracing and protecting knowledge.
Gulliman would prosper by this.
Othman shrugged his shoulders. “Well, he’s happy.”
“When do we break the bubble?” said Leemy. “Putting Manners under observation just raised the probabilities and house arrest gave it another boost.”
“Don’t I know it?” said Othman peevishly. “What I don’t know is why.”
“Accomplices, maybe, like you said. With Manners in trouble, the rest have to strike at once or be lost.”
“Just the other way around. With our hand on one, the rest would scatter for safety and disappear. Besides, why aren’t the accomplices named by Multivac?”
“Well, then, do we tell Gulliman?”
“No, not yet. The probability is still only 17.3 per cent. Let’s get a bit more drastic first.”
Elizabeth Manners said to her younger son, “You go to your room, Ben.”
“But what’s it all about, Mom?” asked Ben, voice breaking at this strange ending to what had been a glorious day.
“Please!”
He left reluctantly, passing through the door to the stairway, walking up it noisily and down again quietly.
And Mike Manners, the older son, the new-minted adult and the hope of the family, said in a voice and tone that mirrored his brother’s, “What’s it all about?”
Joe Manners said, “As heaven is my witness, Son, I don’t know. I haven’t done anything.”
“Well, sure you haven’t done anything.” Mike looked at his small-boned, mild-mannered father in wonder. “They must be here because you’re thinking of doing something.”
“I’m not.”
Mrs. Manners broke in angrily, “How can he be thinking of doing something worth all—all this.” She cast her arm about, in a gesture -toward the enclosing shell of government men about the house. “When I was a little girl, I remember the father of a friend of mine was working in a bank, and they once called him up and said to leave the money alone and he did. It was fifty thousand dollars. He hadn’t really taken it. He was just thinking about taking it. They didn’t keep those things as quiet in those days as they do now; the story got out. That’s how I know about it.
“But I mean,” she went on, rubbing her plump hands slowly together, “that was fifty thousand dollars; fifty—thousand—dollars. Yet all they did was call him; one phone call. What could your father be planning that would make it worth having a dozen men come down and close off the house?”