Martin tried to catch his breath. If Michaels didn't arrive shortly he'd have to go over to Denise's apartment no matter how helpless he'd feel. Anxiously he pushed on the amphitheater door. To his surprise it opened. He stepped inside and was enveloped by the black coldness.
The silence was broken by a low-pitched electrical snap familiar to Philips from his days as a student. It was the sound the lighting system made when it was activated. And just as in those former days, the room filled with light. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Martin looked down toward the pit. Michaels was waving up at him. "Martin. What a relief to see you!"
Philips grabbed the handrail in front of him to help propel him along the horizontal aisle that used to lead between tiers of seats when the amphitheater had been used as a lecture hall. Michaels had positioned himself at the base of the stairs and he waved Philips down.
"Did you get the Provost?" shouted Philips. Seeing Michaels gave him the first glimmer of hope he'd had for hours.
"Everything is okay," yelled Michaels. "Come on down here."
Martin started down the stairs which were narrow and crisscrossed with cables to the electronic components that stood where the seats had once been. Three men were waiting with Michaels. Apparently he'd already gathered help. "We have to do something about Denise instantly they…"
"It's been taken care of," yelled Michaels.
"Is she all right?" asked Martin, halting his progress for a moment.
"She's fine and she's safe. Just come on down here."
The closer Martin got to the pit the more equipment there was and the more difficult it was to avoid the wires. "I just barely got away from two men who shot at me up in Neurosurgery lab." He was still breathless and his voice came in spurts.
"You're safe here," said Michaels, watching his friend come down the stairs.
As he arrived at the edge of the pit, Martin lifted his eyes from the cluttered stairs, and looked into Michaels' face. "I didn't have time to find anything in Neurosurgery," said Martin. He could now see the other three men. One was the congenial young student, Carl Rudman, whom he had met on his first visit to the lab. The other two he didn't recognize. They were dressed in black jumpsuits.
Ignoring Martin's last comment, Michaels turned to one of the strangers: "Are you satisfied now? I told you I could get him here."
The man who had not taken his eyes from Philips said, "You got him here, but are you going to be able to control him?"
"I think so," said Michaels.
Martin watched this strange exchange, his eyes moving from Michaels to the man in the jumpsuit. Suddenly he recognized the face. It was the man who'd killed Werner!
"Martin," said Michaels softly, almost paternally. "I've got some things to show you."
The stranger interrupted. "Dr. Michaels, I can guarantee that the FBI will not act precipitously. But what the CIA does is not under my control. I hope you understand that, Dr. Michaels."
Michaels spun around. "Mr. Sansone. I'm aware that the CIA is not your jurisdiction. I need some more time with Dr. Philips."
Turning back to Philips he said, "Martin, I want to show you something. Come on." He took a step toward the door connecting to the neighboring amphitheater.
Martin was paralyzed. His hands were gripping the brass railing that fringed the pit. Relief had become perplexity, and with the perplexity had come the deep rumbling of renewed fear.
"What is going on here?" he asked with a sense of dread. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
"That's what I want to show you," Michaels said. "Come on!"
"Where's Denise?" Philips didn't move a muscle.
"She's perfectly safe. Believe me. Come on." Michaels stepped back over to Philips and grabbed his wrist to encourage him to step down into the pit. "Let me show you some things. Relax. You'll see Denise in a few minutes."
Philips allowed himself to be led past Sansone and into the next amphitheater. The young student had gone in before them and switched on the light. Martin saw another amphitheater, whose seats had been removed. In the pit where he was standing was a huge screen made of millions of light-sensitive photo-receptor cells whose wires fed into a processing unit. From this first processor emerged a significantly smaller number of wires, which were gathered into two trunks that led into two computers. Wires from these computers led into other computers, which were cross-connected. The setup filled the room.
"Do you have any idea what you're looking at?" asked Michaels.
Martin shook his head.
"You're looking at the first computerized model of the human visual system. It's large, primitive by our current standards, but surprisingly functional. The images are flashed on the screen and the computers you see here associate the information." Michaels made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "What you are looking at, Martin, is akin to that first atomic pile they built at Princeton. This will be one of the biggest scientific breakthroughs in history."
Martin looked at Michaels. Maybe the man was crazy.
"We have created the fourth-generation computer!" said Michaels, and he slapped Philips on the back. "Listen. The first generation was merely the first computers that were not just calculators. The second generation came in with transistors. The third generation was microchips. We have given birth to the fourth generation, and that little processor you have in your office is one of our first applications. You know what we've done?"
Philips shook his head. Michaels was on fire with excitement.
"We've created true artificial intelligence! We've made computers that think. They learn and they reason. It had to come, and we did it!" Michaels grabbed Martin's arm and pulled him into the hall connecting the two old amphitheaters. There between the two-tiered lecture rooms was the door that led into the old Microbiology and Physiology labs. When Michaels opened it, Martin saw the inside had been reinforced with steel. Behind it was a second door. It too was reinforced and secured. Michaels unlocked it with a special key and pulled it open. It was like stepping into a vault.
Martin staggered under the impact of what he saw. The old labs with their small rooms and slate-top experiment tables had been removed. Instead Philips found himself in a hundred-foot-long room with no windows. Down the center was a row of huge glass cylinders filled with clear liquid.
"This is our most valuable and productive preparation," said Michaels, patting the side of the first cylinder. "Now I know your first impression will be emotional. It was for all of us. But believe me; the rewards are worth the sacrifice."
Martin slowly began to walk around the container. It was at least six feet high and three feet in diameter. Inside, submerged in what Martin later learned was cerebrospinal fluid, were the living remains of Katherine Collins. She floated in a sitting position with her arms suspended over her head. A respiration unit was functioning, indicating that she was alive. But her brain had been completely exposed. There was no skull. Most of the face was gone except for the eyes, which had been dissected free and covered with contact lenses. An endotracheal tube issued from her neck.
Her arms had also been carefully dissected to extract the ends of the sensory nerves. These nerve endings looped back like strands of a spider web to connect with electrodes buried within the brain.
Philips made a slow complete circle around the cylinder. An awful weakness spread over him and his legs threatened to give way.
"You probably know," said Michaels, "that significant advances in computer science, like feedback, came from studying biological systems. It's really what cybernetics is all about. Well, we've taken the natural step and gone to the human brain itself, not studying it like psychology, which thinks of it as a mysterious black box." Suddenly, Philips remembered Michaels using the enigmatic term on the day he presented Martin with the computer program. Now he understood. "We've studied it like any other vastly complicated machine. And we've succeeded, beyond our dreams. We've discovered how the brain stores its information, how it accomplishes parallel processing of information rather than the inefficient serial processing of yesterday's computers, and how the brain is organized in a functionally hierarchical system. Best of all, we've learned how to design and build a mechanical system that mirrors the brain and has these same functions. And it works, Martin! It works beyond your wildest imagination!"