«The question,» said Junior, «is inadequately worded; please clarify.»
Carmody grinned. «You want me to get graphic, but I’ll fool you. I’ll just ask you this—should I see her again?»
«No,» said Junior, mechanically but implacably.
Carmody’s eyebrows went up. «The devil you say. And may I ask why, since you haven’t met the lady, you say that?»
«Yes. You may ask why.»
That was one trouble with Junior; he always answered the question you actually asked, not the one you implied.
«Why?» Carmody demanded, genuinely curious now as to what answer he was going to receive. «Specifically, why should I not again see the blonde I met last night?»
«Tonight,» said Junior, «you will be busy. Before tomorrow night you will be married.»
Carmody almost literally jumped out of his chair. The cybernetics machine had gone stark raving crazy. It must have. There was no more chance of his getting married tomorrow than there was of a kangaroo giving birth to a portable typewriter. And besides and beyond that, Junior never made predictions of the future—except, of course, on such things as orbits and statistical extrapolation of trends.
Carmody was still staring at Junior’s impassive panel with utter disbelief and considerable consternation when the red light that was the equivalent of a doorbell flashed in the ceiling. His shift was up and Bob Dana had come to relieve him. There wasn’t time to ask any further questions and, anyway, «Are you crazy?» was the only one he could think of at the moment.
Carmody didn’t ask it. He didn’t want to know.
Carmody switched off both mikes and stood gazing at Junior’s impassive panel for a long time. He shook his head, went to the door and opened it.
Bob Dana breezed in and then stopped to look at Carmody. He said, «Something the matter, Ray? You look like you’d just seen a ghost, if I may coin a cliche.»
Carmody shook his head. He wanted to think before he talked to anybody—and if he did decide to talk, it should be to Chief Operative Reeber and not to anyone else. He said, «Just I’m a little beat, Bob.»
«Nothing special up?»
«Nope. Unless maybe I’m going to be fired. Reeber wants to see me on my way out.» He grinned. «Says the President wants to talk to me.»
Bob chuckled appreciatively. «If he’s in a kidding mood, then your job’s safe for one more day. Good luck.»
The soundproof door closed and locked behind Carmody, and he nodded to the two armed guards who were posted on duty outside it. He tried to think things out carefully as he walked down the long stretch of corridor to the Chief Operator’s office.
Had something gone wrong with Junior? If so, it was his duty to report the matter. But if he did, he’d get himself in trouble, too. An Operative wasn’t supposed to ask private questions of the big cybernetics machine—even big, important questions. The fact that it had been a joking question would make it worse.
But Junior had either given him a joking answer—and it couldn’t be that, because Junior didn’t have a sense of humor—or else Junior had made a flat, unadulterated error. Two of them, in fact. Junior had said that Carmody would be busy tonight and—well, a wheel could come off his idea of spending a quiet evening reading. But the idea of his getting married tomorrow was utterly preposterous. There wasn’t a woman on Earth he had the slightest intention of marrying. Oh, someday, maybe, when he’d had a little more fun out of life and felt a little more ready to settle down, he might feel differently. But it wouldn’t be for years. Certainly not tomorrow, not even on a bet.
Junior had to be wrong, and if he was wrong it was a matter of importance, a matter far more important than Carmody’s job.
So be honest and report? He made his decision just before he reached the door of Reeber’s office. A reasonable compromise. He didn’t know yet that Junior was wrong. Not to a point of mathematical certainty—just a billion to one odds against. So he’d wait until even that possibility was eliminated, until it was proven beyond all possible doubt that Junior was wrong. Then he’d report what he’d done and take the rap, if there was a rap. Maybe he’d just be fined and warned.
He opened the door and stepped in. Chief Operative Reeber stood up and, on the other side of the desk, a tall gray-haired man stood also. Reeber said, «Ray, I’d like you to meet the President of the United States. He came here to talk to you. Mr. President, Captain Ray Carmody.»
And it was the President; Carmody gulped and tried to avoid looking as though he was doing a double take, which he was. Then President Saunderson smiled quietly and held out his hand. «Very glad to know you, Captain,» he said, and Carmody was able to make the considerable understatement that he felt honored to meet the President.
Reeber told him to pull up a chair and he did so. The President looked at him gravely. «Captain Carmody, you have been chosen to—have the opportunity to volunteer for a mission of extreme importance. There is danger involved, but it is less than the danger of your trip to the Moon. You made the third—wasn’t it?—out of the five successful trips made by the United States pilots?»
Carmody nodded.
«This time the risk you will take is considerably less. There has been much technological advance in rocketry since you left the service two years ago. The odds against a successful round trip—even without the help of the space station, and I fear its completion is still two years distant—are much less. In fact, you will have odds of ten to one in your favor, as against approximately even odds at the time of your previous trip.»
Carmody sat up straighten «My previous trip! Then this volunteer mission is another flight to the Moon? Certainly, Mr. President, I’ll gladly—»
President Saunderson held up a hand. «Wait, you haven’t heard all of it. The flight to the Moon and return is the only part that involves physical danger, but it is the least important part. Captain, this mission is, possibly, of more importance to humanity than the first flight to the Moon, even than the first flight to the stars—if and when we ever make it—will be. What’s at stake is the survival of the human race so that someday it can reach the stars. Your flight to the Moon will be an attempt to solve the problem which otherwise—»
He paused and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
«Perhaps you’d better explain, Mr. Reeber. You’re more familiar with the exact way the problem was put to your machine, and its exact answers.»
Reeber said, «Carmody, you know what the problem is. You know how much data has been fed into Junior on it. You know some of the questions we’ve asked him, and that we’ve been able to eliminate certain things. Such as—well, it’s caused by no virus, no bacteria, nothing like that. It’s not anything like an epidemic, because it struck the whole Earth at once, simultaneously. Even native inhabitants of islands that had no contact with civilization.
«We know also that whatever happens—whatever molecular change occurs—happens in the zygote after impregnation, very shortly after. We asked Junior whether an invisible ray of some sort could cause this. His answer was that it was possible. And in answer to a further question, he answered that this ray or force is possibly being used by—enemies of mankind.»
«Insects? Animals? Martians?»
Reeber waved a hand impatiently. «Martians, maybe, if there are any Martians. We don’t know that yet. But extraterrestrials, most likely. Now Junior couldn’t give us answers on this because, of course, we haven’t the relevant data. It would be guesswork for him as well as for us—and Junior, being mechanical, can’t guess. But here’s a possibility: