"I like challenges, Suzie. Adventure. Maybe you'll understand who I am when you see this."
She found herself holding her breath as he pressed the latches. What secrets did this biker medicine-show man carry with him? Her imagination conjured up a panoply of ridiculously romantic images-yellowed treasure maps, precious jewels bearing ancient curses, sacred scrolls from the caves by the Dead Sea.
With a dramatic flourish, he flipped open the lid.
For a moment he was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice held the whispered awe of someone in church. "Did you ever see anything so beautiful in your life?"
She stared down into the contents of the case and was overwhelmed with disappointment.
"The design is so elegant, so damned efficient, it makes you want to cry. This is it, Suzie. You're looking at the vanguard of a whole new way of life."
All she saw was an uninteresting collection of electronic parts mounted on a circuit board.
"It's a computer, Suzie. A computer small enough and cheap enough to change the world."
Her feeling of letdown was almost palpable. This was what she got for sneaking around like a cat burglar. It must be the pressure of the wedding that had made her act so irresponsibly. She twisted her engagement ring so the diamond was straight and slipped back into her polite, cool shell. "I really don't know why you're showing me this." She began to rise, only to have a hard hand settle on her shoulder and push her firmly back down. It startled her so much she made a small exclamation.
"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking this is too small to be a computer."
She wasn't thinking any such thing, but perhaps it was better to pretend she was than to let him suspect how jumbled her real thoughts were. "FBT has been a pioneer in computers since the 1950s," she said evenly. "I've been around them most of my life, and they're much larger than this."
"Exactly. Even the so-called 'mini' computers are nearly as big as a refrigerator. But this is still a computer, Suzie. The heart and guts of one. A micro computer. And Yank's improving it every day."
"Yank?"
"He's an electronic genius-a born hacker. We met when we were kids, and we've been friends ever since. He can design the sweetest pieces of integrated circuitry you've ever seen. It's a point of pride with him to come up with a design that uses one less chip than anybody else's. With an established company behind this computer, it could be on the market before the end of the year."
By "an established company," he meant FBT, she thought. How could she have lost sight of the fact that he wanted to use her to get to her father?
He had made her feel foolish, so she was deliberately unkind. It wasn't like her, but then, neither was slipping away from home to meet a street-smart biker. She gestured dismissively toward the unimpressive batch of electronic parts that obviously meant so much to him. "I can't imagine anybody wanting to buy something like this."
"You're kidding, aren't you?"
"I never kid."
She saw his impatience and once again found herself staring at him, almost mesmerized as she watched him try unsuccessfully to contain his emotions. Unlike her, he didn't seem to conceal anything. What would it feel like to be so free?
"You don't get it, do you?" he said.
"Get what?"
"Think about it, Suzie. Most of the computers in this country are million-dollar machines locked up in concrete rooms where only guys in three-piece suits can get to them-guys with ID cards and plastic badges with photos on them. Companies like FBT and IBM make these computers for big business, for government, for universities, for the military. They're made by fat cats to serve fat cats. Computers are knowledge, Suzie. They're power. And right now the government and big business have all that power locked up for themselves."
She tilted her head toward the collection of electronic circuits. "This is going to change that?"
"Not right away. But eventually, yes, especially with a company like FBT marketing it. The board needs expanding. Everything has to be self-contained. We need a terminal, a video monitor. It needs more memory. But Yank is coming up with new hacks all the time. The guy's a genius."
"You don't seem to have much respect for FBT. Why are you offering them your design?"
"I don't have enough money to manufacture it myself. Yank and I could make a few of these and sell them to our friends, but that's not good enough. Don't you see? A giant like FBT can make it happen. With FBT behind Yank's design, the world will have a computer that's small enough and-even more important-one that's cheap enough so that people can buy it for their homes. A person's computer. A home computer. Something to stick on top of a desk and hack around on. In the next couple of years, we're going to turn those big fat cat computers into dinosaurs."
There was something so charismatic about the fire in his eyes, the energy charging through his body, that for a few moments she actually found herself caught up. "How does it work?"
"I can't show you here. It has to be hooked up. You need a power supply. The memory has to be loaded in. You have to have a terminal-like a typewriter keyboard. A television for video display."
"In other words, this doesn't do anything."
"It's a computer, for chrissake!"
"But it can't do anything unless you attach all these other things to it?"
"That's right."
"I think you're wasting your time, Sam. My father won't be interested in something like this. I can't imagine anyone wanting to buy it."
"Everyone in the entire frigging world is going to want to buy it! Before too many years have passed, a home computer will be another everyday appliance-like a toaster or a stereo. Why can't you see that?"
His antagonism jarred her, but she forced her voice to remain smooth yet strong, just as it was when she needed to make a point at a hospital auxiliary meeting. "Maybe in the twenty-first century, but not in 1976. Who would actually buy something like this-a machine that doesn't do anything until you hook up a dozen other things to it?"
"For the next few years, mainly hobbyists and electronics junkies. But by the 1980s-"
"There can't be enough hobbyists to make something like this profitable." She forced herself to glance at her watch so he could see that she had more important things to do than sit here chatting about his quixotic vision of computer-filled households.
He shook his head and regarded her with thinly disguised hostility. "For someone who looks intelligent, you're really out of touch. Do you spend so much time planning dinner parties that you can't see what's happening all around you? This is California, for chrissake. You're living on top of Silicon Valley. The electronics capital of the world is right at your feet. There's a whole universe of people out there who've been waiting all their lives for something like this."
As Joel Faulconer's daughter, she had spent most of her life in a world where high technology was served right along with the soup course. She wasn't ignorant, and she didn't like his condescension. "I'm sorry, Sam," she said stiffly, "but all I see is a briefcase full of electronic parts that don't do anything. I'm certain you're wasting your time. My father won't agree to see you, and-even if he did-he would never be interested in anything this impractical."
"Talk to him for me, Suzie. Convince him to see me. I'll take care of the rest."
Her gaze took in the leather jacket, the length of his hair, the earring. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that."
His thin lips twisted and he looked past her toward the lagoon. It had begun to rain harder and the surface of the water was gray and rippled. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, making the leather rustle. "Okay, then here's something you can do. Come to a meeting with me next week."