I took the elevator to Leila's floor, the second, located her door and knocked on it. I was almost ready to knock again when it opened, partway.
Yes? she asked, and I revised my estimate as to the age of the photo. She looked just about the same.
Doctor Thackery, I said, my name is Donne. You could help me quite a bit with a problem I've got.
What sort of problem?
It involves a device known as the Hangman.
She sighed and showed me a quick grimace. Her fingers tightened on the door.
I've come a long way but I'll be easy to get rid of. I've only a few things I'd like to ask you about it.
Are you with the government?
No.
Do you work for Brockden?
No, I'm something different.
All right, she said. Right now I've got a group session going. It will probably last around another half hour. If you don't mind waiting down in the lobby, I'll let you know as soon as it is over. We can talk then.
Good enough, I said. Thanks.
She nodded, closed the door. I located the stairway and walked back down.
A cigarette later, I decided that the devil finds work for idle hands and thanked him for his suggestion. I strolled back toward the foyer. Through the glass, I read the names of a few residents of the fifth floor. I elevated up and knocked on one of the doors. Before it was opened I had my notebook and pad in plain sight.
Yes? Short, fiftyish, curious.
My name is Stephen Foster, Mrs. Gluntz. I am doing a survey for the North American Consumers League. I would like to pay you for a couple minutes of your time, to answer some questions about products you use.
Why ... Pay me?
Yes, ma'am. Ten dollars. Around a dozen questions. It will just take a minute or two.
All right. She opened the door wider. Won't you come in?
No, thank you. This thing is so brief I'd just be in and out. The first question involves detergents ...
Ten minutes later I was back in the lobby adding the thirty bucks for the three interviews to the list of expenses I was keeping. When a situation is full of unpredictables and I am playing makeshift games, I like to provide for as many contingencies as I can.
Another quarter of an hour or so slipped by before the elevator opened and discharged three guys, young, young, and middle-aged, casually dressed, chuckling over something.
The big one on the nearest end strolled over and nodded.
You the fellow waiting to see Doctor Thackery?
That's right.
She said to tell you to come on up now.
Thanks.
I rode up again, returned to her door. She opened to my knock, nodded me in, saw me seated in a comfortable chair at the far end of her living room.
Would you care for a cup of coffee? she asked. It's fresh. I made more than I needed.
That would be fine. Thanks.
Moments later, she brought in a couple of cups, delivered one to me, and seated herself on the sofa to my left. I ignored the cream and sugar on the tray and took a sip.
You've gotten me interested, she said. Tell me about it.
Okay. I have been told that the telefactor device known as the Hangman, now possibly possessed of an artificial intelligence, has returned to Earth ...
Hypothetical, she said, unless you know something I don't. I have been told that the Hangman's vehicle reentered and crashed in the Gulf. There is no evidence that the vehicle was occupied.
It seems a reasonable conclusion, though.
It seems just as reasonable to me that the Hangman sent the vehicle off toward an eventual rendezvous point many years ago and that it only recently reached that point, at which time the reentry program took over and brought it down.
Why should it return the vehicle and strand itself out there?
Before I answer that, she said, I would like to know the reason for your concern. News media?
No, I said. I am a science writer, straight tech, popular, and anything in between. But I am not after a piece for publication. I was retained to do a report on the psychological makeup of the thing.
For whom?
A private investigation outfit. They want to know what might influence its thinking, how it might be likely to behave, if it has indeed come back ... I've been doing a lot of homework, and I gathered there is a likelihood that its nuclear personality was a composite of the minds of its four operators. So, personal contacts seemed in order, to collect your opinions as to what it might be like. I came to you first for obvious reasons.
She nodded.
A Mister Walsh spoke with me the other day. He is working for Senator Brockden.
Oh? I never go into an employer's business beyond what he's asked me to do. Senator Brockden is on my list though, along with a David Fentris.
You were told about Manny Burns?
Yes. Unfortunate.
That is apparently what set Jesse off. He is, how shall I put it?, he is clinging to life right now, trying to accomplish a great many things in the time he has remaining. Every moment is precious to him. He feels the old man in the white nightgown breathing down his neck ... Then the ship returns and one of us is killed. From what we know of the Hangman, the last we heard of it, it had become irrational. Jesse saw a connection, and in his condition the fear is understandable. There is nothing wrong with humoring him if it allows him to get his work done.
But you don't see a threat in it?
No. I was the last person to monitor the Hangman before communications ceased, and I could see then what had happened. The first things that it had learned were the organization of perceptions and motor activities. Multitudes of other patterns had been transferred from the minds of its operators, but they were too sophisticated to mean much initially ... Think of a child who has learned the Gettysburg Address. It is there in his head, that is all. One day, however, it may be important to him. Conceivably, it may even inspire him to action. It takes some growing up first, of course. Now think of such a child with a great number of conflicting patterns, attitudes, tendencies, memories, none of which are especially bothersome for so long as he remains a child. Add a bit of maturity, though, and bear in mind that the patterns originated with four different individuals, all of them more powerful than the words of even the finest of speeches, bearing as they do their own built-in feelings. Try to imagine the conflicts, the contradictions involved in being four people at once ...
Why wasn't this imagined in advance? I asked.
Ah! she said, smiling. The full sensitivity of the neuristor brain was not appreciated at first It was assumed that the operators were adding data in a linear fashion and that this would continue until a critical mass was achieved, corresponding to the construction of a model or picture of the world which would then serve as a point of departure for growth of the Hangman's own mind. And it did seem to check out this way.
What actually occurred, however, was a phenomenon amounting to imprinting. Secondary characteristics of the operators' minds, outside the didactic situations, were imposed. These did not immediately become functional and hence were not detected. They remained latent until the mind had developed sufficiently to understand them. And then it was too late. It suddenly acquired four additional personalities and was unable to coordinate them. When it tried to compartmentalize them it went schizoid; when it tried to integrate them it went catatonic. It was cycling back and forth between these alternatives at the end. Then it just went silent. I felt it had undergone the equivalent of an epileptic seizure. Wild currents through that magnetic material would, in effect, have erased its mind, resulting in its equivalent of death or idiocy.
I follow you, I said. Now, just for the sake of playing games, I see the alternatives as either a successful integration of all this material or the achievement of a viable schizophrenia. What do you think its behavior would be like if either of these were possible?