"This isn't some kind of super-duper football thing, is it? 'Cause I don't like the idea of being trapped inside some macho, testosterone-driven fantasy world of Gray's where you actually get hit by those skeletons."
"There is a more complete sensory version of 'Pro Football' in the works for the VR workstations, but that wasn't what I had in mind."
"Well, I'm not gonna get locked into one of those oversized phone booths in the computer center without knowing what you do have in mind."
"It's not the version 3H workstation I was talking about. I'd have to show you in the version 4C virtual-reality workstations. They are far roomier than the version 3Hs."
"But I'd be wearing a full-body suit — an exoskeleton — and the door to the room is closed, right? I don't think so."
"As you wish."
Laura removed the helmet, stepped down off the tread, and headed for the stairs. She stopped when she came upon the blank wall she'd seen before. If her sense of direction was accurate, the elevator shaft lay behind it. Laura returned to the treadmill and put the helmet back on.
The same introductory instructions about centering the red dots were recited.
"Can I just ask you one more thing? Are you still there?"
"Yes, Laura. What is it?"
"That elevator — the one by the stairs leading to the exercise room — where does it go?"
"It goes down to the lower levels."
"What lower levels?"
"Down into the mountain. Down to where the Model Eights are."
Laura took the helmet off and stared at the flat and empty wall.
30
With her hair still wet from the shower, Laura sat down at her writing desk to call Jonathan. What am I going to say? she thought as she picked the phone up.
He answered on the second ring.
"Jonathan."
"Hi-i-i, Laura." His tone seemed flat — uncertain — as if he didn't know how to behave.
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
"You're asking me that? What's going on down there?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
He laughed — a stilted, fake sound. She had heard it before. It was the way he had behaved back before he came out of the closet — before he got tenure. Something was definitely wrong.
"Well, of course," Laura said awkwardly, "I can't really talk. I mean, I'm not supposed to. I'm… I have a contract. A confidentiality thing." She forced a laugh. "You know, I don't wanna end up getting sued by Gray's lawyers. They might take my family fortune and leave me destitute."
After a delay, Jonathan replied in a flat tone, "I understand." She didn't know what to say next. "Listen, Laura," Jonathan continued with obvious discomfort, "it sounds like there's a stampede of people leaving that island. Are you going to be on one of those planes?"
"I don't know."
There was another long delay. "So," he said, "what about some of this stuff I've been hearing? Like Gray building up a nuclear arsenal — things like that? I mean, Gray's really a menace. He's gone loony, don't you think?"
"That's… that's not really the way it is at all, Jonathan. You've got it wrong. Gray's—"
"Laura!" Jonathan interrupted, not letting her go on. "Do you really understand what's going on up here?"
He was speaking urgently now, with emotion. "Jesus, there must be…" He hesitated, "Gray's being investigated by every government agency, from the Defense Department to Health and Human Services. He's going down. I'm talking criminal stuff." This was the real Jonathan, Laura felt sure. "And so are a lot of other people," he said slowly. Jonathan paused to let those words sink in. "Laura, sweetie," he continued, "you've gotta get off that island right now. Today. All hell's gonna break loose down there."
Her mind was reeling. She was caught between two worlds — the world of her old life, and of life after Gray. She didn't know what to say or do. "Laura?"
"Jonathan…" she began, but sighed in frustration. "You know how the media gets things twisted. They get some kind of sensational story about a public figure and distort the hell out of it to make headlines."
"You mean Gray? Are the newspapers distorting the fact that he built nuclear weapons, blasted them off into space, and then sent an asteroid careening toward the earth? One that could wipe us all out if he screws up?"
"He's got it under control," she said, amazed that the words were coming from her mouth.
"Then why the hell are you there?" Jonathan asked, his voice low and urgent. "What are you doing?" The sound of the hiss from the telephone connection was all she heard as he waited for her answer.
Laura's eyes grew unfocused and drifted off toward the far wall. "Come home, Laura. I don't know what kind of dark… attraction this guy Gray has over people, but you're too smart for it. You've got to see all the signs. Charismatic personality. Cults of faith built up around him. It's a classic messiah complex! Get out, Laura… while you still can."
As if in a trance she said, "I'll call you later on."
"Laura, I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…!" He faltered, unable to complete the sentence, then sighed. "Maybe… maybe you should talk to a lawyer. I'd be happy to get somebody over at the law school for you. Or maybe, Laura… maybe it would be better if you didn't talk to anybody at all — over the phone, that is."
So that was it. Somebody was listening. "Good-bye, Jonathan," she said.
"See ya soon, Laura. I hope."
There was a click, and then the hiss of the long-distance line fell silent. Laura didn't lower the receiver at first. She didn't want to sever the tie. Slowly, however, she replaced the handset in its cradle and sank back into the chair — totally alone with her problem. She cradled her face in her hands. "What the hell should I do-o-o?" she mumbled to herself, the words distorted by the tug of her hands.
Her purse sat next to the telephone. She took out her wallet, and inside one of the pockets she found the FBI card with the telephone number on it.
She should call — spill her guts. They were probably desperate for information, and what she now knew would fill volumes. They would surely descend on those flights of ex-employees, but what would the average worker be able to tell them? They were all short on facts, but not, she realized, on rumors.
Laura tried to imagine what would happen once rumors of giant, anthropomorphic robots leaked out. Stories about the dark side of technology were always popular, and the press would go into a frenzy when it got a whiff of this one. Add in a deranged computer planning the trajectory of a plummeting asteroid… The government's gonna go ballistic, she thought.
As distraught as she felt, she had to smile at her choice of words. She'd been thinking about the asteroid "trajectory," and so she came up with the word "ballistic." The department chairman had said "hit this campus like a ton of bricks" when describing the effects of the news about the asteroid. Human brains were wired to make associations of that sort. Sometimes the associations were useful and led to insights. Other times they were coincidental and occasionally amusing. The computer's "brain" was wired the same way.
At that moment Laura knew what she'd do. Her answer had been there all along, but she'd been too distracted to think.
The computer was the most beautiful creation she'd ever known.
Laura was desperate to continue her [missing] explore the magnificence of the computer complexity. To remain seated at the right hand of its creator. And she would construct any rationalization it took to convince herself to stay.
Laura took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let her head recline onto the back of the plush chair. It was early morning, but she could already feel the tension pounding at her temples. What must the pressure be like for Gray? she wondered.