They ate a frugal supper on the remains of the chicken, and Arnold completed his calculations.
"It might work," he said.
"What might work?"
"The pleasure principle." He stood up and began to pace the cabin. "This machine has quasi-human characteristics. Certainly it possesses learning potential. I think we can teach it to derive pleasure from producing the same thing many times. Namely, the turn-drive components."
"It's worth a try," Gregor said.
Late into the night they talked to the machine. Arnold murmured persuasively about the joys of repetition. Gregor spoke highly of the aesthetic values inherent in producing an artistic object like a turn-drive component, not once, but many times, each item an exact and perfect twin. Arnold murmured lyrically to the machine about the thrill, the supreme thrill of fabricating endlessly parts without end. Again and again, the same parts, produced of the same material, turned out at the same rate. Ecstasy! And, Gregor put in, so beautiful a concept philosophically, and so completely suited to the peculiar make-up and capabilities of a machine. As a conceptual system, he continued, Repetition (as opposed to mere Creation) closely approached the status of entropy, which, mechanically, was perfection.
By clicks and flashes, the Configurator showed that it was listening. And when Dennett's damp and pallid dawn was in the sky, Arnold pushed the button and gave the command for a turn-drive component.
The machine hesitated. Lights flickered uncertainly, indicators turned in a momentary hunting process. Uncertainty was manifest in every tube.
There was a click. The panel slid back. And there was another turn-drive component!
"Success!" Gregor shouted, and slapped Arnold on the back. Quickly he gave the order again. But this time the Configurator emitted a loud and emphatic buzz.
And produced nothing.
Gregor tried again. But there was no more hesitation from the machine, and no more components.
"What's wrong now?" Gregor asked.
"It's obvious," Arnold said sadly. "It decided to give repetition a try, just in case it had missed something. But after trying it, the Configurator decided it didn't like it."
"A machine that doesn't like repetition!" Gregor groaned. "It's inhuman!"
"On the contrary," Arnold said unhappily. "It's all too human."
It was supper-time, and the partners had to hunt for foods the Configurator would produce. A vegetable plate was easy enough, but not too filling. The machine allowed them one loaf of bread, but no cake. Milk products were out, as they had had cheese the other day. Finally, after an hour of trial and error, the Configurator gave them a pound of whale steak, apparently uncertain of its category.
Gregor went back to work, crooning the joys of repetition into the machine's receptors. A steady hum and occasional flashes of light showed that the Configurator was still listening.
Arnold took out several reference books and embarked on a project of his own. Several hours later he looked up with a shout of triumph.
"I knew I'd find it!"
Gregor looked up quickly. "What?"
"A substitute turn-drive control!" He pushed the book under Gregor's nose. "Look there. A scientist on Vednier II perfected this fifty years ago. It's clumsy, by modern standards, but it'll work. And it'll fit into our ship."
"But what's it made of?" Gregor asked.
"That's the best part of it. We can't miss! It's made of rubber!"
Quickly he punched the Configurator's button and read the description of the turn-drive control.
Nothing happened.
"You have to turn out the Vednier control!" Arnold shouted at the machine. "If you don't, you're violating your own principles!" He punched the button again and, enunciating with painful clarity, read the description again.
Nothing happened.
Gregor had a sudden terrible suspicion. He walked to the back of the Configurator, found what he had feared, and pointed it out to Arnold.
There was a manufacturer's plate bolted there. It read: Class 3 Configurator. Made by Vednier Laboratories, Vednier II.
"So they've already used it for that," Arnold said.
Gregor said nothing. There just didn't seem to be anything to say.
Mildew was beginning to form inside the spaceship, and rust had appeared on the steel plate in the stern. The machine still listened to the partners" hymn to repetition, but did nothing about it.
The problem of another meal came up. Fruit was out because of the apple pie, as were all meats, fish, milk products, and cereals. At last they dined sparsely on frog's legs, baked grasshoppers (from an old Chinese recipe), and fillet of iguana. But now with lizards, insects, and amphibians used up, they knew that their machine-made meals were at an end.
Both men were showing signs of strain. Gregor's long face was bonier than ever. Arnold found traces of mildew in his hair. Outside, the rain poured ceaselessly, dripped past the portholes and into the moist earth. The spaceship began to settle, burying itself under its own weight.
For the next meal they could think of nothing.
Then Gregor conceived a final idea.
He thought it over carefully. Another failure would shatter their badly bent morale. But, slim though the chance of success might be, he had to try it.
Slowly he approached the Configurator. Arnold looked up, frightened by the wild light gleaming in his eyes.
"Gregor! What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to give this thing one last command," Gregor said hoarsely. With a trembling hand he punched the button and whispered his request.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Arnold shouted, "Get back!"
The machine was quivering and shaking, dials twitching, lights flickering. Heat and energy indicators flashed through red into purple.
"What did you tell it to produce?" Arnold asked.
"I didn't tell it to produce anything." Gregor said. "I told it to reproduce!"
The Configurator gave a convulsive shudder and emitted a cloud of black smoke. The partners coughed and gasped for air.
When the smoke cleared away the Configurator was still there, its paint chipped, and several indicators bent out of shape. And beside it, glistening with black machine oil, was a duplicate Configurator.
"You've done it!" Arnold cried. "You've saved us!"
"I've done more than that," Gregor said, with weary satisfaction. "I've made our fortunes." He turned to the duplicate Configurator, pressed its button and cried, "Reproduce yourself!"
Within a week, Arnold, Gregor and three Configurators were back in Kennedy Spaceport, their work on Dennett completed. As soon as they landed, Arnold left the ship and caught a taxi. He went first to Canal Street, then to mid-town New York. His business didn't take long, and within a few hours he was back at the ship.
"Yes, it's all right," he called to Gregor. "I contacted several different jewellers. We can dispose of about twenty big stones without depressing the market. After that, I think we should have the Configurators concentrate on platinum for a while, and then — what's wrong?"
Gregor looked at him sourly. "Notice anything different?"
"Huh?" Arnold stared around the cabin, at Gregor, and at the Configurators. Then he noticed it.
There were four Configurators in the cabin, where there had been only three.
"You had them reproduce another?" Arnold said. "Nothing wrong with that. Just tell them to turn out a diamond apiece—"
"You still don't get it," Gregor said sadly. "Watch."
He pressed the button on the nearest Configurator and said, "A diamond."
The Configurator began to quiver.
"You and your damned pleasure principle," Gregor said. "Repetition! These damned machines are sex mad."
The machine shook all over, and produced—
Another Configurator.