“Match up subjects?”
“Yes. That’s how it’s done. You will be interviewed; and from the results of that, the computer will produce a punch-card. Then it will match this card with another, and that is how your partner will be selected.”
“Very clever,” Frank decided. “Still, doesn’t it ever make a mistake? What if there should be an accident?. . .”
“What if there should be an accident?” Dr. Peerloin pointed out to Mercy.
“But there’s nothing to worry about,” Mercy told her. “I’ve been taking birth control pills for a long time.”
“You have? But why? I mean, if you’re still a virgin -”
“It’s the only practical way for a single girl to live,” Mercy said primly. “When a man buys fire insurance, after all, that doesn’t mean that he expects his house to burn down.”
“Well then, all right.” Dr. Peerloin gave in. “I guess if that's what you want, I have no right to stand in your way.”
“It is what I want,” Mercy assured her. She fell silent a moment. Then— “I wonder what he’ll be like?” she mused.
“Who?”
“The man in the experiment. I wonder what he’ll be like . . .”
“I wonder what she’ll be like,” Frank Pollener was saying.
“You’ll find out,” Professor Woocheck told him. “You’ll find out very soon. I’ll arrange for you to be interviewed tomorrow and have the data processed immediately afterwards. So by the day after tomorrow, you won’t have to wonder any more.”
Frank left then. A moment after he’d gone out the front door of the Observatory, Mercy emerged from Dr. Peerloin’s office. She went straight home to her apartment, had dinner and went to bed. Frank, at home in his apartment, also went to bed early. By the time he got up, at nine o’clock, Mercy was already back at the Observatory working. When he arrived there for the interview, she was in her office with the door closed, filling out her own interview form.
The interviewer assigned to Frank was a very intense young man. His analyst had once told him that his work constituted a classic example of voyeurism sublimating for direct sexual experience. He and the analyst were trying to work it through. Meanwhile, the young scientist continued to work with earnest dedication. The interview was only twenty minutes old when Frank managed to ruffle his professional composure.
“You’re not joshing me now, are you, Mr. Pollener?” the interviewer asked stiffly. “How many times in one night did you say?”
“Six on the average.” Frank’s voice was very low. “But that was before I embraced Causocratic Effectivism and forsook all sexual activity. I mean, I may be out of practice by now.”
“Or you may profit from your vacation,” the interviewer observed. “And how many partners have you had experience with?”
“A couple of hundred, I guess. I never really counted.”
“Can you be more explicit?”
“Would you believe three hundred?”
“No,” the interviewer sighed. “But then I’m not supposed to make evaluations. Is three hundred the figure you want me to write down?”
“Make it two-fifty.”
“And there are deprived men starving all over this city,” the interviewer muttered to himself.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing. Nothing . . .” The interviewer phrased the next question. The interview continued.
When it was over, the interviewer correlated his data, assigned it a number, and brought the anonymous sheet of paper containing the results to “Fig” in the computer room. He and Mercy arrived there at the same time. “Fig” took the papers from both of them, and when they’d gone, he fed the data into the machine. Within seconds two punchcards were emitted by the smooth-whirring mechanical monster. “Fig” took the two cards and made a note of the numbers on them. Then he took one and slipped it into a slot headed “FEMALE.” “A little present for your vagina, love,” he crooned to the machine. “And this is for you, you queer,” he added as he dropped the second card in the slot labeled “MALE.” “Okay, Cupid, do your stuff.” He threw a lever and stood back and waited.
A moment later the cards emerged together, neatly stapled, from yet another slot. “Fig” waited a moment, expecting a second set of cards, then glanced at them. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckled. “First time that ever’ happened. Well, I guess you were meant for each other, whoever you are.”
Curious, he pressed a button on the giant memory bank and was rewarded by the reappearance of the two original sheets of paper. Glancing at some of the key code symbols on them, “Fig” was able to understand just enough to make him chuckle again. “A sexual Superman, and a maiden’s race. Should be quite an event. Damn! Wish I could watch.”
But he couldn’t. When Frank arrived at the “get-acquainted” room the next day, “Fig” was slaving away at the “brain.” True to his word, Professor Woocheck had seen to that. Indeed, he was too busy to watch Frank’s performance himself. Likewise, Dr. Peerloin didn’t have the time to watch Mercy’s first “experiment.” Their only observer would be the camera man.
Before the camera man activated his equipment, however, the procedure was for Frank and Mercy to spend some time familiarizing themselves with each other’s bodies. Mercy was lying there in a sleazy red nightgown she’d bought especially for the occasion when Frank entered the “get-acquainted” room.
“Hi,” he said nervously as he entered. “My name is Frank--”
“Don’t tell me your last name!” Mercy interrupted quickly. “You shouldn’t have told me your first one. It’s against the rules. This is all supposed to be anonymous.”
“I thought we were supposed to get acquainted.”
“We are. But anonymously.”
“Oh. Well, I guess you’ll have to show me how to do that. You seem to be more experienced than I am,” Frank guessed. “This is my first time here.”
“Mine too,” Mercy replied. “But I’m very familiar with the ground rules. This is a sort of a bullpen.”
“A bullpen?”
“Yes. You know. For warming up before the real game starts.”
“I see.” Frank sat down next to her on the bed.
“That’s the idea.” Mercy took his arm and placed it around her shoulders.
Frank reached further and cupped her breast in the palm of his hand. He stroked it lightly. “Are you warming up?” he asked after a moment, continuing the caress. “I think I am.” Mercy was a little breathless. “But I still have some feelings of anxiety and embarrassment. Perhaps if you kissed me . . .”
“Good thinking.” Frank kissed her. “Did that relieve your feelings of embarrassment and anxiety?” he asked when the long kiss was over.
“To a very large extent,” she said, her voice trembling. “What— What are you doing?”
“Getting acquainted.” Frank’s hand worked its way higher up under her nightgown. Her thighs quivered under the caress.
“Oh. Oh! OH!” Mercy had to control the reflex to pull away as his fingertips grazed their target. “Aren’t you— Aren’t you rushing things?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Frank assured her. “Don’t be so tense.”
“Now what are you doing?”
“I think you should get acquainted with my body too,” Frank explained.
“OH!” Mercy gasped. “I didn’t expect-—” Her eyes were very wide. She couldn’t take them off what Frank had exposed. “It’s so big!”
“Not really,” Frank said modestly.
“You’ll hurt me.” Mercy was afraid.
“No I won’t,” he promised. “Here. Let me show you very slowly. I promise to stop if it hurts.”
“What are you doing? No! Wait! Stop! Don’t do that!”