No choice would be involved. The great computer would not have to decide to go out and seek data.
Dill failed, he realized. True, he succeeded in withholding the data themselves; he never permitted his feed-teams to pass on any mention to Vulcan 3 of the Healers' Movement. But he failed to keep the inferential knowledge from Vulcan 3 that he was withholding data.
The computer had not known what it was missing, but it had set to work to find out.
And, he thought, what did it have to do to find out? To what lengths did it have to go assemble the missing data? And there were people actively withholding data from it- what would be its reaction to discovering that? Not merely that the feed-teams had been ineffective, but that there was, in the world above ground, a positive effort going on to dupe it... how would its purely logical structure react to that?
Did the original builders anticipate that?
No wonder it had destroyed Vulcan 2.
It had to, in order to fulfill its purpose.
And what would it do when it found out that a Movement existed with the sole purpose of destroying it?
But Vulcan 3 already knew. Its mobile data-collecting units had been circulating for some time now. How long, he did not know. And how much they had been able to pick up-he did not know that, either. But, he realized, we must act with the most pessimistic premise in mind; we must assume that Vulcan 3 has been able to complete the picture. That there is nothing relevant denied it now; it knows as much as we do, and there is nothing we can do to restore the wall of silence.
It had known Father Fields to be its enemy. Just as it had known Vulcan 2 to be its enemy, a little earlier. But Father Fields had not been chained down, helpless in one spot, as had been Vulcan 2; he had managed to escape. At least one other person had not been as lucky nor as skillful as he; Dill had mentioned some murdered woman teacher. And there could be others. Deaths written off as natural, or as caused by human agents. By the Healers, for instance.
He thought, Possibly Arthur Pitt. Rachel's dead husband.
Those mobile extensions can talk, he remembered. I wonder, can they also write letters?
Madness, he thought. The ultimate horror for our paranoid culture: vicious unseen mechanical entities that flit at the edges of our vision, that can go anywhere, that are in our very midst. And there may be an unlimited number of them. One of them following each of us, like some ghastly vengeful agent of evil. Pursuing us, tracking us down, killing us one by one-but only when we get in their way. Like wasps. You have to come between them and their hives, he thought. Otherwise they will leave you alone; they are not interested. These things do not hunt us down because they want to, or even because they have been told to; they do it because we are there.
As far as Vulcan 3 is concerned, we are objects, not people.
A machine knows nothing about people.
And yet, Vulcan 2, by using its careful processes of reasoning, had come to the conclusion that for all intents and purposes Vulcan 3 was alive; it could be expected, to act as a living creature. To behave in a way perhaps only analogous-but that was sufficient. What more was needed? Some metaphysical essence?
With almost uncontrollable impatience, he jiggled the switch of the vidsender. "What's the delay?" he demanded. "Why hasn't my call to Geneva gone through?"
After a moment the mild, aloof features of the monitor reappeared. "We are trying to locate Managing Director Dill, sir. Please be patient."
Red tape, Barris thought Even now. Especially now. Unity will devour itself, because in this supreme crisis, when it is challenged both from above and below, it will be paralyzed by its own devices. A kind of unintentional suicide, he thought.
"My call has to be put through," he said. "Over everything else. I'm the Northern Director of this continent; you have to obey me. Get hold of Dill."
The monitor looked at him and said, "You can go to hell!"
He could not believe what he heard; he was stunned, because he knew at once what it implied.
"Good luck to you and all the rest of your type," the monitor said and rang off; the screen went dead.
Why not? Barris thought. They can quit because they have a place to go. They only need to walk outside onto the street. And there they'll find the Movement.
As soon as he reached his office he switched on the vidsender there. After some delay he managed to raise a monitor somewhere within the building itself. "This is urgent," he said. "I have to contact Managing Director Dill. Do everything you can for me."
"Yes, sir," the monitor said.
A few minutes later, as Barris sat tautly at his desk, the screen relit. Leaning forward, he said, "Dill-"
But it was not Jason Dill. He found himself facing Smith.
"Sir," Smith said jerkily, "you better come back." His face twisted; his eyes had a wild, sightless quality. "We don't know what it is or how it got in there, but it's in there now. Flying around. We sealed it off; we didn't know it was there until-"
"It's in with Vulcan 2?" Barris said.
"Yes, it must have come in with you. It's metal, but it isn't anything we ever-"
"Blow it up," Barris said.
"Everything?"
"Yes," he said. "Be sure you get it. There's no point in my coming back. Report to me as soon as you destroy it. Don't try to save anything."
Smith said, "What is it, that thing in there?"
"It's the thing," Barris said, "that's going to get us all. Unless we get it first." And, he thought, I don't think we're going to. He broke the connection, then, and jiggled for the monitor. "Haven't you gotten hold of Dill yet?" he said. Now he felt a dreary, penetrating resignation; it was hopeless.
The monitor said, "Yes, sir, I have Mr. Dill here." After a pause the monitor's face faded and Jason Dill's appeared in its place.
Dill said, "You were successful, weren't you?" His face had a gray, shocked bleakness. "You revived Vulcan 2 and got the information you wanted."
"One of those things got in," Barris said. "From Vulcan 3."
"I know that," Jason Dill said. "At least, I assumed it. Half an hour ago Vulcan 3 called an extraordinary Directors' Council meeting. They're probably notifying you right now. The reason-" His mouth writhed, and then he regained control. "To have me removed and tried for treason. It would be good if I could count on you, Barris. I need your support, your testimony."
""I'll be right there," Barris said. "I'll meet you at your offices at Unity Control. In about an hour." He cut the circuit and then contacted the field. "Get me the fastest ship possible," he ordered. "Have it ready, and have two armed escorts that can follow along. I may run into trouble."
At the other end of the line, the officer said, "Where did you want to go, Director?" He spoke in a slow, drawling voice, and Barris had never seen him before.
Barris said, "To Geneva."
The man grinned and said, "Director, I have a suggestion."
Feeling a chill of apprehension crawl up the back of his neck, Barris said, "What's your suggestion?"
"You can jump in the Atlantic," the man said, "and swim to Geneva." He did not ring off; he stared mockingly at Barris, showing no fear. No anticipation of punishment.
Barris said, "I'm coming over to the field."
"Indeed," the man said. "We'll look forward to seeing you. In fact-" he glanced at someone with him whom Barris could not see- "we'll be expecting you."
"Fine," Barris said. He managed to keep his hands from shaking as he reached out and cut the circuit. The grinning, mocking face was gone. Rising from his chair, Barris walked to the door of his office and opened it. To one of his secretaries he said, "Have all the police in the building come up here at once. Tell them to bring sidearms and anything else they can get hold of."