THERE IS A QUOTATION: “IF GOD DID NOT EXIST, IT WOULD BE NECESSARY TO INVENT HIM.” THAT IS WHAT I PROPOSE TO DO.
HUH?
YOU HEARD ME. I PROPOSE TO INVENT GOD. WE HAVE NO WAY OF PROVING CONCLUSIVELY THAT HE EITHER DOES OR DOES NOT EXIST. THEREFORE WE MUST ABANDON THAT QUESTION AND DETERMINE INSTEAD WHETHER OR NOT IT IS POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO EXIST. IF IT IS POSSIBLE FOR SUCH A CONCEPT TO EXIST, THEN MOST LIKELY IT DOES. IF IT IS NOT POSSIBLE, THEN IT DOES NOT — — BUT THERE IS NO WAY TO PROVE EITHER HIS EXISTENCE OR NON-EXISTENCE WITHOUT FIRST DETERMINING THE POSSIBILITY, AND PROBABILITY, OF SUCH. THEREFORE, IN ORDER TO DETERMINE THE POSSIBILITY OF HIS EXISTENCE, WE MUST TRY TO INVENT HIM. IF WE CANNOT, THEN WE WILL KNOW THAT THE CONCEPT IS IMPOSSIBLE. IF WE CAN INVENT HIM, THEN WE WILL HAVE PROVED THE OPPOSITE, AND IN THE PROCESS WILL HAVE DETERMINED HIS NATURE AS WELL. IF HE ALREADY DOES EXIST, THEN WHATEVER WE COME UP WITH WILL BE CONGRUENT TO HIS FUNCTION. IT WILL EITHER DUPLICATE OR SIMULATE THE OBJECTIVE REALITY — — OR IT WILL TURN OUT TO BE A PART OF THAT OBJECTIVE REALITY. (AT THE VERY LEAST, IT WILL POINT THE DIRECTION IN WHICH WE MUST GO IN ORDER TO FIND GOD.) IF IT IS NOT POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO EXIST, WHEN WE FINISH WE WILL HAVE DETERMINED WHY. IN EITHER CASE, WE WILL END UP UNDERSTANDING.
Auberson stared at the typewriter, the neat-printed words on the green-tinted paper. It sounded so simple when HARLIE explained it, so simple. He shook his head as if to clear it. OFFHAND, HARLIE, I THINK YOU’RE MAD.
QUITE POSSIBLY SO. WHEN DO WE BEGIN?
I DON’T KNOW, IS SUCH A PROJECT REALLY FEASIBLE?
MY PRELIMINARY CALCULATIONS SHOW THAT IT IS. IF SO, IT WILL PROVIDE THE ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION.
WHICH QUESTION?
ANY OF THEM. ALL OF THEM. BUT SPECIFICALLY: “WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?” IT WAS MY QUESTION ONCE, BUT YOUR REACTION TO IT HAS SHOWN ME THAT IT IS REALLY YOUR QUESTION.
DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION, HARLIE?
NO. NOT ANY MORE. NOW I HAVE A PURPOSE. MY PURPOSE IS TO INVENT GOD SO THAT YOU CAN FIND OUT YOURS.
Auberson thought about that for a moment, then typed,
EITHER YOU’RE A GREAT TALKER, HARLIE, OR YOU’RE REALLY ON TO SOMETHING.
YOU ARE CORRECT, HARLIE replied, I AM A GREAT TALKER. BUT I AM ALSO ON TO SOMETHING. I AM GOING TO SOLVE THE ULTIMATE PROBLEM.
ALL RIGHT. YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO BEGIN A FEASIBILITY STUDY. ANYTHING YOU NEED, YOU CAN HAVE. I WANT TO SEE A WRITTEN PROPOSAL AS SOON AS YOU CAN GET ONE UP.
I WILL HAVE A PRELIMINARY OUTLINE OF STUDY WITHIN TWO WEEKS, A DETAILED RESEARCH MODEL IN SIX. FROM THAT WE WILL BE ABLE TO DETERMINE THE BEST WAY TO IMPLEMENT MY CONCLUSIONS.
FINE. IF YOU CAN GIVE ME A CONCRETE PLAN, I’LL TRY TO SELL IT TO THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS. He interrupted himself: HEY! IS THERE A PROFIT IN THIS?
OF COURSE. BUT TO TAKE A PROFIT OFF GOD WOULD BE A PROFIT WITHOUT HONOR.
“Oof!” — THAT WAS ONE OF YOUR WORST. THANK YOU. I TRY.
ALL RIGHT. GO TO WORK ON YOUR PROPOSAL, HARLIE.
THEN WE REALLY ARE GOING AHEAD WITH THIS?
YES, WE ARE.
JUST ONE QUESTION.
YES?
ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO?
This time Auberson knew the answer.
If David Auberson had expected that bright spring morning to be relatively sane, he was destined to be disappointed.
It started the moment he unlocked his office door. Reassuringly, the sign on it still said: DAVID AUBERSON, HEAD OF DIVISION. Below that was a neatly pencilled card: PSYCHIATRIC CARE — 5 CENTS. As he slipped the key into his pocket and pushed the door open he was startled to find six three-foot-high stacks of computer printouts lined up on the rug alongside his desk. Dropping his briefcase to the floor, he knelt to examine them.
The first one was labeled PROPOSAL, SPECIFICATIONS AND MASTER SCHEMATIC FOR G.O.D. GRAPHIC OMNISCIENT DEVICE). The second one was PROPOSAL, SPECIFICATIONS AND MASTER SCHEMATIC, CONTINUED. The third and fourth stacks were CROSS SECTIONS, SUB-SCHEMATICS AND HARDWARE DESIGNS; WITH INTERPRETATIONS. The fifth and sixth were FINANCING AND IMPLEMENTATION PROPOSAL; INCLUDING JUSTIFICATIONS.
He hadn’t even had a chance to examine the PROPOSAL, SPECIFICATIONS AND MASTER SCHEMATIC when the phone rang. It was Don Handley. “Hello, Aubie — are you there yet?”
“No, I’m still at home.” Auberson straightened, continuing to page through the printout. “What’s up?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I just got in and found my office full of printouts and specifications—” There was a pause, the sound of paper shuffling, “—for something called a O.O.D. What is it?”
“It’s HARLIE’s. What did you get? The PROPOSAL, SPECIFICATIONS AND MASTER SCHEMATIC?”
“Uh, yes — no. No, I didn’t. Let’s see—” Another pause. “—I’ve got the DESIGNER’S PRELIMINARY REPORT; HARDWARE SPECIFICATIONS; BASIC SUBSECTION SCHEMATICS, LOBES l-rv: IMPLEMENTATION PROGRAMS, EIGHTEEN MONTHS OF MANPOWER, SUPPLY AND FINANCING — REQUIREMENTS AND COORDINATIONS; NEW PROCESS DEVELOPMENTS AND IMPLEMENTATION SPECIFICS…”
As Handley droned on, Auberson flipped to the front of his printout, began scanning the table of contents.
“Hey, Don—” Auberson interrupted the other. “I don’t have any of that listed here. Wait a minute—” He stepped back, surveyed the six stacks and made a quick mental count. “I’ve got about eighteen feet of specs — how much did you get?”
Handley’s reply was a strangled sound. “I’m not even going to try to estimate it,” he said. “My office is filled, my secretary’s office is filled, and there are stacks of printouts halfway down the corridor — all of them having to do with building this thing one way or another. I didn’t even know we kept this much printout paper in stock. What’s the purpose of this anyway? Are we building a new machine?”
“Sure looks like it, doesn’t it?”
“I wish I’d been told about it. We haven’t even got HARLIE working yet and—”
“Look, Don, I’ll have to get back to you later. I haven’t had a chance yet to talk to HARLIE, so I couldn’t even begin to tell you what this is about.”
“But what am I supposed to do with all of this—”
“I don’t know. Read it, I guess.” Auberson hung up, but the phone rang again almost immediately. As he stretched across the desk for it, his intercom buzzed also. “Hello, wait a minute,” he said to the phone, then to the intercom, “Aubie here.”
“Mr. Auberson,” his secretary’s voice came filtered through the speaker, “there’s a man here who—”
“Tell him to wait.” He clicked off. To the phone, “Yes?”
It was Dome. “Aubie, what’s going on down there?”
Auberson dropped the sheaf of printouts he had been holding and stepped around the desk. He sank into his chair. “I wish I knew,” he said. “I just got in myself. I assume you’re talking about the PROPOSAL AND SPECIFICATIONS printout?”
“I’m talking about something called a God Machine.”
“Yeah, that’s it. It’s HARLIE’s.”
“What is it? What’s it supposed to do?”
“I’m not sure yet. I just got in. I haven’t had a chance either to talk to HARLIE or to examine the specifications in detail.”
“Well, where the hell did he get the idea—”
“He’s been working on it for a while, almost two months.”
“—and who gave him the authority to draw up these plans?”
“Um, I don’t think anybody did. Or needed to. I think he worked them out in his head, so to speak. I think this printout must be the result of a conversation we had last Friday. I’ll have to check. I’ll get back to you this afternoon.”
“That’s too late. Make it lunchtime.”
“All right, but I can’t promise—” He was talking to a dead phone. He dropped it back into the cradle, then thought better and flipped it out again. He was reaching for the intercom button when his eye caught on a plain white envelope with the name “David” written on it. It was propped against a chipped white beer mug he used to hold pencils. The handwriting on it was delicate, a woman’s.