“Oh, I Wouldn’t say that. We’re only loosely in the same field. Gynecology is only of the most casual concern to O. R. G. Y.”
“But my interests extend far beyond the field of gynecology.” Von Koerner waved an arm. “This Institute, of which I am the director, has followed its nose—I beg your pardon; an unfortunate choice of words—-has extended itself, rather, in directions which are not dissimilar to those pursued by O. R. G. Y. Currently we are engaged in a series of experiments and observations designed to provide data relating to psychological and physical reactions of people engaging in the sex act.”
“You mean you’ve been surveying people as to their reactions?”
“Not at all. What we have been doing is actually observing and taking measurements while the act of intercourse is performed.”
“You mean going into the bedrooms of married couples and-—?”
“No. The people come here. To the Institute. Volunteers. And while we began with married couples, today we by no means limit ourselves to them. Many single people of both sexes come here. Some of them are paid. We use both male and female prostitutes. But many other single people simply come in the interests of abetting scientific investigation-—or perhaps merely to satisfy their desire. It is fascinating work. I am truly saddened that I shall have to give it up.”
“It sounds fascinating. But why do you have to give it up?”
“Oh, come now, Mr. Victor. You don’t imagine that once we have concluded our business dealings I would be so foolish as to remain within catching distance. If you have entertained any such notion, let me assure you that foolproof arrangements have been made for me to disappear as soon as the matter is concluded. If that weren’t so, I should never have invited you here.”
“Just why did you ask me here? I thought it was to provide proof that you could produce Cromwell.”
“So it is. And you shall have your proof. If you will be so good as to come with me.” Von Koerner held the door open and then guided me down the hallway. We went into another room, an antechamber of some sort, and then through another door.
Now we were in a very large and very unusual room. The center area was taken up by a sort of bedroom setup. It was pleasant, not exactly plush, but well-appointed in the modern fashion. The furnishings were in good taste, yet there were voluptuous touches not found in the ordinary boudoir.
The double bed was king-size, covered with a positively lascivious red spread, and there must have been eight or ten pillows of different colors strewn suggestively atop it. There was a vanity, mirrored and neat, but with a variety of bottles of scent on it that would have been worthy of a Turkish harem. A wardrobe closet, sturdy and sensible, stood with its sliding doors opened. Inside I could see a variety of female lingerie and men’s sleepwear. There were styles and patterns to suit every taste with the stress on erotic appeal. Across from it was a make-believe window with drapes and a venetian blind.
Von Koerner turned out the light on the nightstand beside the bed and then raised the blinds. There was a flat on the other side of it with a very clever simulation of an evening sky. Von Kvoerner pushed a few buttons, and a moon and a spattering of stars lit up most realistically. He turned them out again and turned on the lights.
Now we proceeded to the outer section of the large chamber. The “bedroom” took up the center area, but the scene beyond its fringes was completely different Here, ringing it, was the most elaborate sort of laboratory equipment. There were machines and electrographs and recording instruments and banks of levers and a variety of other gadgets, most of which were meaningless to me. Von Koerner undertook to explain their functions. “Do you see that mirror?’ He pointed. I hadn’t noticed it before, but the ceiling suspended over the “bedroom” was all mirrored glass. “It serves several functions,” Von Koerner continued. “It provides erotic encouragement; that, of course, is obvious. It also serves as a one-way viewing glass by which we can watch our subjects while they engage in sex. And there are a series of motion-picture cameras which photograph them from every angle in full color. Built into the furniture of the room are tape recorders which pick up the slightest sound, right down to variations in the sonics of the subjects’ breathing. In the springs of the mattress itself are tiny transistor devices which connect up to this electro-cardiogram machine here and record the subjects’ pulse beats.” He indi- cated the machine of which he spoke.
“How do you tell their heart beats apart?” I asked.
“Each heart has its own individual pattern. The differences are minute, but detectable. By ferreting them out beforehand, we are able to distinguish one from the other in the graphs recorded by the machine.”
“I see.”
“Also, electrical connections from much of the apparatus are directly made to the subjects themselves. This machine records their brain waves as transmitted by electrodes fastened to their temples. This one measures both the extent and chemical content of their perspiration. Special vents in the experimental area pick up odors and transmit them to this machine which records their intensity and individualistic nature. All of these things tell us much about the subjects’ psychological reactions, as well as their physical ones. Perspiration may be a sign of fear, for instance. What was it that the subject found threatening at that particular moment? By correlating our data, We can determine that-—as well as many other things.”
“How do you correlate?”
“Do you see that large computer over there with the bank of switches and flashing lights?”
“Yes. I was going to ask what it was.”
“We call it the ‘Brain.’ All the information compiled by these other devices is fed directly into it. The ‘Brain’ has ten thousand cross-circuits of categorization. Therefore, the punch card it eventually releases on each individual subject is the result of a truly infinite number of possible combinations. Its calculations are so complex as to be well beyond the scope of the human mind. Therefore, when it reports similarities among subjects, we must accept such similarities as a pattern of human behavior. If twenty people‘ have identical physical or psychological reactions during the sex act, the mathematical odds are too enormously against it being mere coincidence for that to be a consideration. Do you follow, Mr. Victor? It’s not a question of twenty to one. Because of the infinite number of patterns the ‘Brain’ is capable of detecting, it is a matter of billions and billions to one. Such evidence must be accepted.”15
“I’m not questioning it. What I do question is the value of reducing human sexual behavior to the confines of a pigeonhole.”
“But isn’t that exactly what O. R. G. Y. does? The only difference, if you’ll pardon me, is that our methods are more efficient.”
“And a damn sight less fun,” I pointed out.
“Perhaps. But then you shall have the opportunity of determining that for yourself. If you have no objection, Mr. Victor, I shall ask you to participate in one of our experiments.”
“And if I have some objection? I’m sure it would be very interesting, but that isn’t what I came here for.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Victor. That’s exactly why I had you come here. Believe me, it will provide the assurance you seek regarding our impending transaction.”
I wouldn’t have believed Von Koerner if he’d been perched on the proverbial stack of Bibles. But I had no choice except to go along with what he wanted. It was his show, and he was calling the shots. I had to play his game if I wanted to find Cromwell. My only consolation was the fact that it wouldn’t be to his advantage to harm me. I was the in-between slated to make the payoff. Because of this, Von Koerner would have been willing to take out a Blue Shield policy on me if that might have kept me healthy. So I shrugged and agreed to go along with his cockamamie program.