“Why?”
“As you must know, any ordinary computer, no matter how refined—and yours is not greatly refined—is a calculating machine still. It may calculate precisely or by means of estimates or successive approximations. It may speak or act as its maker programmed it to do, and if the programming was sufficiently clever, it may project a convincing air of an independent nature. It is nonetheless without enduring character, and devoid of a responsible conscious nature. We can place no reliance on the word of such, nor on their reactions. It is therefore necessary to find the deep nature of the race itself by sampling it and observing its responses.
“A calculating machine may be reprogrammed. It may be altered, upgraded, provided with external or internal attachments, rezeroed, set to perform reprogrammings of itself according to standards that are fixed or variable, definite or approximated. The deep nature of a race defies such casual tinkering. To believe a race to be mind alone, much less calculating ability alone, is a folly. We will not be made to appear ridiculous by accepting such a sham.”
“And what would happen if we should insist on it?”
There was a silence, and then a sort of slight tense movement around them.
“Then we will have to test your nature more deeply to make certain we have achieved true contact.”
Richards gave a low fervent murmur. Cassetti became aware of a strong impression that they had gone about as far in that direction as it was healthy to go in that direction.
“Good,” he said, keeping his voice even. “Then you are completely in earnest.”
There was a further silence, then a faint vibration.
“So, you wish to be certain. Yes, this is true and intentional contact. We are completely in earnest.”
“Good.”
“I see that you also are in earnest.”
There was another silence while the sweat trickled down, then the voice spoke insistently: “You agree?”
Cassetti still had the problem of dealing with the computer, and hesitated.
There was a click, and Richards spoke, his voice even and steady. “We will agree now. But our customs are such that for the agreement to become final and binding, we must return to our ship, and then we must again come here to state to you that the agreement is final and binding.”
“You have agreed for your race, but you must accord the other individuals the courtesy to also identically agree?”
It took a few seconds to grasp the viewpoint behind that.
Cassetti said carefully, “It is our custom.”
“Understood. Will you return to your ship now?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
They quickly found themselves back in the airlock, and then in the curving space corridor.
About halfway through this corridor, the curve of the metal walls cut them off from the sight of either ship, and with the same thought, they braked the suits to a stop.
Richards said, “Ed?”
“Right here. What’s left of me.”
“You suppose we’re out of eavesdropping range from here? For both ships?”
“It’s occurred to me, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Why?”
“In addition to a certain number of problems, we seem to have an opportunity.”
Cassetti said, “Yes. I’m still trying to get a grip in it.”
“MC3C knows it’s smart. It has memory and calculating speed to prove it. For the same reason, it figures we’re cretins. The alien, on the other hand, knows calculating ability and memory can be developed or fabricated, so it judges by ingrained character.”
“And since the Master Computer doesn’t have any, the Master Computer flunks the test.”
“Right. And nothing like that could possibly be relied on to keep an agreement, so humanity has got to be in charge. Or else.”
Cassetti nodded. “They’re both know-it-alls. But what they know is 180 degrees mutually opposed.”
“Which might,” said Richards carefully, “lay a foundation for something useful.”
“I see the leverage. If I get any opening, I’ll use it.”
“Me, too,” said Richards, with what sounded like cautious good cheer. “OK, lead the way.”
They rounded the gradual bend of the space corridor, and the voice they’d been spared lately spoke up:
“You will remove protective suits immediately upon reentering the ship. You will separately report in full detail and without collaboration. Your accounts will be compared for completeness and accuracy. Any falsehood will be severely punished by—”
Richards growled under his breath.
“Careful,” said Cassetti, as they approached the hatch, “we don’t want to end up on our heads again.”
The outer hatch of the airlock shut behind them as they got out of their suits. They got a shower of disinfectant, then questioning began: “Enter the separate interrogation booths. Seat yourselves. Sit straight. You will answer all questions promptly, without falsehoods or mental reservations...”
Metal contacts clamped on Cassetti’s arms and body. Those, he supposed, added up to a lie-detector. Then the door of the booth shut.
The next few hours were worse than living through it, as the Master Computer had seemingly endless questions, and a literal hair-splitting approach to the answers. But at last, the account neared the end: “...and Sam Richards said to the extraterrestrial, ‘We’ll agree now. But for the agreement to be binding and final, we have to go back to our ship. Then we’ll have to come back to state to you that the agreement is binding and final.’ And the extraterrestrial said—”
MC3C listened to the end. “Explain the statement that you must return to this ship.”
“Before agreeing, we needed to speak to you.”
“You mean it was necessary for you, having no authority, to obtain permission?”
“We needed to get the authority to accept the terms.”
“That is not an answer to the question. That is an answer to a restatement of the question. Do not restate the question. Try to remember it long enough to answer the question as it was asked. Then answer yes or no. The next question is: Are you aware of any way the extraterrestrials can recognize who is wearing your contact suit?”
Cassetti, his ego bloodied by several hours with the Master Computer, decided this was as good a time as any to drop the first bomb.
“In my opinion,” he said, keeping his voice even, “the extraterrestrials will recognize us, regardless who wears our suits, or regardless what suits we wear.”
“Answer yes or no. You have failed to...” Briefly, MC3C was silent. “You refer to visual characteristics?”
“Only partly.”
“There are no valid visual characteristics. The only identifying characteristics are vocal. Visual characteristics, such as facial features, are hidden by faceplate reflections and the inner helmet.”
“Wrong.”
Contradicting this know-it-all was so enjoyable that Cassetti had to remind himself to be careful.
The artificial voice said, “Severe punishment will be inflicted if you fail to—”
“Wait a minute. If Sam and I don’t go back fairly soon, the extraterrestrial is going to be unhappy.”
There was a silence.
“Isn’t that right?”
MC3C’s response had the same tone as usual, but the first three words were pleasant to hear: “That is correct, if the extraterrestrial can distinguish the occupants of the suits. However, for brief periods, the suits can be controlled without human intervention by the emergency operating system. Moreover—”