“Acknowledge.” More clicking.
“Status report: countries and cities reporting new outbreaks of Pacov, Starak, or related phenomena.”
“Mexico City, Mexico: Starak, presumed 5.7 million dead or dying. Canton, China: Pacov, new outbreak, casualties unknown. Kharkov, U.S.S.R.: Pacov, new outbreak uncertain, casualties unknown. Central and northern Africa, portions of Libya and Egypt: mutated form of Pacov, casualties unknown but reported severe.”
“What?” Liese gasped. “Say again!”
“Unidentified operator,” Eighty-Five warned sharply. “Security clearance?”
“Anneliese Meisinger! Fifty-nine, three, seventy-five.”
So Wrench had finagled clearances for more than just himself and Lessing. It figured. What would the little man have done if Golden hadn’t shot the Marine captain and provided him with such a “golden” opportunity? The captain was now recovering in a Virginia hospital.
“Acknowledge, Miss Meisinger. Repeat: Central and…”
“No, no. Want Pacov mutation details.”
“Medical data are imprecise. Many Black persons are highly susceptible to this variant of the disease, while Whites, North African Berbers, Arabs, and those of other ancestries are relatively immune. A mutation is therefore presumed, with a margin of error of 2.21 percent.”
Selective genocide!
Lessing massaged the bridge of his nose; this helped the headaches he had been having lately.
“Canada?” Liese went on. “The United States? Israel? South America?”
“India?” Lessing added urgently. “Pakistan?”
“Negative or no new outbreaks. Do you wish political reports? Data on natural disasters, such as the new volcano in Colombia? The earthquake in Japan?”
“No.” Lessing had asked his next question many times before. “Perpetrators of Pacov?”
The answer was never what he wanted. “Forty-three individual perpetrators identified; dossiers indicate the following ethnic origins: Latin American, 17; Arab, 9; Afghan, 4; Irani, 3; Chinese and Japanese, 2; European, 2. Identification of the remainder is uncertain. These aggregates can be differently broken down or analyzed using other variables, if you wish.”
“Persons or groups behind these individual perpetrators?” He would bet money on Eighty-Five’s answer to this one, too.
He was right. Eighty-Five said, “Data inconclusive. Twelve major hypotheses are under consideration. Many dossiers are missing, however, and your human failure to keep complete and accurate records of private conversations, telephone calls, and written documents makes my task difficult.” The machine sounded testy. And that jab about “human failure” had an ominous ring to it. Lessing wondered if Outram’s computer whizzes knew their baby was developing an ego.
“Attempted Outram assassination?”
This might be too sensitive. The National Defense Emergency Committee had probably zipped this subject up tight. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask, unless Eighty-Five was set to flag unwarranted inquiries and pass them on to some unpleasant monitoring agency or other.
“Certain files and data require special clearance, Mister Lessing, but I can tell you the names, Social Security numbers, and some personal data concerning the members of the helicopter crew. All three were Caucasian males, members of the U.S. Army, ages…”
“Never mind. Just state who ordered that spesh-op?”
“I can’t tell you that.” The thing sounded coy! “I am investigating several theories. Conclusions will be released upon proper authorization.”
So much for that! He asked, “And Major Golden? Who was he working for?”
To his surprise, Eighty-Five replied at once. “A small clique of U.S. Army officers, mostly of Jewish background, although their exact numbers and composition are not yet finalized. These persons were supported by three radical Zionist and/or Israeli organizations. One may be a special section of ARAD, the current acronym for the central intelligence network of the State of Israel. The second is the Vigilantes for Zion, and the third remains unidentified. James Golden was actually Yigael Goldman, of New York City. Do you wish further data on him?”
“Unnh. Not now. What are… were… Golden’s objectives?”
“The same as yours, Mister Lessing. To gain control of me and my files.” The artificial voice carried no inflection.
Lessing shook his head ruefully and reached for the modem. “I’m signing off…”
Liese laid cool fingers over his. “I have questions.” She let her hand stay where it was.
“Go ahead. Miss Meisinger.”
“Status of The Sun of Humankind by Vincent Dorn? Clearance code: one, ninety-seven, thirteen.”
“Acknowledge. The book is approximately five-eighths completed, Miss Meisinger. I have taken the liberty of preparing three versions of it: one to attract intellectuals, one for general, non-politicized American readers, and one for those likely to be most hostile to Mr. Dorn’s ideas.
“Will you want the three versions of the book translated into other languages?” Eighty-Five went on. “I can redesign these editions to appeal specifically to members of foreign cultures.”
“Later. English first. Next project is a public-relations campaign, a big, effective one. Persuade people to join movement.”
“That will be an interesting test. What percentage should I consider a success? Must all humans be persuaded?”
Liese glanced over at Lessing, but he only shrugged. She replied, “Don’t know. Appeal to the largest audience, but target percentage not finalized.”
“There ‘re always holdouts,” Lessing muttered to her.
Eighty-Five heard him. “Untrue, Mister Lessing. Every human decision has a yes-or-no point. I can devise unique strategies to cause each individual to ‘flip the conviction-switch,’ so to speak. Given time and patience, every target can be convinced.”
“What? A separate program for each person? Impossible!”
“Do you know how many megabytes of memory I have? Give me the dossiers, and I shall lay out a strategy for each body of similar targets. I will then prepare programs for each sub-grouping, until the residue consists of sets of one target each. Those can then be dealt with. Within one year my success will be 96.4 per cent, with an error margin of 2.79 per cent. The programs will vary, of course; most recalcitrants can be won over with indoctrination and propaganda. Olhers will be susceptible to positive inducements: wealth, status, material goods, sex, etc. Some will require negative pressures: the withdrawal of possessions and perquisites, subjection to public humiliation, exposure of crimes, scandals, personal weaknesses, and the like. In extreme cases it may be necessary to withhold privileges, liberty, sustenance, and ultimately life itself. As humans, you and your fellow primary operators will doubtless be able to suggest still more effective methods unknown to me.”
“Blackmail… threats… bribery!” Lessing chortled. “Eighty-Five, you’re a goddamned gangster!” He couldn’t take the honeyed, feminine voice seriously.
“Mister Lessing, gangsters are, after all, no more than the operants and enforcers of simplified power structures, equivalent in purpose, and to a large extent in methodology, to your larger human governments. As for being damned by God “
“All power structures not the same,” Liese rapped. “Some more effective and less restrictive than others!”
“True. The one I suggest would fulfill human needs best,” the machine replied blandly.
“You are forbidden… you hear me?… forbidden to consider personalized persuasion!” she commanded. “Return to the Dom book and publicity methods.”
“Acknowledge. This is wasteful, however, and it will also affect other projects.”
“Explain other projects!”