But now he settled back for the gossip hour. Old Granny was piling on the rumors with gleeful abandon. After it had been denied in public, not once but many times, said Granny, that there had been no breakthrough on faster-than-light propulsion, it now had been learned that a method had been tested most successfully and that even now a secret ship incorporating the system was being built at a secret site, preparatory to man’s first survey of the nearer stars. Without question, Granny went on, Frank Markeson, the President’s former aide, is being erased by Washington; with everyone studiously paying no attention to him, he soon will disappear. A certain private eye, who may be regarded as an unimpeachable source, is convinced that there are at least three time-travelers in town, but he’ll give no details. This report brings much dismay to many federal agencies, including State, Defense, and Treasury, as well as to many individuals. A mathematician at MIT is convinced (although no other scientists will agree with him) that he has discovered evidence of a telepathic computer somewhere in the universe—not necessarily in this galaxy—that is trying to contact the computers of the Earth. As yet there is no certainty that contact has been made. Senator Andrew Moore is reliably reported to have flunked his first preliminary continuation test…
Fred gulped in dismay and rage. How had that item gotten on the line? Who the hell had talked? How could such a thing have happened? Senator Moore was his senator and there was no one but him who knew the fumbling old fossil had bombed out on his first qualifying test. The results of the test were still locked in the crystal lattice of Fred’s storage bank. He had not yet reported them to the Senate’s central bank. As it was his right to hold up the results for review and consideration, he had done nothing wrong.
Someone, he told himself, was spying on him. Someone, possibly in his own group, had broken the code of honor and was watching him. A breach of faith, he told himself. It was dastardly. It was no one’s damn business and Granny had no right to put the information on the line.
Seething, Fred derived no further enjoyment from the gossip hour.
Senator Andrew Moore knocked on the door. It was all foolishness, he told himself somewhat wrathfully, this ducking around to hell and gone every time there was need to utter a confidential word.
Daniel Waite, his faithful aide of many years, opened the door and the senator plodded in.
“Dan, what’s all this foolishness?” he asked. “What was wrong with the Alexandria place? If we had to move, why to Silver Springs?”
“We’d been in Alexandria for two months,” said Waite. “It was getting chancy. Come in and sit down, Senator.”
Grumpily, Moore walked into the room and settled down in an easy chair. Waite went to a cabinet, hauled out a bottle and two glasses.
“Are you sure this place is safe?” the senator asked. “I know my office is bugged and so is my apartment. You’d have to have a full-time debugging crew to keep them clean. How about this place?”
“The management maintains tight security,” said Waite. “Besides, I had our own crew in just an hour ago.”
“So the place ought to be secure.”
“Yes, it should. Maybe Alexandria would have been all right, but we’d been there too long.”
“The cabbie you sent to pick me up. He was a new one.”
“Every so often we have to change around.”
“What was the matter with the old one? I liked him. Him and me talked baseball. I haven’t got many people around I can talk baseball with.”
“There was nothing wrong with him. But, like I told you, we have to change around. They watch us all the time.”
“You mean the damn computers.”
Waite nodded.
“I can remember the time when I first came here as senator,” said Moore, “twenty-three years ago, less than a quarter century. Jimmy was in the White House then. We didn’t have to watch out all the time for bugging then. We didn’t have to be careful when we said something to our friends. We didn’t have to be looking behind us all the time.”
“I know,” said Waite. “Things are different now.” He brought the senator a drink, handed it to him.
“Why thank you, Dan. The first one of the day.”
“You know damn well it’s not the first of the day,” Waite replied.
The senator took a long pull on the drink, sighed in happiness. “Yes, sir,” he said, “it was fun back in those days. We did about as we pleased. We made our deals without no one interfering. No one paid attention. All of us were making deals and trading votes and other things like that. The normal processes of democracy. We had our dignity—Christ, yes, we had our dignity and we used that dignity, when necessary, to cover up. Most exclusive club in all the world, and we made the most of it. Trouble was, every six years we had to work our tails off to get reelected and hang on to what we had. But that wasn’t bad. A lot of work, but it wasn’t bad. You could con the electorate, or usually you could. I had to do it only once and that was an easy one; I had a sodbuster from out in the sticks to run against and that made it easier. With some of the other boys, it wasn’t that easy. Some of them even lost. Now we ain’t got to run no more, but there are these goddamned exams…”
“Senator,” said Waite, “that’s what we have to talk about. You failed your first exam.”
The senator half rose out of his chair, then settled back again. “I what?”
“You failed the first test. You still have two other chances, and we have to plan for them.”
“But, Dan, how do you know? That stuff is supposed to be confidential. This computer, Fred, he would never talk.”
“Not Fred. I got it from someone else. Another computer.”
“Computers, they don’t talk.”
“Some of them do. You don’t know about this computer society, Senator. You don’t have to deal with it except when you have to take exams. I have to deal with it as best I can. It’s my job to know what’s going on. The computer network is a sea of gossip. At times some of it leaks out. That’s why I have computer contacts, to pick up gossip here and there. That’s how I learned about the test. You see, it’s this way—the computers work with information, deal with information, and gossip is information. They’re awash with it. It’s their drink and meat; it’s their recreation. It’s the only thing they have. A lot of them, over the years, have begun to think of themselves as humans, maybe a notch or two better than humans, better in many ways than humans. They are subjected to some of the same stresses as humans, but they haven’t the safety valves we have. We can go out and get drunk or get laid or take a trip or do a hundred other things to ease off the pressure. All the computers have is gossip.”
“You mean,” the senator asked, rage rising once more, “that I have to take that test again?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. This time, Senator, you simply have to pass it. Three times and you’re out. I’ve been telling you, warning you. Now you better get cracking. I told you months ago you should start boning up. It’s too late for that now. I’ll have to arrange for a tutor –”
“To hell with that!” the senator roared. “I won’t abide a tutor. It would be all over Washington.”
“It’s either that or go back to Wisconsin. How would you like that?”
“These tests, Dan, they’re hard,” the senator complained. “More difficult this time than they’ve ever been before. I told Fred they were harder and he agreed with me. He said he was sorry, but the matter was out of his hands—nothing he could do about the results. But, Christ, Dan, I have known this Fred for years. Wouldn’t you think he could shade a point or two for me?”