Emily laughed. “Look at his shadow, Michael. He has a very long shadow for a pygmy.”
“He will have a much longer shadow in the years to come,” said Michael. “Ernest is the one who will teach us to understand the thinking machines. Someday, he will give us the right answer to the question.”
“You have great faith in him.”
“I have faith in us—in all of us. I need to have. There is so much to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Mankind has a second chance. We are the waymakers, the advance guard of a new humanity. The way we live, the actions we take, will decide whether intercontinental missiles or spaceships lift off Earth a thousand years from now. We have to create a world in which there are no nations but only one people.” He laughed. “A world in which even thinking machines are not subject to a conflict of loyalties.”
“I want to have your children,” said Emily, hardly understanding what she meant. “I want to have many of your children.”
Ernest, puffing and blowing, had almost reached the top of the hill. “I have been talking to Mr. Shakespeare,” he called. “He gave me some marvelous news.”
“Complex Nine,” corrected Michael. “You have been talking to Complex Nine. They are all one. Don’t ever forget that.”
Ernest arrived at the top. “They still have nearly three hundred ova. Mr.—Complex Nine wants to know if we would like to have them fertilized and cultured. It would mean that—”
“The answer is no,” said Michael. “Ernest, do you trust me?”
“Yes, Michael. I have always trusted you.”
“Then forgive me for being dictatorial. But the answer is no. Not yet…. Complex Nine would like to have us very dependent on machines. I would like to have us independent. If that thinking machine wants to do anything useful for us, it can build us a residential school, a college, a university, containing all the books that have survived—and far away from London. It can help us to cultivate the earth and grow our own food. It can help us to build farms, houses, laboratories. But it must not create another culture—another generation—until we are ready to be completely independent.”
“I follow your reasoning. We have to educate ourselves before—”
“Before we can educate them,” said Michael. “I’m damned if I’ll trust another generation to a thinking machine.”
“But suppose Comdex Nine doesn’t agree?”
“It will.” Michael smiled. “For ten thousand years, the machines marked time.” He waved his arm. “They just did not know what to do with all this—this richness…. Only man can supply purpose. The machines know that, and let us never forget it…. When we have educated ourselves, we will be ready for another generation. And we will educate them…. Complex Nine will agree—because without us it lacks purpose.”
Ernest’s eyes were shining. “A university,” he murmured, “a treasure house of knowledge, a place where the mind can expand…. I took a book from the library, Michael. It was called Utopia. It was filled with fantastic and wonderful notions about education, about freedom and unity and common ownership…. Could we not call our university Utopia?”
Michael smiled. “Why not? The human race is so small, it needs brave ideals to keep it warm.”
Emily’s face was wet. “Already,” she murmured, “the giants reach high.” The sound of a great ocean was in her ears, and a salt taste was upon her lips.