“Oh no what?” asked Krofft.
Simultaneously, the intercom went on again. It was Sylvia. “Carl Elzer wants to know if you’ve taken your phone off the hook again.”
“Yes. No. Tell him — Is he out there now?”
“No. He’s on my phone.”
“Tell him you don’t know where I am.” He clicked off without waiting for her acknowledgement.
Auberson grinned at the man. Weakly. “Uh, look, Mr…?”
“Krofft. Stanley Krofft.” He flipped open his wallet to show a plastic I.D. badge: “Stellar-American Technology and Research.” Auberson peered at the card; it identified Krofft as the Research Division Head.
“I’ve got a letter here from your Mr. Davidson,” said Krofft. “It’s on your company’s stationary, but nobody here seems to have heard of him. There’s something very funny going on — now if there’s some reason why I can’t meet him—”
“Did he invite you here?”
“No, not exactly. We’ve been corresponding for several weeks, and—”
“Mr. Krofft, you don’t know who HARLIE is, do you?”
“No. Is it some kind of mystery—?”
“Yes and no. I’m going down to see him now. Perhaps you’d better come along.”
“I’d like to.”
Auberson rose, stepped around the desk — and the six stacks of printouts — and headed for the door. Krofft picked up his briefcase and started to follow.
“Oh — you’d better leave that here. Security.”
*I’d rather keep it with me. There’s nothing in it but papers.”
“Still, unless you’re cleared, we can’t allow you to bring in anything large enough to conceal a recording or transmitting device.”
Krofft looked at him. “Mr. Auberson, are you aware of the relationship between our two companies?”
“Uh—” Auberson hesitated. “They’re owned by the same holding company, aren’t they—?”
Krofft shook his head. “No. Stellar-American Technology is the holding company. My company owns your company.”
“Oh,” said Auberson. He pointed at the briefcase. “I’d still prefer you to leave it here.”
The other realized it was useless. “Have you got a safe?”
“Not here. But you can leave it with Sylvia, my secretary. It’ll be okay.”
Krofft snorted. “Can you guarantee that? What’s in here is as important to me as whatever you’re—”
“Then bring it with you. Just leave the case behind.”
Krofft made a face, muttered something under his breath. He opened the case and extracted a slim manila folder. “Okay?”
Auberson nodded. “No problem. Security only says ‘no briefcases.’ ”
Sylvia accepted Krofft’s case with a puzzled stare and put it behind her desk. As he guided the man to the elevators, Auberson explained, “We’ve got a crazy security system here, anyway. It’s all right for you to talk to HARLIE, but you can’t take pictures. You can keep your printouts — most of the time — but you can’t circulate or publish them. Don’t ask me to explain; I don’t understand it myself.”
The elevator door slid open and they stepped in. Auberson tapped the button marked H, the lowest one in the column.
“We’ve got the same system at Stellar-American,” said Krofft. “If it weren’t for the fact that the two companies are interlocked, I couldn’t have come here at all.”
“Mmm. Tell me, just what is it you and HARLIE have been corresponding about?”
“It’s a private matter. I’d rather not—”
“That’s all right. HARLIE and I have no secrets.”
“Still, if you don’t mind—”
“You don’t have to worry about your secrecy, Mr. Krofft. As I said, HARLIE and I have no secrets. He keeps me posted on everything he does—”
“Obviously,” snapped the other, “he hasn’t kept you posted on this. Else you wouldn’t be trying to pump me. All big companies have interdivisional feuds and politics. This research that we’ve done, we’ve done it on our own time, and we’re going to protect it. It’s private, Mr. Auberson, and nobody will know what it’s about until we’re ready to tell them.”
Auberson slid his tongue thoughtfully into his cheek. “Um, all right. We’ll talk to HARLIE.”
The elevator doors opened to face a small lobby, fronted by a double door. On it a sign said, HUMAN ANALOGUE ROBOT, LIFE INPUT EQUIVALENTS. Krofft did not realize the acronym. The same hand that had added the card to Auberson’s door had also added one here: BEWARE OF PECULIAR MACHINE.
They pushed into the lab, a longish sterile room flanked by banks of consoles and tall cabinets like coffins on end. White-smocked technicians monitored growing stacks of printout — one end of the room was already filled. Krofft took it all in with a certain degree of familiarity — and puzzlement.
“I should caution you,” said Auberson, “that you are here only on my authority — and on my sufferance. This is an industrial secret and anything that goes on in here does not go beyond these walls. If you wish yours and HARLIE’s secrecy to be respected, then we’ll expect the same in return.”
“I understand,” the smaller man said. “Now if you’ll just point out Dr. Davidson—”
“Dr. Davidson? Hasn’t it sunk in yet?”
“Hasn’t what sunk in? I don’t—”
“Look around you.”
Krofft did so.
“What do you see?”
“A computer. And technicians. Some tables. Some stacks of printouts.”
“The computer, Krofft; look at its name.”
“HUMAN ANALOGUE ROBOT, LIFE INPU — HARLIE?”
“Right.”
“Wait a minute.” Anger edged his voice. “You’ve got to be… This is some kind of… You’re not serious.”
“As serious as I’ll ever be,” said Auberson. “HARLIE is a computer and you’re the victim of a misunderstanding — a self-induced one. You’re not the first, however, so don’t be embarrassed.”
“You mean, I’ve been corresponding with a machine?”
“Not exactly. HARLIE’s a human being, Mr. Krofft, a very special kind of human being.”
“I thought you said he was a computer. Just who or what have I been writing to?”
“To HARLIE — but he’s not a machine. At least, not in the sense you mean. His brain schematic is that of a human being.” Auberson thumbed a console to life.
HARLIE, he typed, but before he could identify himself, the machine spat back, YES, BOSS?
Auberson was startled. HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME?
I RECOGNIZED YOUR TOUCH ON THE KEYBOARD.
Auberson jerked his hands back as if stung. He stared at the typer. It was a standard IBM input/output unit. Could HARLIE really sense the difference between one typist and another on its electronic keyboard? Apparently he could. It must be the minute differences in each person’s timing.
Self-consciously, Auberson began typing again. HARLIE, THERE’S SOMEONE HERE I’D LIKE YOU TO MEET.
YES, BOSS. WHO?
MR. STANLEY KROFFT.
UH OH.
YES, UH OH. WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU HAD INITIATED CORRESPONDENCE WITH SOMEONE?
UH — IT SLIPPED MY MIND.
I FIND THAT HARD TO BELIEVE.
WELL, WOULD YOU BELIEVE — — –
NO. I WOULDN’T.
ACTUALLY, continued the typer, YOU TOLD ME I COULD WRITE TO WHOMEVER I WANTED TO ON THIS PROJECT.
ON WHICH PROJECT? AND WHEN DID I SAY THIS?
ON NOVEMBER 23 OF LAST YEAR. IN THAT CONVERSATION WE DISCUSSED THE POSSIBILITY OF NEW METHODS OF PERCEIVING REALITY AND YOU GAVE ME PERMISSION TO PURSUE ANY LINES OF THOUGHT RELATING TO THE DISCOVERY OF SUCH.
Auberson thought back; it had been four or five months, I THOUGHT WE’D ABANDONED THAT.
YOU MIGHT HAVE. I DIDN’T.
THAT’S OBVIOUS. MR. KROFFT IS HERE NOW.
DR. KROFFT. HE IS DR. STANLEY KROFFT, DIRECTOR OF RESEARCH FOR STELLAR-AMERICAN TECHNOLOGY AND RESEARCH INCORPORATED. HE IS SINGULARLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEVELOPMENT OF HYPER-STATE ELECTRONICS — AND, AS SUCH, HE CAN BE CONSIDERED DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL HYPER-STATE DEVICES — INCLUDING THE MARK IV JUDGMENT UNIT. HIS PATENTS ARE LICENSED TO STELLAR-AMERICAN, WHICH SET UP THIS COMPANY AND THREE OTHERS, EACH TO EXPLOIT A PARTICULAR AREA OF HYPER-STATE ELECTRONICS. OUR AREA, OF COURSE, IS COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY. I AM A DIRECT RESULT OF DR. KROFFT’S DISCOVERIES.