“You know, Joe, I think you’ve been holding out on me,” Wilbur said at last.
Corrigan ambled back to that end of the bar. “Oh? Why would that be, now?”
“I think you saw some things coming that I didn’t see, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Is that a fact?”
“About Oliver,” Wilbur said. So, apparently, things weren’t going so well. “What makes people so greedy? I mean, not only in business, but all these people that we read about. How do they get like it?”
“People will continue trying to get better at whatever others continue to admire,” Corrigan answered.
“Aren’t there any people of principle out there anymore?” Wilbur grumbled.
“Probably. But who’s interested in principles? What gets you elected is where you stand on issues. And that’s a shame, because issues change but principles don’t. When you know a man’s character, you know where he’ll stand on any issue.”
Already, as a now-cognizant observer inside the experiment, Corrigan was gaining some invaluable insights on how the system was evolving. This was the way they should have done it from the beginning—with the surrogates fully aware of what was going on. It was what he himself had always advocated in the endless debates on the subject. He didn’t know how the decision had come about to go ahead with it—once it was decided upon, keeping the fact secret from the surrogates would be essential. The idea of it had been to guarantee that the surrogates’ behavior would be as authentic as possible. But now he was surer than ever that it had been the wrong way to go. Knowing what was going on, he could steer the system into grappling with concepts of real substance for a change, and hence into showing the beginnings of emulating real, thinking beings—which had been the whole idea. Left to freewheel in its own direction for years, it had been industriously populating its world with morons.
Wilbur propped his chin on a hand and stared across the bar exasperatedly. “Joe, why are you a bartender?”
“To get the money to pay the rent.”
“No, I mean why don’t you run for office or something?”
“I don’t have the necessary lack of qualifications.” Corrigan gestured to indicate the far side of the lounge. A manager from the Krunchy Kandy Corporation, which was the company staging its marketing conference at the hotel that week, was leading a mixed group of employees, all dressed similarly to himself in the pink-and-gold tunic and red frilled cap of the Krunchy Kitten, through a rendering in unison of the company’s new TV jingle. “Anyway, who on earth would vote for me?”
The phone behind the bar rang. Corrigan picked it up. “Hello, Galahad Lounge. This is Joe.”
“There’s an outside call for you,” the hotel operator’s voice said.
“Thanks.”
“Go ahead, caller.”
“Joe Corrigan here.”
“Ah, hello, Mr. Corrigan,” a firm, genial voice—but at the same time, one carrying an unmistakable undertone of curiosity—replied. “This is Dr. Zehl speaking. I got a message saying that you wanted to get in touch with me.”
The announcement came so unexpectedly that it took Corrigan several seconds to collect his thoughts. “Where are you calling from?” he asked.
“Does it make any difference?” Zehl—whoever he really was—had to be neurally coupled into the system again. If he were speaking via a direct channel from the outside, the mismatch in time rates would have made communication impossible.
The bar was an awkward place to have to take the call, but nobody was paying Corrigan any attention. He kept his voice low and faced away from the room, into a corner.
“Are we on monitor bypass?”
“Yes.” The question would have confirmed what Zehl suspected—that Corrigan knew the situation. Zehl’s reply meant that although the conversation was being handled by the system, its content was not being made available to the context analyzers. In other words, the line was not being tapped.
“So you know the score,” Corrigan said. “Okay, I know what it’s all about. Oz is running. We’re still in it. You’re one of the outside controllers.”
“I see.” Zehl’s tone was wary, waiting to see what line Corrigan would take.
“Has anyone else in here figured it?” Corrigan asked.