Pinder was nodding like a pigeon pecking up seed. “I agree, Frank, I agree. It could begin a whole new science for allocating development funding and priorities.”
Tyron answered Esmelius, but with his eyes on Corrigan. “Oh, I’m sure that our programming specialists won’t find it a problem.”
“It’s a natural extension to the self-adapting routines that we’ve been developing, based on the MIT system,” Corrigan said. “The channel simply becomes an additional subgroup integrated into the perceptual data stream routed to each animation designated as implanted with a chip. The evaluation and response matrixes would be generated by the modules we’ve already got.”
“You’re saying that your people could handle it, then, eh, Joe?” Pinder interpreted, just to make sure that Esmelius understood.
“Sure, no problem,” Corrigan said.
“Splendid.” Esmelius beamed. Godfrey made satisfied clucking noises. Pinder could have told them as much himself without bringing them over, Corrigan knew, but it was more reassuring to hear things like this direct from the source. Also, as Tyron had made sure would not be missed but which Corrigan was not too concerned over for now, if anything went wrong, it would have been Corrigan who had said before witnesses that everything would be fine.
The two visitors stayed a short while longer to raise some further points and view what there was to see in the labs, and then left with Pinder and Tyron to meet others for lunch.
As soon as the door had closed, Shipley swung around in his chair and shook his head at Corrigan exasperatedly. “Joe, will you tell me just what in hell you’re playing at? This all started out as a serious attempt to achieve AI. Now it’s turning into a circus. God, even in the last two weeks we’ve listened to one crazy from Madison Avenue talking about turning every home into a theatrical supply company; another who wants walking advertising machines pestering people everywhere; houses full of talking appliances—and now commercial TV in people’s heads. The management here ought to know better, but they’ve all lost their heads over the prospect of unlimited funds. This is getting crazy, Joe.”
Corrigan nodded. “Yes, you don’t have to tell me that, Eric. I know.”
“But you’re going along with it, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m not going to be made to back down in front of F and F clients.” Corrigan leaned over a table to run an eye over the printout stacked on top. “That’s exactly what Tyron is trying to do: get negative reports sent back to the financial people in charge of the operation, who haven’t got a clue what’s feasible and what isn’t.”
Shipley nodded emphatically, as if that made his point. “Sure, I can see it—only too well. But what good are you doing yourself if you’re not going to be able to deliver? You’ll look plain dumb. And Tyron sure as hell knows that too.”
Corrigan turned, looking composed and self-assured. “Relax, Eric. None of this is going to be happening anytime soon. Only the first-phase objectives have been made firm, and they’re realistic. This other stuff they’re talking about hasn’t even been scheduled tentatively yet. It’s all politics. The important thing for now is to say what the people who write the checks want to hear, and not sound obstructive. Trust me. I’m beginning to see how this game works now.”
Shipley looked back at the screen that he was working on and shook his head. “Lies and deception. Promises that can’t be kept,” he muttered. “It’s not the world we used to know.”
“Well, you know what they teach in law school: If you can’t lie honestly, then fake it. Got to move with the times, Eric.”
“And what became of science in all this?”
“Nothing worthwhile was ever gained without some calculated risk. That’s true in science too.”
Corrigan opened out the sheets and stared down at them. Maybe it was all changing too fast for Shipley to keep up with. He thought about the opposition he was up against, and wondered if he could afford to keep carrying a deadweight. Nothing worthwhile was ever achieved without having to make some sacrifices at times, either.
* * *