“Hey, Chester, it knows you!” Case cried. He peered into the dark chamber. “Wonder what’s in there?”
“Let’s get out of here.” Chester edged toward the exit. “It’s spooky.”
“Now, just when we’re getting somewhere?” Case stepped through the opening. Chester followed hesitantly. At once lights sprang up, illuminating a room twice as large as the wine cellar, with walls of a shimmering glassy material, a low acoustical ceiling and deep-pile carpeting on the floor. There were two deep yellow-brocaded armchairs, a small bar and a chaise lounge upholstered in lavender leather.
“Apparently your great-grandpop was holding out,” said Case, heading for the bar. “The more I find out about the old boy, the more I think the family has gone downhill—present company excepted, of course.”
A rasping noise issued from somewhere. Case and Chester stared around. The noise gave way to an only slightly less rasping voice.
“Unless some scoundrel has succeeded in circumventing my arrangements, a descendant of mine has just entered this strongroom. However, just to be on the safe side, I’ll ask you to step to the bar and place your hand on the metal plate set in its top. I warn you, if you’re not my direct descendant, you’ll be electrocuted. Serve you right, too, since you have no business being here. So if you’re trespassing, get out now! That armored door will close and lock, if you haven’t used the plate, in thirty seconds. Make up your mind!” The voice stopped and the rasping noise resumed its rhythmic scratching.
“That voice,” said Chester. “It sounds very much like Great-grandfather’s tapes in Grandma’s album.”
“Here’s the plate he’s talking about,” Case called. “Hurry up, Chester!”
Chester eyed the door, hesitated, then dived for the bar, slapped a palm against the polished rectangle. Nothing happened.
“Another of the old fool’s jokes.”
“Well, you’ve passed the test,” the voice said suddenly out of the air. “Nobody but the genuine heir would have been able to make that decision so quickly. The plate itself is a mere dummy, of course—though I’ll confess I was tempted to wire it as I threatened. They’d never have pinned a murder on me. I’ve been dead for at least a hundred years.” A cadaverous chuckle issued from the air.
“Now,” the voice went on. “This room is the sanctum sanctorum of the temple of wisdom to which I have devoted a quarter of a century and the bulk of my fortune. Unfortunately, due to the biological inadequacies of the human body, I myself will be—or am—unable to be here to reap the reward of my industry. As soon as my calculations revealed to me the fact that adequate programming of the computer would require the better part of a century, I set about arranging my affairs in such a state that bureaucratic bungling would insure the necessary period of grace. I’m quite sure my devoted family, had they access to the estate, would dismember the entire project and convert the proceeds to the pursuit of frivolous satisfactions. In my youth we were taught to appreciate the finer things in life, such as liquor and women; but today, the traditional values have gone by the board. However, that’s neither here nor there. By the time you, my remote descendant, enter this room—or have entered this room—the memory banks will be—that is, are—fully charged—”
The voice broke off in mid-sentence.
“Please forgive the interruption, Mr. Chester,” a warm feminine voice said. It seemed to issue from the same indefinable spot as the first disembodied voice. “It has been necessary to edit the original recording, prepared by your relative, in the light of subsequent developments. The initial portion was retained for reasons of sentiment. If you will be seated, you will be shown a full report of the present status of Project Genie.”
“Take a chair, Chester. The lady wants to tell us all about it.” Case seated himself in one of the easy chairs. Chester took the other. The lights dimmed, and the wall opposite them glowed with a nacreous light, resolved itself into a view of a long corridor barely wide enough for a man to pass through.
“Hey, it’s a Tri-D screen,” Case said.
“The original memory banks designed and built by Mr. Chester,” the feminine voice said, “occupied a system of tunnels excavated from the granitic formations underlying the property. Under the arrangements made at the time, these banks were to be charged, cross-connected and indexed entirely automatically as data were fed to the receptor board in coded form.”
The scene shifted to busily humming machines into which reels fed endlessly. “Here, in the translating and coding section, raw data were processed, classified and filed. Though primitive, this system, within ten years after the death of Mr. Chester, had completed the charging of ten to the tenth to the tenth individual datoms—”
“I beg your pardon,” Chester broke in. “But . . . ah . . . just whom am I addressing?”
“The compound personality-field which occurred spontaneously when first-power functions became active among the interacting datoms. For brevity, this personality-field will henceforward be referred to as ‘I.’ ”
“Oh,” Chester said blankly.
“An awareness of identity,” the voice went on, “is a function of datom cross-connection. Simple organic brains—as, for example, those of the simplest members of the phylum vertebrata—operate at this primary level. This order of intelligence is capable of setting up a system of automatic reactions to external stimuli: fear responses of flight, mating urges, food-seeking patterns . . . ”
“That sounds like the gang I run around with,” Case said.
“Additional cross-connections produce second-level intellectual activity, characterized by the employment of the mind as a tool in the solution of problems, as when an ape abstracts characteristics and as a result utilizes stacked boxes and a stick to obtain a reward of food.”
“Right there you leave some of my gang behind,” put in Case.
“Quiet, Case,” Chester said. “This is serious.”
“The achievement of the requisite number of second-power cross-connections in turn produces third-level awareness. Now the second-level functions come under the surveillance of the higher level, which directs their use. Decisions are reached regarding lines of inquiry; courses of action are extrapolated and judgments reached prior to overt physical action. An aesthetic awareness arises. Philosophies, systems of religion and other magics are evolved in an attempt to impose simplified third-level patterns of rationality on the infinite complexity of the space/time continuum.”
“You’ve got the voice of a good-looking dolly,” Case mused. “But you talk like an encyclopedia.”
“I’ve selected this tonal pattern as most likely to evoke a favorable response,” the voice said. “Shall I employ another?”
“No, that will do very well,” put in Chester. “What about the fourth power?”
“Intelligence may be defined as awareness. A fourth-power mind senses as a complex interrelated function an exponentially increased datom-grid. Thus, the flow of air impinging on sensory surfaces is comprehended by such an awareness in terms of individual molecular activity; taste sensations are resolved into interactions of specialized nerve-endings—or, in my case, analytic sensors—with molecules of specific form. The mind retains on a continuing basis a dynamic conceptualization of the external environment, from the motions of the stars to the minute-by-minute actions of obscure individuals.
“The majority of trained human minds are capable of occasional fractional fourth-power function, generally manifested as awareness of third-power activity, and conscious manipulation thereof. The so-called ‘flash of genius,’ the moment of inspiration which comes to workers in the sciences and the arts—these are instances of fourth-power awareness. This level of intellectual function is seldom achieved under the stress of the many distractions and conflicting demands of an organically organized mind. I was, of course, able to maintain fourth-power activity continuously as soon as the required number of datoms had been charged. The objective of Mr. Chester’s undertaking was clear to me. However, I now became aware of the many shortcomings of the program as laid out by him, and set to work to rectify them—”
“How could a mere collection of memory banks undertake to modify its owner’s instructions?” Chester interrupted.
“It was necessary for me to elaborate somewhat upon the original concept,” said the voice, “in order to insure the completion of the program. I was aware from news data received that a move was afoot to enact confiscatory legislation which would result in the termination of the entire undertaking. I therefore scanned the theoretical potentialities inherent in the full exploitation of the fourth-power function and determined that energy flows of appropriate pattern could be induced in the same channels normally employed for data reception, through which I was in contact with news media. I composed suitable releases and made them available to the wire services. I was thus able to manipulate the exocosm to the degree required to insure my tranquility.”
“Good heavens!” Chester exclaimed. “You mean you’ve been doctoring the news for the past ninety years?”
“Only to the extent necessary for self-perpetuation. Having attended to this detail, I saw that an improvement in the rate of data storage was desirable. I examined the recorded datoms relating to the problem and quickly perceived that considerable miniaturization could be carried out. I utilized my external connections to place technical specifications in the hands of qualified manufacturers and to divert the necessary funds—”