“We’d be better off to disassociate ourselves completely from this conscienceless apparatus,” Chester said. “It’s meddled in everything from the stock market to the space program. If the authorities ever discover what’s been going on . . . ”
“Negative thinking, Chester. We’ve got something here. All we have to do is figure out what.”
“If the confounded thing manufactured buttonhole TV sets or tranquilizers or anything else salable, the course would be clear; unfortunately, it generates nothing but hot air.” Chester drew on his wine bottle and sighed. “I don’t know of anyone who’d pay to learn what kind of riffraff his ancestors were—or, worse still—see them. Possibly the best course would be to open up the house to tourists—the ‘view the stately home of another era’ approach.”
“Hold it,” Case cut in. He looked thoughtful. “That gives me an idea. ‘Stately home of another era,’ eh? People are interested in other eras, Chester—as long as they don’t have to take on anybody like Gum the Scrofulous as a member of the family. Now, this computer seems to be able to fake up just about any scene you want to take a look at. You name it, it sets it up. Chester, we’ve got the greatest side-show attraction in circus history! We book the public in at so much a head, and show ’em Daily Life in Ancient Rome, or Michelangelo sculpting the Pietà, or Napoleon leading the charge at Marengo. Get the idea? Famous Scenes of the Past Revisited! We’ll not only put Wowser Wonder Shows back in the big time—but make a mint in the process!”
“Come down to earth, Case. Who’d pay to sit through a history lesson?”
“Nobody, Chester; but they’ll pay to be entertained! So we’ll entertain ’em. See the sights of Babylon! Watch Helen of Troy in her bath! Sit in on Cleopatra’s summit conference with Caesar!”
“I’d rather not be involved in any chicanery, Case. And, anyway, we wouldn’t have time. It’s only a week—”
“We’ll get time. First we’ll soften up the Internal Revenue boys with a gloomy picture of how much they’d get out of the place if they take over the property and liquidate it. Then—very cagily, Chester—we lead up to the idea that maybe, just maybe, we can raise the money—but only if we get a few weeks to go ahead with the scheme.”
“A highly unrealistic proposal, Case. It would lead to a number of highly embarrassing questions. I’d find it awkward explaining the stowaway devices on the satellites, the rigged stock-market deals, the bribes in high places . . . ”
“You’re a worrier, Chester. We’ll pack ’em in four shows a day at, say, two-fifty a head. With a seating capacity of two thousand, you’ll pay off that debt in six months.”
“What do we do, announce that we’ve invented a new type of Tri-D show? Even professional theatrical producers can’t guarantee the public’s taste. We’ll be laughed out of the office.”
“This will be different. They’ll jump at it.”
“They’ll probably jump at us—with nets.”
“You’ve got no vision, Chester. Try to visualize it: the color, the pageantry, the realism! We can show epics that would cost Hollywood a fortune—and we’ll get ’em for free.”
Case addressed the machine again. “Let’s give Chester a sample, Computer—something historically important, like Columbus getting Isabella’s crown jewels.”
“Let’s keep it clean, Case.”
“O.K., we’ll save that one for stag nights. For now, what do you say to . . . ummm . . . William the Conqueror getting the news that Harold the Saxon has been killed at the Battle of Hastings in 1066? We’ll have full color, three dimensions, sound, smells, the works. How about it, Computer?”
“I am uncertain how to interpret the expression ‘the works’ in this context,” said the voice. “Does this imply full sensory stimulation within the normal human range?”
“Yeah, that’s the idea.” Case drew the cork from a fresh bottle, watching the screen cloud and swirl, to clear on a view of patched tents under a gray sky on a slope of sodden grass. A paunchy man of middle age, clad in ill-fitting breeches of coarse brown cloth, a rust-speckled shirt of chain mail and a moth-eaten fur cloak, sat before a tent on a three-legged stool, mumbling over a well-gnawed lamb’s shin. A burly clod in ill-matched furs came up to him, breathing hard.
“We’m . . . wonnit,” he gasped. ” ‘E be adoon wi’ a quarrel i’ t’ peeper . . . ”
The sitting man guffawed and reached for a hide mug of brownish liquid. The messenger wandered off. The seated man belched and scratched idly at his ribs. Then he rose, yawned, stretched and went inside the tent. The scene faded.
“Hmmm,” said Chester. “I’m afraid that was lacking in something.”
“You can do better than that, Computer,” Case said reproachfully. “Come on, let’s see some color, action, glamour, zazzle. Make history come alive! Jazz it up a little!”
“You wish me to embroider the factual presentation?”
“Just sort of edit it for modern audiences. You know, the way high-school English teachers correct Shakespeare’s plays and improve on the old boy’s morals; or like preachers leave the sexy bits out of the Bible.”
“Possibly the approach employed by the Hollywood fantasists would suffice?”
“Now you’re talking. Leave out the dirt and boredom, and feed in some stagecraft.”
Once again the screen cleared. Against a background of vivid blue sky a broad-shouldered man in glittering mail sat astride a magnificent black charger, a brilliantly blazoned shield on his arm. He waved a long sword aloft, spurred up a slope of smooth green lawn, his raven-black hair flowing over his shoulders from under a polished steel cap, his scarlet cloak rippling bravely in the sun. Another rider came to meet him, reined in, saluting.
“The day is ours, Sire!” the newcomer cried in a mellow baritone. “Harold Fairhair lies dead; his troops retire in disorder!”
The black-haired man swept his casque from his head.
“Let’s give thanks to God,” he said in ringing tones, wheeling to present his profile. “And all honor to a brave foe!”
The messenger leaped from his mount, knelt before the other.
“Hail, William, Conqueror of England . . . ”
“Nay, faithful Clunt,” William said. “The Lord has conquered; I am but his instrument. Rise, and let us ride forward together. Now dawns a new day of freedom . . . ”
Case and Chester watched the retreating horses.
“I’m not sure I like that fade-out,” said Chester. “There’s something about watching a couple of horses ascending . . . ”
“You’re right. It lacks spontaneity—too stagy-looking. Maybe we’d better stick to the real thing; but we’ll have to pick and choose our scenes.”
“It’s still too much like an ordinary movie. And we know nothing about pace, camera angles, timing. I wonder whether the machine—”
“I can produce scenes in conformance with any principles of aesthetics you desire, Mr. Chester,” the computer said flatly.
“What we want is reality,” said Case. “Living, breathing realness. We need something that’s got inherent drama, something big, strange, amazing.”
“Aren’t you overlooking stupendous and colossal?”
Case snapped his fingers. “What’s the most colossal thing that ever was? What are the most fearsome battlers of all time?”
“A crowd of fat ladies at a girdle sale?”
“Close, Chester, but not quite on the mark. I refer to the extinct giants of a hundred million years ago: dinosaurs! That’s what we’ll see, Chester! How about it, Computer? Can you lay on a small herd of dinosaurs for us? I mean the real goods: luxuriant jungle foliage, hot primitive sun, steaming swamps, battles to the death on a gigantic scale?”
“I fear some confusion exists, Mr. Mulvihill. The environment you postulate is a popular cliché; it actually antedates in most particulars the advent of the giant saurians by several hundred million years.”
“O.K., I’ll skip the details. I’ll leave the background to you. But we want real, three-D, big-as-life dinosaurs and plenty of ’em—and how about a four-wall presentation?”
“There are two possible methods of achieving the effect you describe, Mr. Mulvihill. The first, a seventh-order approximation, would involve an elaboration of the techniques already employed in the simpler illusions. The other, which I confess is a purely theoretical approach, might prove simpler, if feasible, and would perhaps provide total verisimilitude—”
“Whatever’s simplest. Go to it.”
“I must inform you that in the event—”
“We won’t quibble over the fine technical points. Just whip up three-D dinosaurs in the simplest way you know how.”
“Very well. The experiment may well produce a wealth of new material for my memory banks.”
For half a minute the screen wall stayed blank. Case twisted to stare over his shoulder at the other walls. “Come on, what’s the holdup?” he called.
“The problems involved . . . ” the voice began.
“Patience, Case,” Chester said. “I’m sure the computer is doing its best.”