“That last admonition was hardly called for, Mr. Chester.”
“Sorry. But can you do it?”
“Oh, I’ve already finished.”
“So now there’s an apparent world outside, resembling the real one in every respect?”
“Yes, indeed; except that it isn’t real, of course.”
Chester crossed to the door, flung it open. The familiar dusty wine bottles lay quietly in their cradles opposite the reels and flashing lights of the control panel.
“This may not be home,” Chester said, “but I think the point is academic.”
* * *
There was a peremptory rap at the door.
“What’s that?”
“A Mr. Overdog of the Bureau of Internal Revenue,” the computer answered.
“Well, you asked for realism,” Case said. “Shall I let him in?”
“How does he know about this place?” Chester asked.
“Oh, I informed him of it by letter,” the computer spoke up. “Retroactively.”
“Why? Haven’t we got enough trouble?”
“You indicated that you wished the tax problem dealt with. I took appropriate action.”
“Say, how much time’s passed here while we were out building universes?” Case inquired.
“Seven days, two hours, forty-one minutes and two seconds.”
“Shall I let him in, Chester?”
“You may as well.”
The door was opened to reveal a lean, red-eyed man with an old-fashioned hat of orange fur covering his hairless head. He eyed Case and Genie.
“I received your letter,” he snapped. “Where’s Mr. Chester? I trust you’re ready to get on with it. I’m a busy man.”
“Why . . . ah . . . ” Chester started.
More footsteps sounded. A portly man with ice-blue eyes under shaggy white brows puffed into the room.
“Mr. Chester,” he began without preamble, “before concluding any agreement with the IRS, I hope you will entertain my offer.”
“What are you doing here, Klunt?” Overdog snapped.
“Who’s this?” Chester whispered urgently to Genie.
“He’s from the Bureau of Vital Statistics,” she whispered back. “He got a letter, too.”
“When did all these letters get written? There hasn’t been time since we remanufactured the world.”
“It’s remarkable what you can do with temporal vacuoles,” Genie said. “The letters were postmarked three days ago.”
“What kind of offer did you have in mind, Mr. Ahhh?” said Case.
“Assuming your . . . ah . . . information storage device functions as I’ve been informed, I’m prepared to offer you, on behalf of the Bureau of Vital Statistics . . . ”
“I’ll settle for half the tax bill,” Overdog cut in. “And we’ll entertain the idea of a liberal settlement of the balance, say, over a two-year period. Generous, I’d say. Generous in the extreme.”
“Vital Statistics will go higher. We’ll pay two full thirds of the bill!” Klunt stared at Overdog triumphantly.
“It’s a conspiracy! You’re playing with prison, Klunt!” He turned hard eyes on Chester. “Final word, Mr. Chester. Complete forgiveness of the entire tax debt! Think of it!”
“Chicken feed!” snorted Klunt. “I’ll have a check for five million credits ready for you in the morning.”
“Sold!” Chester said.
“On an annual lease basis, of course,” Case added.
“Giving us full rights of access,” Chester amended.
“A deal, gentlemen! I’ll revolutionize Vital Statistics with this apparatus! With the increased volume of information, I should say a staff increase of fifty persons would not be excessive, eh, Overdog?”
“Bah! I’ll expect your check tomorrow, Mr. Chester—and another next March!” He stalked out. Klunt followed, planning happily.
“Well, that’s taken care of,” Case said, beaming. “Nice work, Chester. I guess the Wowser Wonder Shows won’t have to worry for a while.”
Chester opened the door and looked out. “You’re sure it’s safe out there, Computer?” he called.
“The question seems to have become academic, Mr. Chester. A reappraisal indicates that the present scene is substantive after all. Mr. Mulvihill’s village was a figment of the imagination, I now perceive.”
“Oh yeah? What about this beard?”
“Psychosomatic,” the computer said without conviction.
“What about Genie?” Case asked. “Do we leave her stored here, or what?”
“Genie’s coming with me,” Chester said.
“Well, I figured maybe she was part of the lease.”
“Lease? Nonsense. Genie’s as human as I am.”
“Don’t kid me, Chester. We were both here when she was built—right, Computer?”
“You asked that I produce a mobile speaker in the configuration of a nubile female,” the computer replied. “The easiest method was to initiate the process of maturation in a living human cell.”
“You mean you grew Genie from a human cell—in a matter of hours?”
“The body was matured in a time vacuole.”
“But . . . where did you get the cell?”
“I had one on hand—one of yours, Mr. Mulvihill. I took a blood specimen for identification purposes, if you recall.”
“But that’s impossible. I’m a male!”
“It was necessary to manipulate the X and Y chromosome balance.”
“So I’m a mother,” said Case wonderingly, “and an unwed mother at that. It figures, though—growing a real girl was simpler than building one out of old alarm clocks.”
“In that case,” Chester said, taking Genie’s hand, “I hope you’ll consent to give the bride away in your capacity as both parents—assuming Genie agrees.”
“Oh, Chester,” Genie said.
“Well, folks,” Case boomed, “let’s have a drink and get used to the idea.”
“I’ll be along in a few minutes,” Chester said. “I want to have a talk with the computer first.”
“What about?”
“I’ve spent twenty-five years in society and contributed nothing. Now I’m going to start a school—just a small institution for a few selected students, at first. I want to see what I can do to straighten out a few of the world’s irrationalities. The computer has the facts—and, thanks to Kuve, I’ve learned to think.”
“Yep, you’ve changed, all right, Chester. Well, take your time. We’ll wait.”
Chester settled himself in the brocaded chair. “All right, Computer. Here we go with your first lesson: Is-not is not not-is. Not-is is not is-not. Not-is-not is not is . . . “