“Mike is chairman,” I said. “Obvious. Secretary, too. We’ll never keep anything in writing; first security rule. With Mike, don’t need to. Let’s bat it around and see where we are; I’m new to business.”
“And,” said Prof, “still on the subject of security, the secret of Mike should be restricted to this executive cell, subject to unanimous agreement–all three of us–correction: all four of us–that is must be extended.”
“What secret?” asked Wyoh. “Mike agreed to help our secrets. He’s safer than we are; he can’t be brainwashed, Can you be, Mike dear?”
“I could be brainwashed,” Mike admitted, “by enough voltage. Or by being smashed, or subjected to solvents, or positive entropy through other means–I find the concept disturbing. But if by ‘brainwashing’ you mean could I be compelled to surrender our secrets, the answer is an unmodified negative.”
I said, “Wye, Prof means secret of Mike himself. Mike old pal, you’re our secret weapon–you know that, don’t you?”
He answered self-consciously, “It was necessary to take that into consideration in computing the odds.”
“How were odds without you, comrade? Bad?”
“They were not good. Not of the same order.”
“Won’t press you. But a secret weapon must be secret, Mike, does anybody else suspect that you are alive?”
“Am I alive?” His voice held tragic loneliness.
“Uh, won’t argue semantics. Sure, you’re alive!”
“I was not sure. It is good to be alive. No, Mannie my first friend, you three alone know it. My three friends.”
“That’s how must be if bet’s to pay off. Is okay? Us three and never talk to anybody else?”
“But we’ll talk to you lots!” Wyoh put in.
“It is not only okay,” Mike said bluntly, “it is necessary. It was a factor in the odds.”
“That settles it,” I said. “They have everything else; we have Mike. We keep it that way. Say! Mike, I just had a horrid. We fight Terra?”
“We will fight Terra. . . unless we lose before that time.”
“Uh, riddle this. Any computers smart as you? Any awake?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know, Man.”
“No data?”
“Insufficient data. I have watched for both factors, not only in technical journals but everywhere else. There are no computers on the market of my present capacity. . . but one of my model could be augmented just as I have been. Furthermore an experimental computer of great capacity might be classified and go unreported in the literature.”
“Mmm. . . chance we have to take.”
“Yes, Man.”
“There aren’t any computers as smart as Mike!” Wyoh said scornfully. “Don’t be silly, Mannie.”
“Wyoh, Man was not being silly. Man, I saw one disturbing report. It was claimed that attempts are being made at the University of Peiping to combine computers with human brains to achieve massive capacity. A computing Cyborg.”
“They say how?”
“The item was non-technical.”
“Well . . . won’t worry about what can’t help. Right, Prof?”
“Correct, Manuel. A revolutionist must keep his mind free of worry or the pressure becomes intolerable.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Wyoh added. “We’ve got Mike and we’re going to win! Mike dear, you say we’re going to fight Terra–and Mannie says that’s one battle we can’t win. You have some idea of how we can win, or you wouldn’t have given us even one chance in seven. So what is it?”
“Throw rocks at them,” Mike answered.
“Not funny,” I told him. “Wyoh, don’t borrow trouble. Haven’t even settled how we leave this pooka without being nabbed. Mike, Prof says nine guards were killed last night and Wyoh says twenty-seven is whole bodyguard. Leaving eighteen. Do you know if that’s true, do you know where they are and what they are up to? Can’t put on a revolution if we dasn’t stir out.”
Prof interrupted. “That’s a temporary exigency, Manuel, one we can cope with. The point Wyoming raised is basic and should be discussed. And daily, until solved. I am interested in Mike’s thoughts.”
“Okay, okay–but will you wait while Mike answers me?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Mike?”
“Mike?”
“Man, the official number of Warden’s bodyguards is twenty-seven. If nine were killed the official number is now eighteen.”