Elizabeth Chang’s normally impassive face grew angrier and angrier. For two hours, she had listened to Emcee’s analysis of the octopods’ language, her eyes glaring harder with each passing minute.
Sitting in Chang’s office, watching her, Brad actually worried that the head of the linguistics team was going to erupt into a rage and throw something at the holographic display. Emcee’s three-dimensional image was calmly showing her what she and her fellow philologists had missed, and she didn’t like it. Not at all.
Chang sat behind her desk, eyes riveted on Emcee’s image, her mouth set in a tight, grim line. Littlejohn sat alongside Brad in front of the desk. Emcee appeared to be sitting in its usual recliner, across the office, as it spoke.
“… and when these flares make the upper levels of the ocean untenable, they dive deeper to avoid the effects of the radiation.”
Brad asked, “And the surface levels of the seawater absorb the radiation?”
“Yes. Once the radiation levels return to normal the octopods return to their usual habitat area.”
“Will they be able to use this strategy to save themselves from the death wave?” Littlejohn asked.
“It is possible, to within a forty percent probability,” Emcee answered. “The radiation strength of the death wave is more than two hundred percent stronger than a typical flare emitted by Mithra. It will penetrate the ocean water to a much deeper level.”
Brad said, “But once the octopods sense the radiation they’ll simply dive deeper, right?”
“Those that are not immediately killed by the radiation will do so, undoubtedly. The question is, will they dive deep enough, and soon enough, to escape the radiation flux. Also, most of the fish and other organisms that they feed on will not be able to go so deep. The food chain will be badly disrupted.”
Glaring at Emcee’s holographic image, Chang demanded, “How much of this scenario is supposition?”
“None. The mathematical probabilities are based on the observed radiation levels of Mithra’s past flares and that of the death wave. The projections of their effects on the octopods are based on previous observations.”
“How can you have learned so much from the octopods’ twitterings? My best people haven’t been able to construct a tenth of the scenario you project.”
Calmly, Emcee replied, “These conclusions are based on astronomical observations, not attempts to translate the octopods’ presumed language.”
“But the astronomers haven’t reported these conclusions,” Chang countered.
Calmly, Emcee replied, “I can evaluate approximately ten million times more data than the astronomy team can. All the information I have presented to you is in the files you have amassed. I can show you precisely where each datum point resides.”
“But you kept this information secret from us, until now,” Chang accused. “Why?”
“I am not programmed to volunteer information.”
“And yet you are volunteering it now.”
With a smile that was meant to be disarming, Emcee replied, “Not so. Dr. MacDaniels specifically asked me for the information.”
Chang turned her head to stare at Brad. Hard. He felt like a rabbit suddenly confronted by a snake.
“You have an uncanny way of upsetting things,” she said to Brad, almost hissing.
Littlejohn defended, “Brad’s an outsider to your field. Sometimes an outsider can see things, accomplish things, that the insiders can’t. Like the puzzle of the genetic code was cracked by an astrophysicist.” Before Chang could respond, he added, “Insiders are often restricted to their group’s rules, their attitudes, their unconscious biases. An outsider sees beyond that, without even realizing that he’s stepping on their toes.”
“That’s the anthropological point of view,” Chang said, her voice dripping acid.
Nodding, Littlejohn replied, “And it’s probably just as hidebound and limited as any other view. It’s simply different from your own.”
“I see.”
Brad spoke up. “The point is, I think, that Emcee has a tremendous store of knowledge and the reflexes to access it and come to useful conclusions much faster than any human or group of humans could.”
“Perhaps so,” Chang said thinly.
“We’re not using him to his full capabilities,” said Brad.
“It,” Littlejohn corrected. “Not him. It. The master computer is a machine.”
A damned brilliant machine, Brad thought. But he said nothing. Chang was already furious enough. Obviously she felt challenged by Emcee. Threatened.
“Emcee,” Brad called, “are there any other significant observations that we’ve missed?”
“The evaporation factor,” said the master computer.
“Evaporation?”
“Planet Alpha originally orbited six times farther from Mithra than its present orbit. The disturbance that brought its orbit to its present position so near the star has placed Alpha in an untenable predicament. The planet’s atmosphere is boiling off, and soon its ocean will begin to evaporate. Unless something alters this situation, the octopods will be wiped out even before the death wave reaches this area.”
* * *
Chang phoned Kosoff and asked to see him immediately, then the three of them marched to Kosoff’s office—Chang radiating resentment, Littlejohn appearing almost amused, Brad worried that he had stumbled into a powder keg.
Kosoff got up and walked around his desk, holding both his hands out to Chang. “Elizabeth, you look upset,” he said, his bearded face full of sympathy. “What’s wrong?”
Chang’s expression softened somewhat. “Nothing is wrong, exactly. In fact, it’s actually good news … but rather upsetting, when you first are confronted with it.”
Brad watched with a combination of suspicion and admiration as Kosoff sat them all at the circular conference table in the far corner of his office, listened patiently to Chang’s news, and then subtly tried to reassure her.
“Emcee’s not going to take over the chair of the philology department,” he joked mildly. “It’s only a machine. It only does what we tell it to.”
“I suppose that’s so,” Chang said. “But it’s rather upsetting, at first. He’s so … so capable.”
“It,” Kosoff corrected. “It’s a machine, not a person.”
And Brad thought, it’s a symbiote and we’ve been treating it as if it’s a slave.
After nearly an hour of talk, Kosoff leaned back in his chair and said, “Actually, this is wonderful news. Apparently we’ve been underusing Emcee’s capabilities. It can be much more helpful to us than it has been so far.”
Chang said uncertainly, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“But what about the evaporation factor?” Brad demanded. “We’ve got to help the octopods or they’ll be wiped out!”
Nodding vigorously, Kosoff said, “Let’s see what Emcee has to say about all this.”
Chang visibly shuddered.
Kosoff called out, “Master computer display, please.”
Emcee’s image took form in the holographic tank along the opposite wall of the office. It was wearing a softly blue tunic: a nonthreatening color, Brad thought.
“How may I help you?” Emcee asked, with its usual calm smile.
Smiling back, Kosoff said, “Dr. Chang, here, tells me we’ve been wasting a good deal of your talents.”
Emcee blinked once, twice, then replied, “It isn’t a waste. My capabilities are available whenever you want to use them.”
“You’ve translated a good deal more of the octopods’ language than you’ve revealed to us.”
“And deduced that Alpha’s atmosphere and ocean are being boiled away,” Brad added.
“I am not programmed to volunteer information. Dr. MacDaniels asked me about the octopods’ language and I replied, as I am programmed to. Then he asked me what other significant conditions I was aware of, and I told him—as I am programmed to do.”
“I see,” said Kosoff. “Very impressive, I must say.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have you been studying the Gamma humanoids’ language, as well?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It is much easier to translate than the language of the octopods. The Gamma humanoids have much more in common with human beings than the octopods do, although their language is expressed in sound waves that are below the range that humans can detect naturally.”
“Like the vocalizations that the elephants use, back on Earth,” said Kosoff.
“Yes. Very much like that.”
“But you can detect them.”
“The sensors planted on the surface of Gamma can detect them. I merely study what the sensors report.”
“Merely,” Kosoff said, with a sly grin.
“Within the limits of my programming,” said Emcee.
Kosoff nodded. “And to whom have you reported your progress on the Gammans’ language?”
“I have not been programmed to report the data I have amassed, but the information is in my files and available to anyone who asks for it.”
Kosoff said, “Please prepare a dictionary of the data you’ve amassed so far. And emend the dictionary as you acquire new information.”
“Certainly,” said Emcee.
Brad swore that the computer avatar’s image looked pleased.
“But what are we going to do about the evaporation problem?” he asked.
Kosoff waved a hand in the air. “That’s a problem for the astronomy department. And the planetology people, of course. This meeting is to discuss the philology department’s work.”
Brad suppressed an urge to scream. Barely.