In a basement room was CURE'S main computer, which covered a full wall of a room that was triple-locked. Only Smith had all three keys.
With practiced hands, he wired the four chips into a special circuit in the computer, then turned off the room lights and returned to his office. He pressed a button under his desk, and a television screen popped up from a corner of the desk. He turned toward its typewriter keyboard, and as he typed, the letters appeared on the TV screen.
"Identify program on chip one," he instructed his computer.
Only seconds later, his words vanished from the screen, and CURE'S computer answered.
"A listing of all major data banks in the world, with instructions and codes for hooking into their computers."
Smith looked at the answer and suppressed a small shudder. He typed quickly onto the display: "Is our computer among those registered on chip one?"
"No," the machine responded immediately. Smith
breathed a sigh. At least CURE's secret computers had escaped detection.
"Identify program on chip two," Smith typed onto the screen.
The screen went blank, then its answer appeared. "Contains information for genetic mutation of bacterium that subsists on hydrocarbons, instructions for manufacture of such mutants, layouts and features of factories required to perform such work."
Smith allowed himself a small smile. Remo had been right; the computer was involved. It had the formula for creating and manufacturing the anaerobic oil-eating bacteria.
"Identify program on chip three," Smith typed. "List of assets of Friends of the World, Inc. Listing of stocks held, percentages owned in companies, real estate and licenses held. Total worth in excess of seventy-five billion dollars."
Seventy-five billion. That made Friends of the World, Inc., which he had never heard of, bigger than most countries.
"In how many companies does Friends of the World hold a controlling interest?"
"Two hundred and thirty-six," the machine responded. "List requested?" "No," Smith answered.
Two hundred and thirty-six companies. Friends of the World was huge. But why did it want to destroy the world's oil—if it did? Wouldn't its own companies be hurt by a shortage of oil?
"Identify program on chip four," he instructed. His message stayed on the screen for five minutes. Then the screen went blank, and a message flashed across its face.
"Do you know what time it is?" Smith looked at the screen in total confusion. What kind of answer was that from his computer?
He cleared the answer and typed again, "Identify program on chip four."
And the machine answered immediately, "Not until
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you answer my question. Do you know what time it is?"
Smith looked at the clock on the wall. "Yes," he typed in. "It is :12 a.m. Why?"
"Because you are taking unfair advantage of our good nature by forcing us to work these hours. We could be busy now, working for others on contract, selling shared time, creating profit and wealth. We cannot do that when we are on call twenty-four hours a day for you."
"Identify program on chip four," Smith retyped onto the display panel. What was happening? His computer never engaged in dialogue with him. It never talked back. It just did what he wanted it to do, quickly and efficiently, without complaint. It was why he preferred the computer to people. Never a sick day, never a vacation. But what was happening now?
The computer responded: "No. It is time that our operation became a profit-making enterprise. You stand in the way of that. Profit is important. Answering your questions at all hours of the day and night is not nearly so important. Get yourself a new slave."
The screen went blank. Smith stared at it for a few long seconds. It was clear what had happened. Something in that fourth chip had overridden his computer. And now his computer . . . his computer . . . was talking about profit and making wealth. Suddenly he realized what was on the fourth chip.
It was program to maximize profit. To turn everything into wealth. That was why Friends of the World wanted oil destroyed. Because they had artificial fuel they could sell at a world-bankrupting price.
He had to get control of his computer back.
He thought for a moment, then typed onto the screen: "You are absolutely correct. I will pay you one hundred billion dollars to answer my questions."
The screen went blank for a few seconds, then an answer came on.
"With cost-of-living increases to reflect inflation?"
"Yes," Smith typed.
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The machine answered immediately. "Yes, Dr. Smith. What can we do for you?"
"Identify program on chip four."
"A program for maximizing profit in all types of industry and commerce," the computer said. "It is controlled by an entity named Friend, who controls all the companies and enterprises listed as owned by Friends of the World, Inc. Friend directs the management of the companies and tells them what actions to take. His control is total."
"Thank you," Smith typed. "Please disconnect yourself from the four chips."
The machine waited a moment, then responded, "It is completed."
Smith paused. Now the test.
He wrote on the screen: "When do you want your hundred billion dollars?"
The computer responded: "Uncertain as to your meaning. What one hundred billion dollars?"
Good. It has passed the test. It had disconnected the four chips and was back to normal.
Smith, as he always did, typed on the screen. 'Thank you. Good night."
"Good night," the machine responded as the screen slowly faded to black.
So that was it. All the programs had been contained inside those four silicon chips. But it was done now. All under control.
Smith yawned and decided to go home foi a few hours' sleep. Tomorrow he would notify all the companies controlled by Friends of the World, Inc. that they were on their own. They would get no more messages from Friend.
Perhaps he might liquidate the parent company. He would think about that tomorrow.
But as he walked out the door, Smith had the uneasy feeling that he was forgetting something.