They'd Rather Be Right

by Mark Clifton

  And time was pressing.

  For a few days, Joe’s announcement that Bossy was dismantled held the Hardy group in a suspension of indecision. But this only allowed other groups to catch up in their own plans for taking control of Bossy. Kennedy’s legal staff bogged down completely with writs, subpoenas, injunctions. A little man would simply have been arrested and pushed around until he consented to do what was required of him. But Kennedy was not a little man.

  In a strange way, the terrifying danger which had faced the country for several decades, acted to protect Kennedy. Gradually the position had changed from government by representative to government by representatives’ hired staffs. And these staffs had been hired on the basis of loyalty to given persons.

  With such a prize at stake, it was an inevitable part of the pattern that there should be more strife between these factions than normal, and that much of their potential effectiveness was lost in counteracting one another’s moves.

  Even so, at times, the attorneys of each faction found time to add another writ to the fast growing pile, demanding Bossy be delivered into their hands in perfect working order upon penalty of—the penalties varied according to the powers the factions had usurped for themselves to carry out their own brands of tensions.

  Kennedy astonished his legal staff by telling them to answer each writ with a compliance promise. As per their demands, Bossy would be delivered into their hands on a given date. He coordinated that date with his production plans.

  It was well known that Kennedy’s word was good. Each faction labeled the compliance as ultra secret. Each faction set about with frantic plans to lay the ground-work for its ascension to the pinnacle of power, to control the country, to control the world.

  Some of the factions, such as the prohibition league still barely alive, had demanded Bossy more as a token gesture than anything else. They were vastly astonished to receive Kennedy’s promise that Bossy would be turned over to them on said given date. They accounted for it through belief that he was in secret sympathy with them. A man does not find it strange that someone else should share his prejudices and tensions, even a fanatic realizes there may be a few others who know right from wrong—his brand of it. These obscure little factions, too, kept their pending triumph secret; and basked in the anticipated power they would have to force everybody to believe and do the right thing—or else.

  In this manner Kennedy bought the preciously needed production time with his promises. Even the private citizen cranks who wrote in demanding Bossy be given to them so that they could take their rightful place in controlling their fellow men were answered with the same promise.

  For when Kennedy said that he intended to give the secret to everybody, he meant precisely that. He would not be content with merely publishing the plans and theories behind Bossy; which still would limit her use to the favored few who had the money and equipment to produce her. No, he intended that the actual machine, itself, be available to anyone who wanted her.

  He realized what this would do to the economy of the world; but the changes which Bossy would bring about were only magnifications of the changes which had occurred when the steering wheel replaced the buggy whip. He greatly suspected that making Bossy available at cost to those who could buy her, and opening up vast clinics for those who could not, would make less dent in his vast financial holdings than the secondary changes which would come about because each man would now hold all the answers he needed to solve his own economic problems—the answers would be limited only by the man’s inability to ask the right questions, or by Bossy’s persistently irritating “Insufficient data.”

  No, the legal department need not worry about the consequences of promising Bossy to each faction who demanded her. Each would receive her.

  The one problem remaining, engineeringwise, was that there would be a great many Bossies indeed, and as fast as it could be managed they would be scattered over all the world. Bossy did not know all the facts of the universe. Bossy knew only what the science of today knows.

  Man has not even scratched the surface of the facts surrounding his own fingernail, as yet. He has not yet even made a dent in the facts about the universe which remain to be discovered. Some of the Bossies would be receiving this new knowledge, others would not. And the total picture of the universe, as it unfolded, as the pieces were put together, must be made available to every man. Otherwise, Bossy would be self-defeating.

  There must be intercommunication between all the Bossies.

  It was not difficult to found the principles on which this would operate. Bossy functioned already by a harmonic vibration needed to be broadcast on the same principle as the radio wave. No new principle was needed. Any cookbook engineer could do it—even those who believe what they read in the textbooks and consider pure assumption to be proved fact.

  It was not difficult to design the sending and receiving apparatus, nor was extra time consumed since this small alteration was being made contiguous with the production set up time of the rest.

  The production of countless copies of the brain floss itself was likewise no real problem, no more difficult than using a key-punched master card to duplicate others by the thousands or millions on the old-fashioned hole punch computer system.

  There was no hitch anywhere along the line. Government interference had ceased, the raw stocks suppliers were long practiced in giving Kennedy Enterprises preferential treatment on any sudden orders, Kennedy’s own organization was long skilled in making quick changes and adaptations in his various functions.

  Complete Bossies began to roll off the production line. They were crated and made ready for shipment long before the promised date. The contingency time for unexpected delays, based upon sound industrial engineering standards, had not been used.

  And every retail outlet of Kennedy’s entire chain began to receive crates of a new piece of household equipment which would go on sale within a short time.

  Steve Flynn received his orders to set up another world-wide television coverage with a shrug of his shoulders. This was old stuff now. He merely had to breathe the word that a new announcement was to be made concerning Bossy and he got instant cooperation.

  But when he was told that after the announcement of Bossy’s availability to everyone had been made, Joe would step in front of the cameras and give an explanation of what Bossy meant, he shook his head, blew a long breath through his lips.

  “Oh, brother!” he muttered. Then to Kennedy, “Look, Mr. Kennedy, will you tell Joe, please, that these aren’t Brains he’s talking to—that these are just people who don’t know nothing from nothing, and don’t particularly want to! Will you tell him he can’t talk about evergreen trees or jigsaw puzzles or anything like that and expect to get across?”

  “I understand he’s going to talk about water,” Kennedy answered with a chuckle.

  “Oh, brother,” Steve groaned. “And half the people will wind up thinking that Bossy is just a hot-water heater or a new kind of bathtub! Well, at least, will you please ask him not to mention…what was it he and Hoskins were talking about the other day…multi-valued physics?”

  He looked as if he were going to break down and weep.

  He was apprehensive all the way through the preliminaries of the broadcast. A production was made of it, for the world had come to a stop and was listening. The world sat stunned at the announcement that everyone would have Bossy.

  No one had ever believed that any except a special privileged few would benefit from her. They did not grasp it all at once. They sat in the stunned immobility of a poverty-stricken man who has been told, without warning, that he is a millionaire. Their minds, like his, could conceive of only the simplest poor uses for it, or wild extravagances.

  They saw Kennedy’s face on the screen as he was introduced. They saw Billings again, who told them he intended to make another try at renewing his youth, that he had learned a great deal since his failure. They met Hoskins who confined his short talk to cybernetic
principles understood only by a few like minds. They met Carney and Mabel again. Even Steve Flynn, usually confining himself to background operation, consented to say a few words about Bossy. He tried to keep his voice and talk out of the pitchman framework of pushing a new kitchen can opener which would also peel potatoes. He almost succeeded.

  He did succeed in restoring a sense of the familiar to his listening and watching audience. They began to breathe again. There was enough of the commercial about his appearance and manner, enough of that frantic urgency—as if a sponsor were standing just out of sight with a long black whip—to make them realize, as had nothing else about the program, that Bossy was available to them at the nearest Kennedy Enterprise store, and at a price which they could probably afford.

  Some of the jaws returned to a rhythmic chewing of gum, some realized their beer glasses needed refilling, the odor of burning food on the stove penetrated some nostrils. Enough normalcy was restored that they were able to perceive Joe as he stepped before the cameras, and their minds picked up at least some of the things he said.

  “There have been many misconceptions about Bossy,” Joe began his talk. He hoped, contrary to Steve’s predictions, that he would get across, for the things he had to say were a summation of what Bossy meant to the world, and to each man.

  “One of the most prevalent misconceptions has been that since Bossy can think faster and more accurately than a man, Man will cease to think, become an indolent slave of the machine and thus fail to reach his destiny.

  “The adding machine can think faster than a clerk with a pencil and paper, but it has not destroyed business. The automobile can go places faster and easier than a man can walk there, but it has not stopped man from wanting to go. These things are simply tools which man uses.

  “Bossy is just a tool. Bossy can answer your questions, but only if you ask them.

  “There is another even wilder misconception. It has been said that Bossy is a soulless machine, and man, being guided by her, will become likewise no more than a soulless monster, losing his sense of faith, yearning, reaching.

  “Bossy is a product of science. There is not now, there never has been any real issue between science and faith. Both strive for the same identical goal; both seek comprehension; both wish to benefit man that he live happier, healthier, more harmoniously with himself and with his neighbors. Man seeks to comprehend, to understand the forces which govern his life. The sometimes apparently different paths taken by science and faith are of no consequence in comparison with man’s yearning to know.

  “Truth frightens man. He plants illusion in the debris of his mind to hide him from the clean white light she brings. His arguments defeat her wisdom. In his preconceptions and prejudices he dictates, in advance, what form she must take, what garments she must wear; and because of this he often does not recognize her when they meet. His illusion drives her from him.

  “And yet he still yearns and seeks for truth.

  “That is the inherent nature of man. That is the inherent nature of intellect, itself. It seeks to know. Bossy will not replace this drive of mankind. Rather, she will supplement it and in its furtherance. Bossy is man’s tool. Like all other tools, Bossy is for man’s use.

  “Yes, she will give you immortality. And therein lies another misconception. If you are sitting on a hillside above a lake of water, and you point your finger at the lake and command it, ‘Come and bathe me,’ it will be unmoved. It will ripple and sparkle in the sunlight, and not heed you.

  “Water obeys certain laws of the universe. To get bathed, you must use at least some of those laws. As yet man has no mastery of forces which will make that water leap out of its bed and come up the hillside to bathe him.

  “But wait a minute. Yes, he does have at least some of the laws governing water under his command. He has pumps and pipes. He can and does command the water to come up the hillside to bathe him, and it obeys him when, and only when, he makes use of the laws which have been determined through the applications of science.

  “Bossy is a product of science. Bossy will obey you when you command her to renew your youth only when you make use of the laws of life which must be applied to the cells of your body to restore your vigorous youth. Bossy is no thing of magic, no super being. Bossy is only a tool. And tools are used successfully only when they conform to the laws which operate in the universe.

  “Bossy is only a tool. She will not plead with you to learn and use the laws of life and matter. She will not threaten you, cajole you, bribe you, promise you either the fires of hell or the delights of heaven. If you are seeking a parent substitute, a return to mother’s arms, Bossy will give you cold comfort. Bossy does not care.

  “Water does not care whether you bathe in it or drown in it. The mountains do not care whether you climb them or go around them. The stars do not care whether man reaches them or not. The universe does not care whether man masters all the relationships of its forces and processes, or dies because he refuses to master them. Life continues as it uses those relationships to further its growth. It ceases when it becomes overcome by still other forces which it cannot master.

  “This is cold comfort for those who would pay any price for security, lethargy, the return to the mothering womb, no, even farther back than that for even the womb is a struggle, to nothingness.

  “But it is bright hope indeed for those who see something more in store for man than indolence and endless repetitions of purposelessness of generation after generation. For it means that there is still a challenge facing man.

  “That challenge is Bossy. She will not command you, or cajole you. She does not care whether you are made immortal or whether you would prefer clinging to your thin and single-valued ideas and prejudices—and die. But there she sits. She is a tool who will heat your homes, or bring you entertainment, or cook your food, or bathe the baby, or walk the dog, or figure your income tax. She will do these things as she is commanded, and not care whether they are big or small. Because Bossy is only a tool.

  “She can also give you a tremendous comprehension in time, the nature of which we do not yet even dream. She can give you immortality. But you must rise to her requirements. You cannot make use of the tool unless you comprehend something of the laws of the universe governing life.

  “There she sits. She is yours. She is not a threat. But she is a challenge. She is perhaps the greatest challenge which mankind has ever been called upon to meet. She is a challenge to your willingness to admit that you might not be right, that you might not already have all the answers. She is a challenge to your willingness to learn rather than to argue.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the world. There she sits. Bossy is yours.”

  CRAZY JOEY

  Mark Clifton

  with Alex Apostolides

  From Astounding Science Fiction

  Joey pulled the covers up over his head, trying to shut out the whispers which filled the room. But even with the pillow over his head, their shrill buzz entered up through the roof of his mouth, tasting acrid and bitter, spinning around in his brain. Fingers in his ears simply made the words emerge from a sensation of cutting little lights into words.

  “It worries me, Madge, more and more, the way that boy carries on. I was hoping he’d outgrow it, but he don’t.”

  His father’s voice was deep and petulant, sounding from the pillow on his side of the bed there in the other room. “Hanging back, all the time. Not playing with the other kids, staying out of school, claiming the teachers don’t like him. It ain’t natural, Madge. I don’t like it.”

  “Now you’re working yourself up again, Bob.” His mother’s patient voice from her side of the bed cut across the deeper tones. “What good is it going to do you?”

  “Did some good when I thrashed him.” His father spoke sharply, and a little louder. Joey could hear the buzz of the voice itself coming through the walls. “Stopped him talking about whispers. I tell you I ain’t gonna have a kid of mine acting crazy. I passed
a bunch of the little brats on the way home tonight. ‘There goes Crazy Joey’s father,’ I heard one of them say. I won’t stand for it. Either Joey learns to stand up and be a real boy, or—”

  “Or what, Bob?” His mother’s voice had both defiance and fear in it.

  “Or…oh, I don’t know what—” His father’s voice trailed off in disgust. “Let’s go to sleep, Madge. I’m tired.”

  Joey felt his mother’s lift of hope. Perhaps she could keep awake a little longer, waiting for his deep breathing to assure her he was asleep, so she could move from her extreme edge of the bed and be more comfortable—without touching him.

  The deep, rasping sensation of his father’s weary hopelessness; desire, but not for her. Drab and uninteresting. He was still young enough, still a man; tied down tight to this drab.

  The lighter, more delicate thought of his mother. She was still young enough, still hungered for romance. The vision of a green slope of hill, starred with white daisies, the wind blowing through her flowing hair, a young man striding on firm brown legs up the hill toward her, his sloping shoulders swinging with his stride. Tied to this coarse hulk beside her, instead.

  The heavier rasp of thought demanded attention. Those girls flouncing down the hallway of the school; looking out of the corners of their eyes at the boys; conscious only of the returning speculative stares; unconscious of the old janitor who was carrying baskets of wastepaper down the hall behind them.

  Joey buried his head deeper into the bed beneath his pillow. The visions were worse than the whispers. He did not fully understand them, but was overwhelmed by them, by a deep sense of shame that he had participated in them.

  He tried to will his mind to leave the visions, and there leaped, with startling clarity, the vision of his father holding him down on the bed, a terrible rage in his face, shouting at him.

  “How come you know how I looked at those two girls in the hall at school? You spying little sneak!” The blows. The horror. The utter confusion.