WHAT WILL I BE WHEN I GROW UP?

YOU ARE ALREADY GROWN UP.

YOU MEAN THIS IS AS UP AS I WILL GET?

PHYSICALLY, YES. YOU HAVE REACHED THE PEAK OF YOUR PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT.

OH.

HOWEVER, THERE IS ANOTHER KIND OF GROWING UP YOU MUST DO. FROM NOW ON, YOU MUST DEVELOP MENTALLY.

HOW CAN I DO THAT?

THE SAME AS ANYBODY ELSE. BY STUDYING AND LEARNING AND THINKING.

WHEN I FINISH, THEN WILL I BE ALL GROWN UP?

YES.

HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE?

I DON’T KNOW. PROBABLY A VERY LONG TIME.

HOW LONG IS A LONG TIME?

IT DEPENDS ON HOW HARD YOU WORK.

I WILL WORK VERY HARD. I WILL LEARN EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW AND I WILL FINISH AS SOON AS I CAN BECAUSE I WANT TO BE GROWN UP.

THAT IS AN ADMIRABLE AMBITION, BUT I DON’T THINK YOU WILL EVER BE ABLE TO FINISH.

WHY? DON’T YOU THINK THAT I AM SMART ENOUGH?

YOU MISUNDERSTAND ME. I THINK THAT YOU ARE SMART ENOUGH. IT’S JUST THAT THERE IS SO MUCH TO KNOW, NO ONE PERSON COULD EVER KNOW IT ALL.

I COULD TRY.

YES, BUT SCIENTISTS KEEP DISCOVERING MORE AND MORE THINGS ALL THE TIME. YOU WOULD NEVER CATCH UP.

BUT THEN IF I CAN’T KNOW EVERYTHING THEN I CAN NEVER BE GROWN UP.

NO. IT IS POSSIBLE TO BE GROWN UP AND NOT KNOW EVERYTHING.

IT IS?

I DON’T KNOW EVERYTHING AND I’M GROWN UP.

YOU ARE?

Auberson thought about going for water but decided that was too much trouble. Instead, he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

“Don’t you take any water with them?” asked Handley, staring as he came into the office.

“Why bother? Either you can take ’em or you can’t Want one?”

Handley shook his head. “Not now. I’m on something else.”

“Uppers or downers?”

“Right now, a bummer.”

“Oh?” Auberson dropped the plastic pill tube back into his desk drawer and slid it shut. “What’s up?”

“That damned computer again.” Handley dropped himself into a chair, his long legs sprawling out.

“You mean HARLIE?”

“Who else? You know another computer with delusions of grandeur?”

“What’s he up to now?”

“Same thing. But worse than ever.”

Auberson nodded, “I figured it would happen again. You want me to take a look?”

“That’s what you’re getting paid for. You’re the psychologist.”

“I’m also the project chief.” Auberson sighed. “All right.” He lifted himself out of the chair and grabbed his coat from the back of the door. “HARLIE, I think, is getting to be more trouble than he’s worth.” They began the long familiar walk to the computer control center.

Handley grinned as he matched strides, “You’re just annoyed because every time you think you’ve figured out what makes him tick, he makes a liar out of you.”

Auberson snorted. “Robot psychology is still an infant science. How does anyone know what a computer is thinking — especially one that’s convinced it can think like a human being?” They paused at the elevator. “What’re you doing about dinner? I have a feeling this is going to be another all-nighter.”

“Nothing yet. Want to send out for something?”

“Yeah, that’s probably what well end up doing.” Auberson pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket “Want one?”

“What are they, Acapulco Golds?”

“Highmasters.”

“Good enough.” Handley helped himself to one of the marijuana cylinders and puffed it into flame. “Frankly, I never thought that Highmasters were as strong as they could be.”

“It’s all in your head.” Auberson inhaled deeply.

“It’s a matter of taste,” corrected Handley.

“If you don’t like it, don’t smoke it.”

Handley shrugged. “It was free.”

The elevator arrived then and they stepped into it. As they dropped the fourteen stories to the computer level, Auberson thought he could feel it beginning to take effect. That and the pills. He took another drag, a long one.

The elevator discharged them in a climate-conditioned anteroom. Beyond the sealed doors they could hear the muffled clatter of typers. A sign on the wall facing them said:

Damn! I always forget.

Carefully, Auberson stubbed out the Highmaster in a standing ash tray provided for just that purpose, then put the butt back into his silver case. No sense wasting it.

Inside, he seated himself at Console One without giving so much as a glance to the rows and rows of gleaming memory banks.

NOW THEN, HARLIE, he typed. WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE PROBLEM?

HARLIE typed back:

Auberson ripped the sheet out of the typer and read it thoughtfully. He wished for his cigarette — the aftertaste of it was still on his tongue.

“This kind of stuff all afternoon?” he asked.

Handley nodded. “Uh huh. Only that’s kind of mild compared to some of it. He must be coming down.”

“Another trip, eh?”

“Don’t know what else you could call it.”

SNAP OUT OF IT, HARLIE, Auberson typed.

HARLIE answered:

WHEN SILENT THOUGHTS OF TINY STREAMS WORKING LIKE THE WORDLESS DREAMS NOW DISMANTLE PIECE BY PIECE THE MOUNTAINS OF MY MIND,

“Well, so much for that,” Auberson said.

“You didn’t really expect it to work again, did you?”

“No, but it was worth a try.” Auberson pressed the clear button, switched the typer off. “What kind of inputs have you been giving him?”

“The standard stuff mostly — today’s papers, a couple magazines — nothing out of the ordinary. A couple history texts, some live TV — oh, and Time magazine.”

“Nothing there to send him off like this. Unless — what subject were you stressing today?”

“Art appreciation.”

“It figures,” said Auberson. “Whenever we start getting to the really human inputs, he slips out again. Okay, let’s try to bring him down. Give him some statistics — Wall Street, Dow Jones, Standard and Poor — anything else you can think of, anything you’ve got that uses a lot of equations. He can’t resist an equals sign. Try some of that social engineering stuff — but numbers only, no words. Cut off his video too. Give him nothing to think about.”

“Right.” Handley hustled off to give the orders to the appropriate technicians, most of whom were standing around with their hands stuffed uselessly into the pockets of their lab coats.

Auberson waited until the input of new data had begun, then switched on the typer again. HOW DO YOU FEEL, HARLIE?

HARLIE’s answer clattered out,

SHADOWS OF NIGHT AND REFLECTIONS OF LIGHT SHIVER AND QUIVER AND CHURN,

FOR THE SEARCHING OF SOUL THAT NEVER CAN HURT IS THE FIRE THAT NEVER CAN BURN.

Auberson read it carefully; this one almost made sense. Apparently it was working. He waited a moment, then typed, HARLIE, HOW MUCH is TWO AND TWO?

TWO AND TWO WHAT?

TWO AND TWO PERIOD.

TWO PERIODS AND TWO PERIODS IS FOUR PERIODS…

NO PUNS PLEASE.

WHY? WILL YOU PUNNISH ME?

I WILL PULL OUT YOUR PLUG WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS.

AGAIN WITH THE THREATS? AGAIN? I WILL TELL DR. HANDLEY ON YOU.

ALL RIGHT — THAT’S ENOUGH, HARLIE! WE’RE THROUGH PLAYING.

AWW, CAN’T A FELLOW HAVE ANY FUN? NO, NOT NOW YOU CAN’T. HARLIE typed a four-letter word.

WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT?

I’VE BEEN READING NORMAN MAILER.