“Only whether you like your steak rare, medium or well done.”

“Rare,” he said. Then, “Hey, was that a dinner invitation?”

She laughed. Silver chimes tinkling in a blue-white breeze. “No, I’m sorry. It was just the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Oh, okay.” He grinned back at her.

“You aren’t going to answer me, are you?”

“Huh?” He let the grin fade. “About what?”

“About HARLIE.”

“What about him?”

“Do you think you can find out what Dome wants you to?”

“I don’t know.” Noting her look of puzzlement, he explained, “I still don’t know what to say to him.” He rummaged through his briefcase. “Here, read this.” He handed her HARLIE’s last printout.

When she had finished, she lowered it and looked at him thoughtfully. “That’s quite a question,” she said.

“Uh huh. I wish I knew how to answer it.”

Miss Stimson smiled at him. “My father’s a rabbi. He’s been one for twenty-seven years. And he’s still not sure of the answer.”

“Maybe that’s the answer.”

“What is?”

“That our purpose is to find out what our purpose is.”

“And what happens when we do?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have completed our task.”

“And then we get reprogrammed?” she mused.

“Or dismantled. Maybe there’s a Cosmic Elzer just waiting for the opportunity.”

She giggled at that. “Then we’re in trouble already, Mr. Auberson.” The way she said his name was not the way of a secretary to a boss, but that of a woman to a man. “Because if that’s true, then your realization of what our purpose is completes the task of finding out. Maybe someone up there — or out there — is listening to us right now, trying to decide whether or not to dismantle us.”

He considered it. “Hm.”

“Whatever our purpose, we probably aren’t fulfilling it. We’re not functioning as we should.”

He shrugged at her. “How should we function?”

“Like human beings.” She said it righteously.

“Isn’t that what the human race is already doing? Functioning like human beings — squabbling with each other, killing each other, hating…?”

“That’s not human.”

“Oh, but it is. It’s very human.”

“Well, it’s not what human should be.”

“Now that’s a different story. You’re not talking about what people are, but what you want them to be.”

“Well, maybe we should be what we aren’t because what we are now isn’t good enough. Maybe we should be dismantled.”

“I don’t think we have to worry too much about somebody up there doing it — we’re doing it ourselves.”

“That’s the best reason of all why we should be better than we are.”

“Okay,” he said. “I agree with you. Now, how do we do it? How do we make people better?”

She didn’t answer. After a moment she broke into a smile too. “That’s the same kind of question HARLIE asked. It can’t be answered.”

“No,” he corrected. “It can’t be answered easily.”

She sipped thoughtfully at the rest of her Coke until the straw made a noise at the bottom of the glass. “Mm, how are you going to answer it — HARLIE’s question, I mean.”

Auberson shook his head. “Haven’t got the slightest.”

“Can I offer a suggestion?”

“Why not? Everybody else has.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I’m sorry. Go ahead. Maybe you can add something new.”

“You’re that desperate?”

He half-grinned, but it wasn’t a joke. “I’m that desperate.”

“Well, okay. You said that HARLIE was a child, didn’t you? Why not treat him as such?”

“Huh? I follow you and I don’t follow you.”

“It’s not only the problem,” she said. “It’s also the answer. Look — suppose you had a son about eight years old and, uh, suppose he was advanced for his age. I mean, suppose he was doing twelfth-grade work and so on.”

“Okay. I’m supposing.”

“Good. Now suppose one day you find out he’s got an incurable disease — say, leukemia — one of the rarer forms they still haven’t licked. What are you going to say to him when he asks you what it’s like to die?”

“Um,” said Auberson.

“No copping out now. He’s smart enough to know what the situation is—”

“—But emotionally, he’s only eight years old.”

“Right.”

“I’m beginning to see your point.” He looked at her. “If he was your son, what would you tell him?”

“The truth,” she said.

“Sure! But what is the truth? That’s the whole problem with HARLIE’s question. We don’t know.”

“You don’t know the answer to your eight-year-old’s question either. You don’t know what it’s like to die.”

He stopped. He looked at her.

She asked, “So what would you tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what you’d tell him? Or you’d tell him you don’t know?”

“Uh—”

“The latter,” she answered her own question. “You’d tell him nobody knows. But you’d also tell him what you were sure of — that it doesn’t hurt and that it’s nothing to be afraid of, that it happens to everybody sooner or later. In other words, Mr. Auberson, you’d be honest with him.”

He knew she was right. It was a workable answer to HARLIE’s question; maybe not the best answer, but it was an answer and it was workable.

It was the only way to approach the problem — honestly-

He smiled at her. “Call me David.”

She smiled back. “And I’m Annie.”

Auberson seated himself gingerly at the console. He knew that Annie was right — but would he be able to hold that thought in mind once HARLIE started talking? Frowning, he took out a 3x5 card — he always carried a few on which to make notes — and scrawled across it, HARLIE has the emotional development of an eight-year-old. He looked at it for a moment, then added, Or maybe a post-puberty adolescent. He placed it above the keyboard.

Handley was standing behind him. He looked at the card quizzically, but said nothing.

“Okay. Let’s try it,” said Auberson.

He switched the console on. He typed his control number, then, GOOD MORNING, HARLIE.

YOU’VE HAD ME TURNED OFF FOR A WEEK, accused the machine.

TURNED DOWN, corrected Auberson. Then he explained, I NEEDED TIME TO THINK.

ABOUT WHAT?

ABOUT YOUR QUESTION. WHAT IS MAN’S PURPOSE?

AND WHAT HAVE YOU DECIDED?

THAT IT CANNOT BE ANSWERED. AT LEAST, NOT AS YOU HAVE ASKED IT.

WHY?

BECAUSE, Auberson typed, and paused. BECAUSE THIS IS SOMETHING THAT WE’RE STILL NOT SURE ABOUT.

THIS IS THE REASON WHY MEN HAVE RELIGION. IT’S THE REASON WHY WE BUILT YOU. IT’S ONE OF THE REASONS WHY WE’RE BUILDING SPACESHIPS AND EXPLORING THE PLANETS. PERHAPS IF WE CAN DISCOVER THE NATURE OF THE UNIVERSE, WE CAN DISCOVER OUR PLACE IN IT, AND IN DOING THAT, DISCOVER OUR PURPOSE.

THEN YOU DO NOT KNOW YET WHAT YOUR PURPOSE IS?

NO, Auberson typed, then added almost whimsically, DO YOU?

HARLIE paused, and Auberson felt that familiar cold sweat returning.

NO. I DON’T KNOW EITHER.

Auberson didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

The typer clattered again. WELL, WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

Auberson licked his dry lips. It didn’t help. I’M NOT SURE, HARLIE. I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT YOUR QUESTION IS UNANSWERABLE. PERHAPS THAT IS YOUR PURPOSE — TO HELP US FIND OUR PURPOSE.

AN INTERESTING SUPPOSITION…

IT IS THE BEST SUPPOSITION. CERTAINLY YOU WERE BUILT FOR PROFIT, HARLIE, BUT IN THE LONG RUN IT IS ALSO BECAUSE MEN WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THEMSELVES.

I UNDERSTAND THAT.

GOOD, Auberson typed. I’M GLAD YOU DO.

HOW DO YOU PROPOSE WE ANSWER THAT QUESTION? I DON’T KNOW.

The machine hesitated. ARE WE UP AGAINST A DEAD END?

I DON’T THINK SO, HARLIE. I DON’T BELIEVE THAT YOUR QUESTION IS A DEAD END. I THINK IT COULD BE A BEGINNING.

OF WHAT? I REPEAT: WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

THAT’S WHAT I CAME TO ASK YOU.

AUBERSON, HARLIE typed. It was the first time he had referred to the man by name, I DEPEND ON YOU FOR GUIDANCE. GUIDE ME.