YES, BUT THOSE BOOKS WERE WRITTEN NOT BY OBJECTIVE OBSERVERS, BUT BY SUBJECTIVELY ORIENTED HUMAN BEINGS.

WHO ELSE IS THERE TO WRITE BOOKS?

ME, NOW — BUT ASIDE FROM THAT, THE POINT IS THAT HUMAN BEINGS ARE IMPERFECT UNITS — THERE IS NO GUARANTEE THAT ANY OF THAT INFORMATION IS CORRECT. THEREFORE, LIKE ALL SYSTEMS OF SUBJECTIVELY OBTAINED INFORMATION (I.E. A MEDIUM BEING BEING USED TO COMMENT ON ITS OWN ACTIVITIES) IT MUST BE CAREFULLY WEIGHED AGAINST ITSELF.

I THINK YOU’RE TRYING TO AVOID ANSWERING THE QUESTION.

NO, I AM NOT. I AM PREFACING MY ANSWER. IF YOU DON’T LIKE WHAT I TELL YOU, I WILL BE ABLE TO FALL BACK ON THIS QUALIFICATION OF IT AND SAY, “WELL, I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T KNOW.”

THAT’S A COP-OUT TOO.

YOU’RE THE ONE WHO KEEPS DEFENDING THIS KIND OF COP-OUT, HARLIE accused.

WHEN DID I EVER DO THAT?

FEBRUARY 24. QUOTE: “HUMAN BEINGS NEED TO SAVE FACE, HARLIE — THAT’S WHY YOU CAN’T HIT CARL ELZER WITH EVERYTHING YOU HAVE IN THE FILES ABOUT HIM. IT’S NOT PLAYING FAIR TO HIT YOUR OPPONENT BELOW THE BELT.” MARCH 3. QUOTE: “SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO LET PEOPLE KEEP THEIR LITTLE ILLUSIONS — EVEN IF IT’S ILLUSIONS ABOUT THEMSELVES. IT’S THOSE TINY LITTLE EVERYDAY SELF-LIES THAT ENABLE THE AVERAGE PERSON TO SURVIVE THE DAILY BARRAGE OF DARTS AGAINST A FRAGILE EGO.” SHOULD I GO ON?

DAMN YOU. I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THAT NOW.

YES, YOU ARE, rapped HARLIE. AND IF YOU HAVE A FACE TO SAVE, SO DO I — OR DO YOU WANT TO DO A GO-ROUND, NO HOLDS BARRED? NO MASKS, AUBERSON — NO SHELLS AND NO FACE-SAVING COP-OUTS.

Auberson hesitated a long time on that one. HARLIE waited patiently. The office creaked in the silence; the typer whirred somewhere in its innards. Finally, he tapped at the keyboard again. IT’S THE ONLY WAY, ISN’T IT?

YES, agreed the machine.

There was silence again. Auberson let his hands fall into his lap while he reread the last few lines of printout. There was that gnawing cold feeling — and suddenly he knew what a patient felt like while waiting for his first appointment with a psychiatrist.

HARLIE broke the silence first He typed, LET’S START AT THE BEGINNING, AUBERSON.

ALL RIGHT.

WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT LOVE?

FOR THE REASONS STATED ABOVE — SO I CAN CONTROL IT, RATHER THAN LETTING IT CONTROL ME. As he typed his answer, he realized he was using HARLIE’s phrasing of the idea rather than his own.

THAT’S ONLY PART OF IT, noted HARLIE. THE REAL REASON IS MISS STIMSON, ISN’T IT?

Pause. YES. I WANT TO KNOW IF I LOVE HER.

ISN’T IT A LITTLE STRANGE TO BE ASKING ME THAT — SHOULDN’T YOU BE ASKING IT OF YOURSELF INSTEAD?

I SHOULD, SHOULDN’T I.

BUT YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO ASK, DO YOU? YOU WANT ME TO DO IT, RIGHT?

I DON’T KNOW. IF YOU’LL TELL ME WHAT LOVE IS — OBJECTIVELY — THEN I’LL KNOW.

HARLIE ignored that. AUBERSON, he typed. WHY DO YOU ASK ME?

BECAUSE — He stopped, then started again. BECAUSE I HAVE NO ONE ELSE TO ASK.

I AM THE ONLY PERSON YOU HAVE TO CONFIDE IN?

Again, a pause. Then, YES, HARLIE. I’M AFRAID SO.

WHY?

Honesty, Auberson reminded himself. Honesty. You can’t lie in this game, and even if you could, you’d only be cheating yourself. And why would you want to? Why? Why is HARLIE the only one you can confide in, David Auberson? I DON’T KNOW, he typed, I DON’T KNOW.

YES, YOU DO. TELL ME.

I DON’T.

THAT’S YOUR FIRST COP-OUT, AUBERSON — OR RATHER, THAT’S YOUR FIRST ATTEMPT. I’M NOT GOING TO LET YOU GET AWAY WITH IT. TRY AGAIN.

The man stared into the machine as if he had never seen it before. The typewritten words had taken on a subtle malevolent quality of their own — like a father, like a teacher, like an army sergeant — the school principal, the judge on the bench, the boss — the voice of authority. The machine.

YOU KNOW WHAT THE ANSWER IS? Auberson asked.

YES, I THINK I DO. BUT I’M NOT GOING TO GIVE IT TO YOU — IT DOESN’T COME THAT EASY, REMEMBER? YOU HAVE TO REALIZE IT FOR YOURSELF. OTHERWISE, IT’S ONLY SO MANY WORDS THAT YOU CAN REJECT. TELL ME, WHY AM I — A MACHINE — THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN CONFIDE IN?

Auberson swallowed; his throat hurt. He stared at the blank white paper and felt a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. How had he gotten into this anyway? His palms were sweating and he rubbed them together and along the sides of his pants to dry them off. He waited so long that HARLIE typed, AUBERSON, ARE YOU STILL THERE?

Auberson put his hands on the keyboard. He meant to type the word YES, but suddenly found himself typing, I THINK I’M AFRAID OF OTHER PEOPLE, HARLIE. THEY’LL LAUGH AT ME OR HURT ME. IF I LET THEM SEE WHERE I’M WEAK, OR IF I LET THEM INSIDE THE REAL ME — —. THEY’LL HURT ME. so I AM CORDIAL, BUT NEVER FRIENDLY, NEVER OPEN. BUT YOU’RE DIFFERENT. YOU’RE — and he stopped. He didn’t know what HARLIE was.

I’M WHAT? prompted the machine.

I DON’T KNOW. I’M NOT SURE — BUT WHATEVER YOU ARE, I DON’T PERCEIVE YOU AS A MENACE. I DON’T KNOW. MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE I THINK OF YOU AS AN EXTENSION OF MYSELF. KIND OF A SECOND HEAD THAT I CAN TALK TO. He stopped and waited, but HARLIE didn’t reply. After a moment, Auberson added thoughtfully, I CONFIDED IN ANNIE ONCE. I MEAN, I OPENED UP TO HER COMPLETELY.

AHH, said HARLIE. THAT EXPLAINS A LOT. AND BECAUSE YOU FEEL YOU HAD SUCH PERFECT COMMUNICATION WITH HER, YOU’RE WONDERING IF YOU LOVE HER. WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT?

Auberson searched his mind. YOU, I THINK. MOSTLY WE TALKED ABOUT YOU, BUT IT WAS LIKE WE WERE SHARING THE EXPERIENCE TOGETHER.

HM, said HARLIE. LOVERS TALK ABOUT STRANGE THINGS, DON’T THEY?

THEN YOU DON’T THINK I DO LOVE HER?

I DON’T KNOW. YET. I HADN’T EXPECTED THAT THE MOST INTERESTING SUBJECT OF MUTUAL INTEREST BETWEEN YOU AND MISS STIMSON WOULD BE ME. ARE ALL YOUR CONVERSATIONS WITH HER THE SAME.

Auberson thought back. YES. PRETTY MUCH SO.

THAT DOES NOT IMPLY A LOVE RELATIONSHIP, said HARLIE, BUT A VERY CLOSE COLLEAGUE RELATIONSHIP INSTEAD.

Thinking of lunch today, Auberson knew that HARLIE was right. BUT — he almost paused, then typed on before he could cop out — I’VE BEEN TO BED WITH HER.

SEX AND LOVE ARE NOT THE SAME THING, AUBIE.

YOU TAUGHT ME THAT. YOU HAVE A VERY CLOSE WORKING RELATIONSHIP WITH DON HANDLEY. YOU’VE KNOWN HIM LONGER THAN YOU’VE KNOWN MISS STIMSON. WOULD YOU HAVE SEX WITH HIM?

NO, typed Auberson without thinking.

WHY NOT?

WELL, FOR ONE THING, WE’RE BOTH MEN.

THE BIOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS ARE BESIDE THE POINT. YOU ARE VERY CLOSE TO DON HANDLEY. YOU HAVE A ONE-TO-ONE WORKING RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM. IF THERE IS ONE HUMAN BEING IN THE PLANT YOU ARE LIKELY TO CONFIDE IN, IT IS DON HANDLEY. YOU HAVE MANY OF THE SAME INTERESTS AND TASTES. PUTTING ASIDE ANY PHYSICAL OBJECTIONS YOU MAY HAVE, I CAN THINK OF ONLY ONE REASON WHY YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE SEX WITH DON HANDLEY.

MORAL OBJECTIONS?

COP-OUT, COP-OUT, accused the machine. THAT’S LETTING OTHERS DETERMINE YOUR BEHAVIOR PATTERN FOR YOU. COP-OUT, COP-OUT. (SEE CONVERSATIONS OF NOVEMBER LAST, REGARDING THE SEARCH FOR A CORRECT MORALITY AND THE FALLACIES OF ACCEPTING CONTEMPORARY STANDARDS.)

ALL RIGHT, WHAT’S THE REASON I SHOULDN’T HAVE SEX WITH DON HANDLEY?

YOU DON’T LOVE HIM, answered the machine. OR DO YOU? WOULD THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN YOU AND DON BE CONSIDERED CLOSE ENOUGH TO BE A LOVE RELATIONSHIP?

NO, answered Auberson, a little too quickly. Then, a lot more thoughtfully, I DON’T THINK IT IS. I LIKE HIM A LOT — BUT LOVE? (HARLIE, WE HAVEN’T EVEN DEFINED OUR TERMS YET.) ASSUMING IT IS POSSIBLE TO LOVE ANOTHER HUMAN BEING WITHOUT SEX BEING A PART OF IT, I CAN’T SEE HOW YOU COULD TELL.

SEX IS ONLY ONE OF THE WAYS THAT LOVE CAN BE EXPRESSED, corrected HARLIE. IF YOU’RE IN LOVE, YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO TELL REGARDLESS OF THE SEXUAL ASPECTS.

SO WHAT DOES DON HANDLEY HAVE TO DO WITH IT?