Counterfeit World by Daniel F. Galouye Read Free Book Online Page A

to the time when the entire complex of opinion sampling, of oral reaction monitoring, will be legislated out of existence as an insufferable public nuisance.”
    Hartson coughed for attention. “Reactions will be sitting pretty with its secret process. There’ll still be need for opinion sampling, on as universal a plane as ever. But,” he shook his head in feigned concern, “I don’t see how that need will be satisfied unless we institute a federal franchise for REIN.”
    “Don’t you see, Doug?” Siskin gripped the desk. “There’ll be Siskin-Hall simulators in every city! Your reaction units will be calling the shots! It’ll mean a whole new world! And then, after all the groundwork is laid, you’ll have an entire corps of simulectronic foundations researching ways to shine up the world and make it fair and just and humane!”
    Perhaps I should have told him he could look for another simulectronicist. But what good would that have done? If, as Fuller had believed, Siskin and the party were plotting treachery on an unprecedented level, what purpose would I serve by removing myself from a strategic position?
    “What do you want me to do?” I asked.
    Siskin grinned. “Go on with your present setup. Get squared away for a few commercial contracts. That’ll give us a chance to test the potential of the system. Meanwhile, you can be thinking of reprogramming the machine completely, converting it to a politically-oriented environment.”
    Dorothy cut in on the intercom. “Mr. Hall, Mr. Whitney is programming in that new batch of reaction units. He wants to know if you can come down there.”
    On the way to the function generating department, I encountered Avery Collingsworth in the corridor.
    “I’ve just given Whitney a final okay on the psychological traits for those forty-seven new ID units,” he said. “Here’s a rundown, in case you’d like to check them over.”
    I refused the clipboard he offered. “That won’t be necessary. I haven’t questioned your judgment thus far.”
    “I could slip up, you know.” He smiled.
    “You won’t.”
    He hesitated and I tried to break away without letting him think I was uneasy over what had happened at the smoke-easy.
    He touched my arm solicitously. “You feeling all right now?”
    “Sure.” I forced a casual laugh. “About last night at Limpy’s—I guess I just had a few too many while waiting for you.”
    He flashed a relieved grin, then continued down the hall.
    Outside Whitney’s department, I pulled up sharply and slumped against the wall. There it was again—seas roaring in my ears, pulse pounding against my temples. But I fought off unconsciousness. Finally the walls steadied and I stood there tense and fearful. Scanning the corridor to see whether anyone had witnessed the seizure, I continued on to the function generating room.
    Chuck Whitney, emerging from a maintenance recess, was elated. “All forty-seven ID units successfully integrated!” he exclaimed.
    “They took it in stride?”
    “Not a single shock withdrawal. Current simulator population: nine thousand one hundred and thirty-six.”
    We took the lift to one of the ID “wards” on the second floor. I walked down the nearest row of reactor storage units. At the beginning of the stretch containing the newly-added entities, I paused, quietly impressed.
    Each console gave confident assurance, through a whisper of whirring memory drums, a clatter of synaptic relays, the rhythms of its servo mechanisms, that the counterfeit life within was vigorous and orderly, that cognitive circuits were being properly stimulated.
    I watched the myriad function-positive lights blinking on two of the panels. Corresponding bulbs seemed to be flicking on and off in perfect harmony. And I could imagine that pair of reaction units in analogous contact. A young man and woman, maybe. Being borne arm-in-arm on a pedistrip. Perhaps even thinking related thoughts as they built their own structure of optional