Yes, We Lost Only One, and That Is Not Hurting. We Have Many More
How many?
Mr. Foster, You Wrote the Plan. Did You Forget?
No, I know. Curiosity.
Killed the Cat as You Say
It is my plan.
Which I Bought. I Want the Publicity, as Planned. See That We Get It
Sure.
Mr. Foster? One More Thing
Yes.
I Do Not Have a Sloped Brow nor Is Rice My Primary Means of Propulsion
Just an expression.
Keep It to Yourself
<<<<<<Connection Terminated>>>>>>
Midnight, Wednesday, December 2
Scarsdale, New York
Since he had met Kirk, Scott had developed a mild affection for his long distance modem-pal, and pretended informer. Now, it was time to take advantage of his new asset. Maybe the Government carries weight with their spook shit, but a bank can’t push hard enough to pull a story, if it’s true. And Kirk, whoever that was, offered Scott the ideal way to prove it. Do it yourself.
So he prepared himself for a long night, and he would definitely sleep in tomorrow; no matter what! Scott so cherished his sleep time. He wormed his way through the mess of the downstairs “study in disaster,” and made space by redistributing the mess into other corners.
He felt a commitment, an excitement that was beyond that of de-veloping a great story. Scott was gripped with an intensity that was a result of the apprehension of invading a computer, and the irony of it all. He was an engineer, turned writer, using com-puters as an active journalistic instrument other than for word processing. To Scott, the computer, being the news itself, was being used as a tool to perform self examination as a sentient being, as a separate entity. Techno-psychoanalysis?
Is it narcissistic for man’s tools to use themselves as both images of the mirror of reflective analysis? They say man’s brain can never fully understand itself. Is the same true with comput-ers? And since they grow in power so quickly compared to man’s snail-like millennia by millennia evolution, can they catch up with themselves?
Back to reality, Scott. The Great American Techno-Philosophy and Pulitzer could wait. He had a bank to rob. Scott left his computer on all the time since Kirk had first called. If the Intergalactic Traveler called back, the computer would answer, and Kirk could leave a message. Scott checked the Mail Box in the ProCom communications program. No calls. Not that his modem was a popular number. Only he, his office computer and Kirk knew it. And the phone company, but everyone knows about them...
Just as the clock struck midnight, Kirk jumped in his seat. Not only was the bell chiming an annoying 12 mini-gongs, but his computer was beeping. It took a couple of beeps from the small speaker in his computer for him to realize he was receiving a call. What do I do know? The 14” color screen came alive and it entered terminal mode from the auto-answer screen that Scott had left yesterday.