Part 12 (2/2)
”What about it?”
”Look here,” Kerry flipped the pages and indicated a pa.s.sage. ”Does this mean anything to you?”
Fitzgerald read it. ”Yeah. The point seems to be that individualism is necessary for the production of literature. Right?”
Kerry looked at him. ”I don't know.”
”My mind goes funny.”
Fitzgerald rumpled his gray hair, narrowing his eyes and watching the other man intently. ”Come again. I don't quite-”
With angry patience, Kerry said, ”This morning I went into the library and looked at this reference. I read it all right. But it didn't mean anything to me. Just words. Know how it is when you're f.a.gged out and have been reading a lot? You'll run into a sentence with a lot of subjunctive clauses, and it doesn't percolate. Well, it was like that.”
”Read it now,” Fitzgerald said quietly, thrusting the book across the table.
Kerry obeyed, looking up with a wry smile. ”No good.”
”Read it aloud. I'll go over it with you, step by step.”
But that didn't help. Kerry seemed utterly unable to a.s.similate the sense of the pa.s.sage.
”Semantic block, maybe,” Fitzgerald said, scratching his ear. ”Is this the first time it's happened?”
”Yes . . . no. I don't know.”
”Got any cla.s.ses this afternoon? Good. Let's run over to your place.”
Kerry thrust away his plate. ”All right. I'm not hungry. Whenever you're ready-”
Half an hour later they were looking at the radio. It seemed quite harmless. Fitzgerald wasted some time trying to pry the panel off, but finally gave it up as a bad job. He found pencil and paper, seated himself opposite Kerry, and began to ask questions.
At one point he paused. ”You didn't mention that before.”
”Forgot it, I guess.”
Fitzgerald tapped his teeth with the pencil. ”Hm-m-m. The first time the radio acted up-”
”It hit me in the eye with a blue light-”
”Not that. I mean-what it said.”
Kerry blinked. ”What it said?” He hesitated. ”'Psychology pattern checked and noted,' or something like that. I thought I'd tuned in on some station and got part of a quiz program or something. You mean-”
”Were the words easy to understand? Good English?”
”No, now that I remember it,” Kerry scowled. ”They were slurred quite a lot. Vowels stressed.”
”Uh-huh. Well, let's get on.” They tried a word-a.s.sociation test.
Finally Fitzgerald leaned back, frowning. ”I want to check this stuff with the last tests I gave you a few months ago. It looks funny to me-d.a.m.ned funny. I'd feel a lot better if I knew exactly what memory was. We've done considerable work on mnemonics-artificial memory. Still, it may not be that at all.”
”Eh?”
”That-machine. Either it's got an artificial memory, has been highly trained, or else it's adjusted to a different milieu and culture. It has affected you-quite a lot.”
Kerry licked dry lips. ”How?”
”Implanted blocks in your mind. I haven't correlated them yet. When I do, we may be able to figure out some sort of answer. No, that thing isn't a robot. It's a lot more than that.”
Kerry took out a cigarette; the console walked across the room and lit it for him. The two men watched with a faint shrinking horror.
”You'd better stay with me tonight,” Fitzgerald suggested.
”No,” Kerry said. He s.h.i.+vered.
The next day Fitzgerald looked for Kerry at lunch, but the younger man did not appear. He telephoned the house, and Martha answered the call.
”h.e.l.lo! When did you get back?”
”h.e.l.lo, Fitz. About an hour ago. My sister went ahead and had her baby without me-so I came back.” She stopped, and Fitzgerald was alarmed at her tone.
”Where's Kerry?”
”He's here. Can you come over, Fitz? I'm worried.”
”What's the matter with him?”
”I . . . I don't know. Come right away.”
”O. K.,” Fitzgerald said, and hung up, biting his lips. He was worried. When, a short while later, he rang the Westerfield bell, he discovered that his nerves were badly out of control. But sight of Martha rea.s.sured him.
He followed her into the living room. Fitzgerald's glance went at once to the console, which was unchanged; and then to Kerry, seated motionless by a window. Keny's face had a blank, dazed look. His pupils were dilated, and he seemed to recognize Fitzgerald only slowly.
”h.e.l.lo, Fitz,” he said.
”How do you feel?”
Martha broke in. ”Fitz, what's wrong? Is he sick? Shall I call the doctor?”
Fitzgerald sat down. ”Have you noticed anything funny about that radio?”
”No. Why?”
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