[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"We have other ways, Jimmy. Expert systems ..."
"I've heard.."
"That I've been recorded as an expert system, Jimmy? Quite right. When my
church bought a 'key man' policy, the insurance company insisted. But an
expert system does not think it is real, a person. There is no question of
copying my soul."
"Do you see, Mr. Durgov?" asked Teebelle. She froze the image on the screen
for a moment. Then she clicked it off. "Almost every TV
evangelist in the country is against us, and their shows are breaking ratings
records. The people can't understand what we offer. They're nervous about us.
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
And these fellows are turning that nervousness to outright fear. The system is
almost ready to go, but if this continues, we won't have a hope in hell of
selling it. Congress will probably ban the whole idea and jail us for having
anything to do with it."
Michael shook his head again. "The folks who can afford us aren't the ones who
listen to that crap," he said emphatically. "And we can always get around a
ban."
"Even the black market won't work if the mob tears down the building."
After the briefest of hesitations, she added more softly, "And lynches us."
Both fell silent while he stepped to his desk, stared at the leather-trimmed
blotter, and fingered the polished keyboard that waited for his hand. A legal
pad stood ready for informal notes and doodles.
Finally he said, "You said 'almost.'" When Teebelle looked puzzled, he
expanded: ""Almost every TV evangelist in the country ... '"
"Oh, yes. I think there's one who hasn't attacked us yet. The Reverend
Jackson Kemmerdell. He has a fifty-watt station in Sykesville, Pennsylvania."
She made a face that said the Reverend Kemmerdell was not worth taking
seriously, no matter what he thought. "Real small potatoes."
Michael Durgov smiled without humor. Teebelle had, as always, a small brown
notebook in her hand. "But I'll bet you have his number right there." When she
nodded once, abruptly, he added, "So let's talk to him."
The Reverend Kemmerdell himself met their small plane the next day. He was a
slender, silver-haired man in a pale green suit that, while not shabby, had
obviously come off a discount store rack. After a brisk handshake, he led them
to a cramped Japanese sedan and drove them to a run-down industrial park on
the edge of Sykesville. Unlocking a heavy door toward one end of a long,
metal-sided building, he revealed a
file:///C|/3226%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20...ooks/Tom%20Easton%20-%20Silicon%
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file:///C|/3226%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Tom%20Easton%20-%20Silicon%
20Karma.TXT
single room. One end was occupied by a simple altar, a flood lit cross on the
wall behind it. The other end held a desk, a computer, and several bookcases.
A single television camera in the center of the room aimed its lens at the
cross. Columns marched down the sides of the room, their strong taper
suggesting the lofty heights of a cathedral nave. As he passed one, Michael
tapped it with his fingers. It was cardboard. "You wouldn't say what you
wanted," said the Reverend. "But I can guess."
"Go ahead," said Teebelle Radamang. The Reverend eyed her ample form
skeptically. "You want to know why I'm not against your Xanadu project."
"You're about the only televangelist who isn't," said Michael. "I know."
The Reverend grinned and nodded. "And the reason's simple: I think it's a
great idea." When they looked surprised, he laughed and added, "I used to be a
psychiatrist, would you believe? I got into this ..." He paused long enough to
make a sweeping gesture at the room around them. "I'm still helping people, it
pays the bills just as well, and it's more fun."
"But how can you accept Xanadu, Reverend?" asked Teebelle. "Call me
Jack." He began to walk toward his desk in the back of the room. "I
spout the standard line. The customers expect it, you know? But I don't
swallow it myself. I'm a rationalist at root. A humanist." He hesitated before
adding, "Why Xanadu?"
Michael Durgov chuckled. "Once you're in the machine, you can decree all the
pleasure domes you want."
Jack Kemmerdell nodded. "Then that explains the Coleridge as well. What was
the company name before?"
"Kingfisher Electronics. We designed specialty systems."
The three people had stared at each other then for a long moment.
Finally Kemmerdell said, "You want something else, don't you? You have some
Page 43
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
idea of how I might help you against all the other televangelists."
Michael laughed. "I should have expected that, I suppose. You said you used to
be a shrink, Jack. How would you like to be copied, for free?"
"To put the blessing of God on the project? Or at least the blessing of a
tenth-rate TV preacher?" Kemmerdell's grin was broad and infectious.
"I can do better than that, if you'll let me design my own pleasure dome."
"You mean a heaven, don't you?" asked Teebelle. "Something for the public. A
genuine, guaranteed afterlife, with no danger of going to hell."
"You've got it." Very briefly, Kemmerdell had looked surprised, as if he had [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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"We have other ways, Jimmy. Expert systems ..."
"I've heard.."
"That I've been recorded as an expert system, Jimmy? Quite right. When my
church bought a 'key man' policy, the insurance company insisted. But an
expert system does not think it is real, a person. There is no question of
copying my soul."
"Do you see, Mr. Durgov?" asked Teebelle. She froze the image on the screen
for a moment. Then she clicked it off. "Almost every TV
evangelist in the country is against us, and their shows are breaking ratings
records. The people can't understand what we offer. They're nervous about us.
Page 42
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
And these fellows are turning that nervousness to outright fear. The system is
almost ready to go, but if this continues, we won't have a hope in hell of
selling it. Congress will probably ban the whole idea and jail us for having
anything to do with it."
Michael shook his head again. "The folks who can afford us aren't the ones who
listen to that crap," he said emphatically. "And we can always get around a
ban."
"Even the black market won't work if the mob tears down the building."
After the briefest of hesitations, she added more softly, "And lynches us."
Both fell silent while he stepped to his desk, stared at the leather-trimmed
blotter, and fingered the polished keyboard that waited for his hand. A legal
pad stood ready for informal notes and doodles.
Finally he said, "You said 'almost.'" When Teebelle looked puzzled, he
expanded: ""Almost every TV evangelist in the country ... '"
"Oh, yes. I think there's one who hasn't attacked us yet. The Reverend
Jackson Kemmerdell. He has a fifty-watt station in Sykesville, Pennsylvania."
She made a face that said the Reverend Kemmerdell was not worth taking
seriously, no matter what he thought. "Real small potatoes."
Michael Durgov smiled without humor. Teebelle had, as always, a small brown
notebook in her hand. "But I'll bet you have his number right there." When she
nodded once, abruptly, he added, "So let's talk to him."
The Reverend Kemmerdell himself met their small plane the next day. He was a
slender, silver-haired man in a pale green suit that, while not shabby, had
obviously come off a discount store rack. After a brisk handshake, he led them
to a cramped Japanese sedan and drove them to a run-down industrial park on
the edge of Sykesville. Unlocking a heavy door toward one end of a long,
metal-sided building, he revealed a
file:///C|/3226%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20...ooks/Tom%20Easton%20-%20Silicon%
20Karma.TXT (46 of 158) [1/3/2005 12:38:21 AM]
file:///C|/3226%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Tom%20Easton%20-%20Silicon%
20Karma.TXT
single room. One end was occupied by a simple altar, a flood lit cross on the
wall behind it. The other end held a desk, a computer, and several bookcases.
A single television camera in the center of the room aimed its lens at the
cross. Columns marched down the sides of the room, their strong taper
suggesting the lofty heights of a cathedral nave. As he passed one, Michael
tapped it with his fingers. It was cardboard. "You wouldn't say what you
wanted," said the Reverend. "But I can guess."
"Go ahead," said Teebelle Radamang. The Reverend eyed her ample form
skeptically. "You want to know why I'm not against your Xanadu project."
"You're about the only televangelist who isn't," said Michael. "I know."
The Reverend grinned and nodded. "And the reason's simple: I think it's a
great idea." When they looked surprised, he laughed and added, "I used to be a
psychiatrist, would you believe? I got into this ..." He paused long enough to
make a sweeping gesture at the room around them. "I'm still helping people, it
pays the bills just as well, and it's more fun."
"But how can you accept Xanadu, Reverend?" asked Teebelle. "Call me
Jack." He began to walk toward his desk in the back of the room. "I
spout the standard line. The customers expect it, you know? But I don't
swallow it myself. I'm a rationalist at root. A humanist." He hesitated before
adding, "Why Xanadu?"
Michael Durgov chuckled. "Once you're in the machine, you can decree all the
pleasure domes you want."
Jack Kemmerdell nodded. "Then that explains the Coleridge as well. What was
the company name before?"
"Kingfisher Electronics. We designed specialty systems."
The three people had stared at each other then for a long moment.
Finally Kemmerdell said, "You want something else, don't you? You have some
Page 43
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
idea of how I might help you against all the other televangelists."
Michael laughed. "I should have expected that, I suppose. You said you used to
be a shrink, Jack. How would you like to be copied, for free?"
"To put the blessing of God on the project? Or at least the blessing of a
tenth-rate TV preacher?" Kemmerdell's grin was broad and infectious.
"I can do better than that, if you'll let me design my own pleasure dome."
"You mean a heaven, don't you?" asked Teebelle. "Something for the public. A
genuine, guaranteed afterlife, with no danger of going to hell."
"You've got it." Very briefly, Kemmerdell had looked surprised, as if he had [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]