"It would be so much simpler if we had a high probability among people in this generation," said Tern thoughtfully. "Arranging a marriage between two strangers is a ticklish business."
"It's been done before," said Jasso. "I'll put a team of agents to work on it right away."
There were millions of cards—if you could call things the size of a bedsheet "cards." Each punched with holes like a swiss cheese, they filled one of the Calculator's most strategic banks. They represented every man, woman and child in the civilized world.
Through them, the course of history could be guided, the advancement of civilization accelerated. By racing through the backgrounds and capabilities of every person in the United Nations, the Calculator could find the best one to do any job, to solve any problem.
Lao Protik, as he strolled into his swank Nuyork apartment building that July evening, was completely unaware that the Calculator had pointed a finger at him. Life flowed smoothly for him. Not a worry darkened the horizon. His annual salary from Consolidated Ads was five hundred thousand dols—a comfortable thirty thousand after taxes—and he maintained three mistresses in separate apartments.
In the lobby, he paused to open his mailbox. Two letters fell out into his hands; he tore the envelopes neatly across the end.
The first was an advertisement for the 2125 model of the Sky Swallow convertible helicar. He crumpled it and tossed it into a potted palm.
He grunted in surprise as he read the second one.
"Vr. Lao Protik," he read. "Our firm has been impressed with your accomplishments and growing reputation as a psycho-artist. We are in a position to offer you employment at a salary of one hundred thousand dols annually. Our representative, Vr. Casto Roche, will call on you in a few days to discuss this offer with you."