I stretched out on the bed, folding the pillow under my head to have an unobstructed view of the screen. "Give me the names of the city's two hundred most prominent male citizens," I said.
There was no sign of surprise on the woman face, but I got the usual expressive long pause from central. The request was unusual. Central relays always had trouble with the proper definition of "prominent."
"Any particular category?" the woman image finally asked.
"All categories," I answered.
Another pause. Even a mechanical brain would take a bit of time to assemble that information, but get it I would.
After a while the woman began. "Edward Anderson. Russell Baker. Joseph Dillon. Francis...." As her gently modulated voice went on, I closed my eyes, keeping my mind blank, letting each name pass without resistance through my consciousness. Sometimes a hunch came that way. There was no need to make a written list. I had total recall.
I became aware that I had opened my shirt collar and that I was perspiring. I hadn't noticed how hot the day was or that the room had no air conditioning. I took a minute to concentrate. The perspiration dried and my body adjusted itself to the room's temperature and humidity. When I was comfortable again, I returned my attention to the woman's voice.
At the end of the reading, no name had stayed with me. I opened my eyes. "Eliminate all except those within the age range of twenty to forty," I said. Zealley would be thirty-seven by now—but probably appear younger. "Got that?"
"Yes sir."
"How many left?" I asked.