The District Attorney had five questions, each in a sealed envelope, which also contained an answer certified by an eminent authority in the field.
With a flourish, keeping his profile to the cameras, the D.A. handed the first envelope to Judge Anderson.
"We'll begin with a simple problem in mathematics," he announced to the TV audience.
From the smirk in his voice, Judge Anderson was prepared for the worst. But he read the question with a perverse sense of satisfaction. This Professor was in for a very rough morning. He cleared his throat, read aloud:
"In analyzing the economics of atomic power plant operation, calculate the gross heat input for a power generating plant of 400 x 106 watts electrical output."
Cyber IX hummed into instantaneous activity; its lights flashed in sweeping curves and spirals across the frontal grid.
Professor Neustadt sat perfectly still, eyes closed. Then he scribbled something on a pad of paper.
Two stopwatches clicked about a second apart. The clerk handed the Professor's slip of paper to Judged Anderson. The Judge checked it, turned to the screen. Both answers were identical:
3,920 x 106 BTU/hr.
Time was announced as fourteen seconds for Cyber IX; fifteen and three-tenths seconds for Professor Neustadt. The Cyber had won the first test, but by an astoundingly close margin. The courtroom burst into spontaneous applause for the Professor. Walhfred Anderson was incredulous. What a fantastic performance!