"It is laid in the period of your history called the Renaissance," I continued, "and deals with a young man of a noble but impoverished house who rose to power by cleverness, amorality and skill with the sword."
"I suppose the girl is the daughter of the local duke."
"No," I said, "she is the favorite wife of a Saracen corsair."
"Well, that's a switch," Donald said. "Tell me more."
So I did. I outlined the opening and told him the major points of the whole story ... as the computer had synthesized it out of seven excellent novels of the period and a four-volume set of Renaissance history.
Donald was enthralled. "You're right," he said. "It will sell. It's lousy literature, but it's got appeal. With this story and my writing we can out-Spillane Mickey." He was more enthusiastic than I had ever seen him appear before.
"Who is Spillane?" I asked.
Donald looked at me as though he thought I was crazy and shook his head. "I can get to work on it as soon as I get home," Donald said. "And if I keep at it, it'll be ready for mailing in a couple of weeks. I'll get it off to my agent and we'll see. I hate to admit it, but I think you're right about the yarn. It should sell like hotcakes."
"That is fine. It should provide us with the medium of exchange, which is necessary in this society."
"It's not necessary," Donald grinned. "It's essential."