Benton's smile was quick. It flashed into being with the speed of thought, then vanished as abruptly.
"There isn't that much," he contended. "I've said before that science fiction was Urei's father, or at least a distant ancestor." He paused. "But I'd still like to hear a few reasons why my logic is wrong."
"I've a million of them," assured Dr. Albie, crossing his lean legs and settling back in the soft chair. "In the first place, Urei is too big. His billion-odd cells, relays and circuits occupy almost a square mile; his height, counting what's under ground, is almost five hundred feet. If he decided to perambulate ... well, it's just absurd. In the second place...."
"Let's finish with the first place," Benton interrupted. "Of course that's absurd. I didn't suggest it. He doesn't have to move; he's got the entire human race to run his errands. I tell you I felt something, a definite compulsion, when I turned that page. Urei is getting ready to take over!"
Benton jumped to his feet and paced rapidly back and forth, oblivious to the fact that Dr. Albie was watching him with a worried frown. That, had he seen it, would probably have snapped him out of his frenzied reverie, for the doctor was a man who was normally as far beyond frowns as he was chary of laughter. His philosophy was such that he eschewed all emotional extremes, stifling them before they could get started.
Albie cleared his throat arrestingly. "I won't insult you by saying bluntly that you may have imagined it," he said. "But I'd like to point out the fact that people are continually subject to impulses which they follow or ignore, depending on the circumstances. Those impulses originate within their own minds, probably the result of associations too obscure to be identified at the time. You worked on those circuit equations far into the night and you didn't get much sleep; isn't it possible that the compulsion you felt originated within yourself, and that in your tired state you misjudged its source?"
Benton stopped, flexed thick biceps, clenched his fists and opened them several times, then propelled his stubby body toward a decanter full of Bourbon.
"It's possible," he conceded, downing a quick drink, "but I don't believe it. I'm not subject to hallucinations, you know, but I'll go along with the possibility. Let's see.... It was four o'clock when it happened, which means I'd been working for seven hours. I worked sixteen hours yesterday and then had three hours sleep. It's eight o'clock now and I don't feel sleepy. Knowing me, do you think I was exhausted to the point of mental instability? If it'll help you come to a decision, I'll do a few cube roots for you."
Dr. Albie rubbed his chin reflectively. "I won't press that point," he said. "But suppose you go over the entire episode and maybe we can arrive at a proper conclusion."
"Hah! 'Proper' if it supports your premise, eh? O.K.—I was feeding current events into Urei's memory cells, using the third vision screen. The other two were being used by two of the men; Joe Ebert was showing Urei some exposures from Mt. Palomar and somebody was feeding him a thesis on electronics. I was giving him the three-star edition of the Bulletin, incidentally. Newspapers being filled with opinion, rather than fact, I had set the control panel on Segregate, so Urei wouldn't use the stuff as true data."