The Science Fiction Anthology. Филип Дик

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      They heard static again, faintly now.

      “I can’t get much more,” Rajcik said. “This damned reception.... What could they have been suggesting?”

      “Whatever it was,” said Watkins, “they didn’t think it would work.”

      “What the hell does that matter?” Rajcik asked, annoyed. “It’d give us something to do.”

      They heard the official’s voice, a whisper across space.

      “Can you hear ... Suggest ...”

      At full amplification, the voice faded, then returned. “Can only suggest ... most unlikely ... but try ... calculator ... try ...”

      The voice was gone. And then even the static was gone.

      “That does it,” Rajcik said. “The calculator? Did he mean the Fahrensen Computer in our hold?”

      “I see what he meant,” said Captain Somers. “The Fahrensen is a very advanced job. No one knows the limits of its potential. He suggests we present our problem to it.”

      “That’s ridiculous,” Watkins snorted. “This problem has no solution.”

      “It doesn’t seem to,” Somers agreed. “But the big computers have solved other apparently impossible problems. We can’t lose anything by trying.”

      “No,” said Rajcik, “as long as we don’t pin any hopes on it.”

      “That’s right. We don’t dare hope. Mr. Watkins, I believe this is your department.”

      “Oh, what’s the use?” Watkins asked. “You say don’t hope—but both of you are hoping anyhow! You think the big electronic god is going to save your lives. Well, it’s not!”

      “We have to try,” Somers told him.

      “We don’t! I wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of turning us down!”

      THEY stared at him in vacant astonishment.

      “Now you’re implying that machines think,” said Rajcik.

      “Of course I am,” Watkins said. “Because they do! No, I’m not out of my head. Any engineer will tell you that a complex machine has a personality all its own. Do you know what that personality is like? Cold, withdrawn, uncaring, unfeeling. A machine’s only purpose is to frustrate desire and produce two problems for every one it solves. And do you know why a machine feels this way?”

      “You’re hysterical,” Somers told him.

      “I am not. A machine feels this way because it knows it is an unnatural creation in nature’s domain. Therefore it wishes to reach entropy and cease—a mechanical death wish.”

      “I’ve never heard such gibberish in my life,” Somers said. “Are you going to hook up that computer?”

      “Of course. I’m a human. I keep trying. I just wanted you to understand fully that there is no hope.” He went to the cargo hold.

      After he had gone, Rajcik grinned and shook his head. “We’d better watch him.”

      “He’ll be all right,” Somers said.

      “Maybe, maybe not.” Rajcik pursed his lips thoughtfully. “He’s blaming the situation on a machine personality now, trying to absolve himself of guilt. And it is his fault that we’re in this spot. An engineer is responsible for all equipment.”

      “I don’t believe you can put the blame on him so dogmatically,” Somers replied.

      “Sure I can,” Rajcik said. “I personally don’t care, though. This is as good a way to die as any other and better than most.”

      Captain Somers wiped perspiration from his face. Again the notion came to him that the problem—the real problem—was to find a way out of this hot, smelly, motionless little box.

      Rajcik said, “Death in space is an appealing idea, in certain ways. Imagine an entire spaceship for your tomb! And you have a variety of ways of actually dying. Thirst and starvation I rule out as unimaginative. But there are possibilities in heat, cold, implosion, explosion—”

      “This is pretty morbid,” Somers said.

      “I’M A pretty morbid fellow,” Rajcik said carelessly. “But at least I’m not blaming inanimate objects, the way Watkins is. Or permitting myself the luxury of shock, like you.” He studied Somers’ face. “This is your first real emergency, isn’t it, Captain?”

      “I suppose so,” Somers answered vaguely.

      “And you’re responding to it like a stunned ox,” Rajcik said. “Wake up, Captain! If you can’t live with joy, at least try to extract some pleasure from your dying.”

      “Shut up,” Somers said, with no heat. “Why don’t you read a book or something?”

      “I’ve read all the books on board. I have nothing to distract me except an analysis of your character.”

      Watkins returned to the cabin. “Well, I’ve activated your big electronic god. Would anyone care to make a burned offering in front of it?”

      “Have you given it the problem?”

      “Not yet. I decided to confer with the high priest. What shall I request of the demon, sir?”

      “Give it all the data you can,” Somers said. “Fuel, oxygen, water, food—that sort of thing. Then tell it we want to return to Earth. Alive,” he added.

      “It’ll love that,” Watkins said. “It’ll get such pleasure out of rejecting our problem as unsolvable. Or better yet—insufficient data. In that way, it can hint that a solution is possible, but just outside our reach. It can keep us hoping.”

      Somers and Rajcik followed him to the cargo hold. The computer, activated now, hummed softly. Lights flashed swiftly over its panels, blue and white and red.

      Watkins punched buttons and turned dials for fifteen minutes, then moved back.

      “Watch for the red light on top,” he said. “That means the problem is rejected.”

      “Don’t say it,” Rajcik warned quickly.

      Watkins laughed. “Superstitious little fellow, aren’t you?”

      “But not incompetent,” Rajcik said, smiling.

      “Can’t you two quit it?” Somers demanded, and both men turned startedly to face him.

      “Behold!” Rajcik said. “The sleeper has awakened.”

      “After a fashion,” said Watkins, snickering.

      Somers suddenly felt that if death or rescue did not come quickly, they would kill each other, or drive each other crazy.

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