‘Of course,’ said Rowe.

‘I dare say, in the long run, the distinction will prove to be an economic one, you know. In the same way that it’s cheaper to use a computer for finite intellectual tasks, there may well come a point beyond which the open-endedness of a once-only job would require a computer so complex and so specialised that it would be cheaper to use a human being. Aye, I believe there will always remain certain areas on the fringes of the petrified forest where original thoughts have to be thought, and original juxtapositions of ideas made, and new meanings and possibilities seen. I shouldn’t be surprised if it proved more economical to use men rather than man-like computers to work these areas. As a computer man I naturally regret it. But as a human being I must admit I get a certain sneaking pleasure from believing that there are jobs to be done which are worthy of the human mind. The awe and terror of it, Rowe! The pity and the grandeur! Do you see what I mean?’

‘Yes,’ said Rowe, as they got up from their table in the Tea Room to return to their laboratories. ‘Yes. Yes.’

He felt slightly exhausted, but also exhilarated. What a stupendous countryside of propositions they had marched through! Petrified forests! Infinite ranges of variables! Computers really deeply religious things! Sincerity! Choice! Complexity! Man all right after all! He felt a great sense of comradeship with Macintosh, who had borne him company on this extraordinary journey. An extract from a review hung in lights in the sky above the infinite forests and the petrified ranges, and he felt both generously pleased – and moved that he was generously pleased – to see that for once the celestial reviewer referred not to him but to Macintosh. ‘Macintosh . . .’ it said, ‘. . . a wonderful listener . . . brings out all the dazzling intellectual curiosity in Rowe . . .’

24

24

Sir Prestwick Wining was on the line for Nunn. The fact was well-established.

‘Sir Prestwick Wining for you, Mr. Nunn,’ said Miss Fram in the outer office.

‘Mr. Nunn?’ said Sir Prestwick’s secretary. ‘Sir Prestwick Wining for you, Mr. Nunn.’

‘Nunn?’ demanded Sir Prestwick anxiously. ‘Nunn? Is that you, Nunn?’

‘Good morning, Sir Prestwick,’ said Nunn.

‘Is that Nunn speaking?’

‘Right here, Sir Prestwick.’

‘Ah. Well, look, this is Wining here.’

‘Hallo, Sir Prestwick.’

‘Good morning, Nunn.’

There was a pause, while both men recovered from the strain of negotiations so far and tried to remember which of them it was who was phoning the other, and what about. The silence might have fooled someone who did not know how these matters are negotiated. At any rate, it fooled the switchboard girl at Amalgamated Television, and she pulled the plug out.

Nunn’s telephone rang again in about five minutes’ time.

‘Sir Prestwick Wining for you, Mr. Nunn,’ said Miss Fram.

‘Sir Prestwick Wining for you, Mr. Nunn,’ said Sir Prestwick’s secretary.