The Next Logical Step

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  _THE NEXT LOGICAL STEP_

  Ordinarily the military least wants to have the others know the final details of their war plans. But, logically, there would be times--

  _BY BEN BOVA_

  "I don't really see where this problem has anything to do with me," theCIA man said. "And, frankly, there are a lot of more important things Icould be doing."

  Ford, the physicist, glanced at General LeRoy. The general had thatquizzical expression on his face, the look that meant he was about to dosomething decisive.

  "Would you like to see the problem first-hand?" the general asked,innocently.

  The CIA man took a quick look at his wristwatch. "O.K., if it doesn'ttake too long. It's late enough already."

  "It won't take very long, will it, Ford?" the general said, getting outof his chair.

  "Not very long," Ford agreed. "Only a lifetime."

  The CIA man grunted as they went to the doorway and left the general'soffice. Going down the dark, deserted hallway, their footsteps echoedhollowly.

  "I can't overemphasize the seriousness of the problem," General LeRoysaid to the CIA man. "Eight ranking members of the General Staff haveeither resigned their commissions or gone straight to the violent wardafter just one session with the computer."

  The CIA man scowled. "Is this area Secure?"

  General LeRoy's face turned red. "This entire building is as Secure asany edifice in the Free World, mister. And it's empty. We're the onlyliving people inside here at this hour. I'm not taking any chances."

  "Just want to be sure."

  "Perhaps if I explain the computer a little more," Ford said, changingthe subject, "you'll know what to expect."

  "Good idea," said the man from CIA.

  "We told you that this is the most modern, most complex and delicatecomputer in the world ... nothing like it has ever been attemptedbefore--anywhere."

  "I know that They don't have anything like it," the CIA man agreed.

  "And you also know, I suppose, that it was built to simulate actual warsituations. We fight wars in this computer ... wars with missiles andbombs and gas. Real wars, complete down to the tiniest detail. Thecomputer tells us what will actually happen to every missile, every city,every man ... who dies, how many planes are lost, how many trucks willfail to start on a cold morning, whether a battle is won or lost ..."

  General LeRoy interrupted. "The computer runs these analyses for bothsides, so we can see what's happening to Them, too."

  The CIA man gestured impatiently. "War games simulations aren't new.You've been doing them for years."

  "Yes, but this machine is different," Ford pointed out. "It not onlygives a much more detailed war game. It's the next logical step in thedevelopment of machine-simulated war games." He hesitated dramatically.

  "Well, what is it?"

  "We've added a variation of the electro-encephalograph ..."

  The CIA man stopped walking. "The electro-what?"

  "Electro-encephalograph. You know, a recording device that reads theelectrical patterns of your brain. Like the electro-cardiograph."

  "Oh."

  "But you see, we've given the EEG a reverse twist. Instead of using amachine that makes a recording of the brain's electrical wave output,we've developed a device that will take the computer's readout tapes,and turn them into electrical patterns that are put _into_ your brain!"

  "I don't get it."

  General LeRoy took over. "You sit at the machine's control console. Ahelmet is placed over your head. You set the machine in operation. You_see_ the results."

  "Yes," Ford went on. "Instead of reading rows of figures from thecomputer's printer ... you actually see the war being fought. Completevisual and auditory hallucinations. You can watch the progress of thebattles, and as you change strategy and tactics you can see the resultsbefore your eyes."

  "The idea, originally, was to make it easier for the General Staff tovisualize strategic situations," General LeRoy said.

  "But every one who's used the machine has either resigned his commissionor gone insane," Ford added.

  The CIA man cocked an eye at LeRoy. "You've used the computer."

  "Correct."

  "And you have neither resigned nor cracked up."

  General LeRoy nodded. "I called you in."

  Before the CIA man could comment, Ford said, "The computer's rightinside this doorway. Let's get this over with while the building isstill empty."

  * * * * *

  They stepped in. The physicist and the general showed the CIA manthrough the room-filling rows of massive consoles.

  "It's all transistorized and subminiaturized, of course," Fordexplained. "That's the only way we could build so much detail into themachine and still have it small enough to fit inside a single building."

  "A single building?"

  "Oh yes; this is only the control section. Most of this building istaken up by the circuits, the memory banks, and the rest of it."

  "Hm-m-m."

  ILLUSTRATED BY SCHELLING]

  They showed him finally to a small desk, studded with control buttonsand dials. The single spotlight above the desk lit it brilliantly, inharsh contrast to the semidarkness of the rest of the room.

  "Since you've never run the computer before," Ford said, "General LeRoywill do the controlling. You just sit and watch what happens."

  The general sat in one of the well-padded chairs and donned a grotesqueheadgear that was connected to the desk by a half-dozen wires. The CIAman took his chair slowly.

  When they put one of the bulky helmets on him, he looked up at them,squinting a little in the bright light. "This ... this isn't goingto ... well, do me any damage, is it?"

  "My goodness, no," Ford said. "You mean mentally? No, of course not.You're not on the General Staff, so it shouldn't ... it won't ... affectyou the way it did the others. Their reaction had nothing to do with thecomputer _per se_ ..."

  "Several civilians have used the computer with no ill effects," GeneralLeRoy said. "Ford has used it many times."

  The CIA man nodded, and they closed the transparent visor over his face.He sat there and watched General LeRoy press a series of buttons, thenturn a dial.

  "Can you hear me?" The general's voice came muffled through the helmet.

  "Yes," he said.

  "All right. Here we go. You're familiar with Situation One-Two-One?That's what we're going to be seeing."

  Situation One-Two-One was a standard war game. The CIA man was wellacquainted with it. He watched the general flip a switch, then sit backand fold his arms over his chest. A row of lights on the desk consolebegan blinking on and off, one, two, three ... down to the end of therow, then back to the beginning again, on and off, on and off ...

  And then, somehow, he could see it!

  He was poised incredibly somewhere in space, and he could see it all ina funny, blurry-double-sighted, dream-like way. He seemed to be seeingseveral pictures and hearing many voices, all at once. It was all mixedup, and yet it made a weird kind of sense.

  For a panicked instant he wanted to rip the helmet off his head. _It'sonly an illusion_, he told himself, forcing calm on his unwillingnerves. _Only an illusion._

  But it seemed strangely real.

  He was watching the Gulf of Mexico. He could see Florida off to hisright, and the arching coast of the southeastern United States. He couldeven make out the Rio Grande River.

  Situation One-Two-One started, he remembered, with the discovery ofmissile-bearing Enemy submarines in the Gulf. Even as he watched t
hewhole area--as though perched on a satellite--he could see, underwaterand close-up, the menacing shadowy figure of a submarine gliding throughthe crystal blue sea.

  He saw, too, a patrol plane as it spotted the submarine and sent anurgent radio warning.

  The underwater picture dissolved in a bewildering burst of bubbles. Amissile had been launched. Within seconds, another burst--this time anuclear depth charge--utterly destroyed the submarine.

  It was confusing. He was everyplace at once. The details wereoverpowering, but the total picture was agonizingly clear.

  Six