Of Man And Manta - Ox Part 42

They emerged in single file from the indoctrination suite: twenty-four agents of the TE series. Eighteen were male, six female.

The inspection party consisted of ranking execs from industry: Steel, Atomics, Transport, Fuel, and Construction. They were all portly, wealthy, powerful, conservatives who were not to be trifled with -- no, not for an instant. The ire of any one of them could cost the Sec his position within the hour, and so he was unusually accommodating. In fact, he was obsequious.

"The agent program is the finest investigative and first-line remedial service ever conceived or implemented," the Sec said to the visitors. "The computer itself processes them, giving them a common store of information, guiding their att.i.tudes: We call it 'set.' The individual agents are like extensions of the machine, each reacting to any situation exactly as programmed to react. That way the computer needs to make no allowance for human variability, subjectivity, distortion. All that has been pre-compensated in the program; one agent's report is exactly like another's."

Transport shook his head in seeming perplexity: a deceptive gesture, as none of the execs were stupid. "Surely this is not feasible; every mission any agent goes out on represents new and different experience. He would soon differ from his companions by that degree. We are what we experience."

The Sec smiled ingratiatingly. "Of course, sir. The computer has taken this into consideration. Therefore, every agent is reprocessed after each mission. His individual memories are erased, and he is restored to the programmed set for his series. These TE's are an example; they have just been -- "

Fuel shook his head. "Memory can't be erased. It is a chemical process spread throughout the brain. You'd have to destroy the whole -- "

The Sec coughed. "Well, I am not conversant with the technical details. Perhaps it is merely repression. But it is a repression that it would take brain surgery to abate. I a.s.sure you, no agent is put in the field unless his set is correct. The computer -- "

"Brain surgery?" Fuel inquired. "I'll bet a severe shock could scramble -- "

"I'd like to question one of those retreads," Transport said. "Or would that distort that delicate 'set'?"

"Of course not," the Sec said, ruffled. "You are welcome to interview this batch." He touched a stud. "Send a premission TE to the exec tour observatory," he said. The first agent in the line detached himself and came to the observatory. He was a handsome man, exactly like his companions except for the details of hue and feature: eyes, hair, nose, mouth, ears. Each varied just enough to provide that superficial individuality the public notion required while making it plain that he was a nearly identical twin to the other members of his series. Even his blood type matched, and his fingerprints -- with that same minute variation. He was powerfully built and extremely well coordinated: a superman in many respects. "I am Teban," he said with a slight inclination of the head.

The Sec nodded in return, not bothering to introduce himself. "Each agent has a three-letter designation. The first two indicate the particular series; the third identifies the individual. The remaining letters are merely cosmetic, to offer a humanizing aspect. Thus, this is Series TE, individual B: TEBan. We employ the eighteen most adaptable consonants for the individual names, B, D, F, H -- "

"You missed C," Construction protested wryly.

"C is not one of the preferred letters," Teban interposed smoothly. "It may be rendered soft as in 'cent' or hard as in 'c.o.c.k.' Therefore it is not -- "

"What?" the exec interrupted, reddening.

"Soft cent, hard c.o.c.k," the agent repeated. "I am certain you heard me the first time."

The Sec stepped in hastily. "A 'cent' is an archaic unit of currency. A 'c.o.c.k' is a male fowl, a rooster. Our agents are well versed in -- "

"Any intelligent person is," Teban said.

"I believe we should question another individual," Steel said.

"Yes, of course," the Sec agreed. He gestured to Teban, who turned smartly and departed. In a moment he was replaced by another agent, so like him it was disconcerting.

"I am Teddy."

"Series TE, individual D, suffix DY," the Sec explained.

The agent turned to him, raising one eyebrow. "These people are well familiar with the pattern," he said. "In fact, they consider you to be a somewhat inept official due for replacement and would prefer to interview me directly."

"Right on the mark," Steel muttered.

"Ah, er, yes," the Sec agreed wanly. "Our agents are trained to interpret the nuances of human involuntary body language."

Steel ignored him. He turned to Teddy. "We are told you are preformed, like an ingot, to rigid tolerance. High-grade, invariable. That you have no prior memories of your own personal experience. Is this true?"

"No."

Fuel smiled. "Aha!"

"We already have proof it isn't true," Construction said. "This one reacted differently from the first. So they aren't all alike."

"We're alike," Teban said. "In the interval between interviews, you changed. So I responded differently."

"But you said you had no prior personal memories," Steel said. "I mean, that you do."

"All of us have the same personal memories."

Steel nodded. "What do you remember?"

An obscure expression crossed Teddy's face. "Naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, spread thighs straddling a cello. Beautiful music. Guilt, urgency, Frustration."

Steel glanced at his companions obliquely. "Most interesting programming!"

Transport stepped forward. "Where and when did you observe this nude musician?"

"Time and geography are not readily defined in the frames of alternity," Teddy said. "We are twenty years out of phase, so could not interact."

"Alternity? Phase?" Atomic asked. "Now don't explode, 'Tomic," Steel said with a vulpine smile. "Let's interview another agent. This has been most informative and may become more so."

Teddy departed. Another agent appeared. "I am Texas."

Steel made a gesture to quiet his companions. "Please define alternity."

"The entire fabric of probability," Texas replied. "This world is but a single frame of an infinite framework."

"And on these other frames are naked female musicians?"

"On one frame among the myriads."

"What else is there -- in alternity?"

"Translucent planes. Technicolor blizzards. Edible fog. Alien creatures. Bazaar. Forest. Carnivorous walls. Machine-hive. Element plants. catal Huyuk."

"Send in another agent," Steel said brusquely. "A female," Transport added, and the other execs nodded agreement. The Sec merely stood as if frozen.

She arrived: supple, buxom, attractive. Her hair and eyes were brown but not intensely so; pretty as she was, it would have been hard to describe her precisely after a casual encounter. "I am Terri."

"Have you seen," Steel asked carefully, "a nude female cellist?"

She eyed him archly. "Of course not."

"Your male companions seem to have had other experience. A different 'set'?"

"They were referring to the program," she said. "The computer provides a common set. That does not mean we have actually seen these things, only that we remember them. I am certain my brothers informed you it was a memory, not an experience. However, if you are really interested in this type of thing, I will fetch a cello and -- "