"Gordon R. Dickson - MX Knows Best" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

census records with the economic integration computer and the new—they were new then—psychologic
computation methods. All in one machine. A public service. Code your name and what other personal
information MX requested and ask your question. 'Should I buy myself a new living area now, or next
year?' MX integrated the problem and came up with an answer to the best of its ability."
"To the best of its ability!" echoed Allen, a little bitterly.
"Exactly—to the best of its ability." Jasper's eyes gleamed darkly in his face under the silver hair.
"That was the theory; ninety percent correct, ninety percent of the time, for ninety percent of the cases
concerned. There, you see, was the illusion of freedom. No one, of course, would commit his life to the
decisions of a machine which was only ninety percent accurate. Or so they thought. They forgot the
perniciousness of habit—of the habit of having decisions made for you."
"The point is," said Galt, "people have been comforting themselves with a sense of freedom from MX
that doesn't actually exist. As a practical matter, Allen, not ninety, but almost a hundred percent of the
people use and obey MX a hundred percent of the time."
"Is it really that much?" asked Allen.
"That much."
"But the bad decisions—"
"They're explained away," said Jasper. "What does a man say when a decision turns out bad—say
MX decides in favor of a man buying a platform now, instead of later? And the next day, with the new
platform, he has an accident."
Allen nodded.
"I know," he said. "He says that maybe the computation figured a more serious accident if the
machine was gotten later, or some such excuse."
"That's it!" The eyes in Galt's long face seemed to pounce like a hawk. "Maybe MX knows best!"
There was a little silence. "A new god," said Allen, thoughtfully.
"A new god," said Galt. "And a jealous god."
Leta got up from her chair. Outside, in the garden, the light was fading.
"Time for dinner," she said. "I'll go see about it." She looked across the table into Allen's eyes. "You'll
be staying for the evening."
"Thank you," said Allen, and watched her leave the room.

AFTER DINNER, he managed to corner her on a little balcony overlooking that same garden with
the fishpond. He felt a strange necessity to talk to her further, to understand her. It was as if an entirely
new sort of curiosity had laid hold of him, and grew with the mounting intimacy of their talk.
"Tell me one thing," he asked, after a while. "Are you in this because of your brother, or because you
feel strongly about MX, yourself?"
She looked up at his face in the dim light of the shadowed balcony.
"Because I feel strongly about MX," she said.
"I see," he answered. He was oddly disappointed and she sensed it.
"You don't like fanatic females, is that it?" The tone was light, but it quavered betrayingly on the last
word. He looked down at her, and all at once her helplessness, reached through to him; here, he felt
flooded with tenderness toward her.
"You're not a fanatic female," he said.
Suddenly, like someone who at last surrenders completely, she leaned against him. He put his arms
around her. She murmured against him and he felt the warmth of her breath through his shirt.
"I don't know...I don't know..." she whispered. "I know this is right, but I want to live a normal life,
too."
He put his head down to kiss her, but she avoided him.
"No. Please don't," she murmured. "Please."
"Why not?"
"It's just that it's too soon yet. I couldn't help thinking of you as on the rebound."