"Alan Dean Foster- Instant With Loud Voices" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

The power requirements for such processing were enormous, another reason for running the program at
night. Demand in the city was way down. As it was, there was still barely enough power to meet the
demand, but the local utilities had been notified well in advance and were prepared to deal with any
possible blackouts. Extra power had been purchased from out-of-state utilities to help cope with the
temporary drain.

Forty minutes. Jerome considered. Better that he be proven wrong, much better. Of course, even if he
and Wilson were correct, nothing might happen. When it was all over he intended to be the first to
congratulate Strevelle. Despite their disagreement in this, they were anything but rivals.
For the first time in several weeks his concern gave way to curiosity. After all, he was as interested as
anyone else in the machine's answer.

To support DISRA's pondering, everything known or theorized about the Big Bang had been
programmed into it. That included just about the entire body of physics, chemistry, astronomy and a
number of other physical sciences, not to mention all of philosophy and more. All in support of one
question.

When was the Big Bang and what, precisely, did it consist of?

An equation for the Creation, Jerome mused. There were a few who'd argued against asking the
question, but they were in the minority and outvoted. Many prominent theologians had helped with the
programming. They were as anxious for a reply as the astronomers. DISRA would answer first in figures,
then in words.

Forty-five minutes. One of the technicians on Strevelle's right leaned suddenly forward but did not take
his eyes from the console. "Sir?"

Strevelle glanced down at him. He'd gone through four of the small cigars and was on his fifth. "Trouble?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure. We're running at least two cyclings now, maybe more."

Jerome joined Strevelle at the technician's station. Cycling occurred when a component of a question
could not be either solved or disregarded. Yet the machine was programmed to answer. Its design
demanded an answer. If not shut down or if the programming was not canceled, the same information
would be run over and over, at greater strength and drawing on greater reserves. It was a rare
occurrence.

"Four sections cycling now, sir. If the figures are right." He looked anxiously up at Strevelle.

"Cancel it, Hank," Jerome urged him quietly. "While there's still time."

"Eight sections, sir." The technician no longer tried to hide his nervousness. "Ten. Twelve."

There were forty sections comprising DISRA Prime. Forty sections devoted to Direct Information
Systematic Retrieval and Analysis. Strevelle said nothing, stared stolidly down at the console, then out at
the working machine.

"We've still plenty of capacity. Let it cycle."

"Come on, Hank," Jerome muttered intensely. "It's not going to work. You've reached beyond the