"Machine Made" - читать интересную книгу автора (McIntosh J T)

Machine MadeMachine Made
by J. T. McINTOSH

Of all the "natural resources" available to man, the most commonplace, the most
plentiful, and the most immediate is the human brain. And, perhaps, it is the
least utilized. But what about the future? Will man create a device that will
enable him to release the infinite potential of his brain?

ROSE FOUND A burn on the edge of the silver-gray metal casing and rubbed
vigorously at it. But the cigarette carelessly laid there had been left too
long. The brown stain wouldn't come off.
She wished sadly she had not bothered the painters so much in the past. The last
time she ran fearfully to Mr. Harrison, he had come resignedly, looked at the
spot she pointed out, and exploded. When he calmed down he had said: "Look,
Rose, I know you're not very bright, but surely you can get this into your head.
We paint the memory banks and keep the floors and walls clean, but this isn't a
hospital. Sure, I know you like to have things nice, and it's your job to dust
and sweep this room and polish the casings and report anything that needs
attention Чbut have a heart. Give us a little peace. It wouldn't affect the
Machine if we burned all the paint off and battered the casings with a sledge
hammer."
That left Rose in such a state of palpitating horror that she resolved never to
go to Mr. Harrison unless she was quite sure the matter was serious. But still,
it was a very unsightly burn on the shining casing, and if she hadn't bothered
him over that last spot he might have sent someone to spray both blemishes while
he was at it.
She was afraid if Dr. Esson saw the burn he would blame her for it. True he had
never blamed her for anything, and often when he had been working the Machine he
would stand watching her polish the gleaming metal with amusement which she felt
was kindly. But there had to he a first time for everything, and she felt she
would die if Dr. Esson ever hinted she had been neglecting her job.
She stretched to her full five-feet-four on tiptoe and looked round the huge
room. There was very little in it but row upon row of silver-gray casings, from
the floor to her shoulders, with only just room for a big man to walk between
them. But there was plenty of room for Rose. At one end was a clear space, with
a table and several chairs, facing the six electric printers that were the only
means of communication with the MachineЧboth its hearing and its voice. The
walls housed more memory banks, and were of the same silver-gray metal. The
monotony was relieved by the light green ceiling, only twice the height of the
casings, and the dark green rubber passage-ways. And always, day and night,
there was a faint humming.
It was no use, Rose found, looking at those thousands of square feet of
spotless, shining metal and trying to tell herself it was perfect. The burn on
the casing in front of her seemed ten feet across. She felt no one could open
the door at the other end of the long room and glance in without seeing that
blemish on the beautiful functionalism of the layout.
Dr. Esson and a pretty young woman Rose had never seen before were at one of the
printers. They were talking, apparently under the impression that Rose couldn't
hear what they were saying, but she could. Of course, she was so much a fixture
in the Machine room that most of the people who came there often hardly noticed