The Cosmic Computer

was. I studied computer theory and practice. I have some doubts about Merlin being able to do some of the things these laymen like Kellton and Fawzi and Judge Ledue think it could. Those sorts of misconceptions and exaggerations have to be allowed for. But I have no doubt whatever that the master computer with which they did their strategic planning is probably the greatest mechanism of its sort ever built, and I have no doubt whatever that it still exists somewhere in the Alpha System.”
He almost convinced himself of it. He did not, however, convince Wade Lucas, who was now regarding him with narrow-eyed suspicion.
“You mean you categorically state that that computer actually exists?”
“That, I think, was the general idea. Yes. I certainly do believe that Merlin exists.”
Maybe he was telling the truth. Merlin existed in the beliefs and hopes of people like Dolf Kellton and Klem Zareff and Judge Ledue and Kurt Fawzi. Merlin was a god to them. Well, take Ghu, the Thoran Grandfather-God. Ghu was as preposterous, theologically, as Merlin was technologically; Ghu, except to Thorans, was a Federation-wide joke. But he’d known a couple of Thorans at the University, funny little fellows, with faces like terriers, their bodies covered with matted black hair. They believed in Ghu the way he believed in the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Ghu was with them every moment of their lives. Take away their belief in Ghu, and they would have been lost and wretched.
As lost and wretched as Kurt Fawzi or Judge Ledue, if they lost their belief in Merlin. He started to say something like that, and then thought better of it.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

V
The meeting was at the Academy; when Conn and his father arrived, they found the central hall under the topside landing stage crowded. Kurt Fawzi and Professor Kellton had constituted themselves a reception committee. Franz Veltrin was in evidence with his audiovisual recorder, and Colonel Zareff was leaning on his silver-headed sword cane. Tom Brangwyn, in an unaccustomed best-suit. Wade Lucas, among a group of merchants, arguing heatedly. Lorenzo Menardes, the distiller, and Lester Dawes, the banker, and Morgan Gatworth, the lawyer, talking to Judge Ledue. About four times as many as had been in Fawzi’s office the afternoon before.
Finally, everybody was shepherded into a faculty conference room; there was a long table, and a shorter one T-wise at one end. Fawzi and Kellton conducted them to this. Both of them were trying to preside, Kellton because it was his Academy, and Fawzi ex officio as mayor and professional leading citizen, and because he had come to regard Merlin as his own private project. After everybody else was seated, the two rival chairmen-presumptive remained on their feet. Fawzi was saying, “Let’s come to order; we must conduct this meeting regularly,” and Kellton was saying, “Gentlemen, please; let me have your attention.”
If either of them took the chair, the other would resent it. Conn got to his feet again.
“Somebody will have to preside,” he said, loudly enough to cut through the babble at the long table. “Would you take the chair, Judge Ledue?”
That stopped it. Neither of them wanted to contest the honor with the president-judge of the Gordon Valley court.
“Excellent suggestion, Conn. Judge, will you preside?” Professor Kellton, who had seen himself losing out to Fawzi, asked. Fawzi threw one quick look around, estimated the situation, and got with it. “Of course, Judge. You’re the logical chairman. Here, will you sit here?”
Judge Ledue took the chair, looked around for something to use as a gavel, and rapped sharply with a paperweight.
“Young  Mr. Conn Maxwell, who has just returned from Terra, needs no introduction to any of you,” he began. Then, having established that, he took the next ten minutes to introduce Conn. When people began fidgeting, he wound up with: “Now, only about a dozen of us were at the informal meeting in  Mr. Fawzi’s office, yesterday. Conn, would you please repeat what you told us? Elaborate as you see fit.”
Conn rose. He talked briefly about his studies on Terra to qualify himself as an expert. Then he began describing the wealth of abandoned and still undiscovered Federation war material and the many installations of which he had learned, careful to avoid giving clues to exact locations. The spaceport; the underground duplicate Force Command Headquarters; the vast underground arsenals and shops and supply depots. Everybody was awed, even his father; he hadn’t had time to tell him more than a fraction of it.
Finally, somebody from the long table interrupted:
“Well, Conn; how about Merlin? That’s what we’re interested in.”
Wade Lucas snorted indignantly.
“He’s telling you about real things, things worth millions of sols, and you want him to talk about that idiotic fantasy!”
There was an angry outcry. Nobody actually shouted “To the stake with the blasphemer!” but that was the general idea. Judge Ledue was rapping loudly for order.
“I don’t know the exact location of Merlin.” Conn strove to make himself heard. “The whole subject’s classified top secret. But I am certain that Merlin exists, if not on Poictesme then somewhere in the Alpha System, and I am equally certain that we can find it.”
Cheers. He waited for the hubbub to subside. Lucas was trying to yell above it.
“You admit you couldn’t learn anything about this so-called Merlin, but you’re still certain it exists?”
“Why are you certain it doesn’t?”
“Why, the whole thing’s absurdly fantastic!”
“Maybe it is, to a layman like you. I studied computers, and it isn’t to me.”
“Well, take all these elaborate preparations against space attack you were telling us about. I think Colonel Zareff, here, who served in the Alliance Army, will bear me out that such an attack was plainly impossible.”
Zareff started to agree, then realized that he was aiding and comforting the enemy. “Intelligence lag,” he said. “What do you expect, with General Headquarters thirty parsecs from the fighting?”
“Yes. A computer can only process the data that’s been taped into it,” Conn said. That was