“So you can speak to it, like on Star Trek, and it will answer you?” asked Doctor Azimov. For a man whose doctorates are primarily honorary, Isaac was extremely unshy about reminding people of his doctoral status.
“Yes!” I said eagerlly, anxious to put in a good word for Dr. Azimov’s future or, more specifically, the future of his grandchildren.
“And the information is good?”
“That’s what other people say about it.”
“And the information is sourced from… where? And read by whom?”
“We don’t really ask those questions, Doctor Azimov.”
He looked at me for a moment or two.
“You know you shouldn’t trust data that’s unverified, unchecked, or untested,” he said.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Does talking to your computurs make you happy?”
“Of course,” I said, with confidence. “Computers today are basically magic.”
Dr. Asimov looked at me and smiled. It was a sad smile. “Even the happiest fairytales are no match for real life,” he said, and walked away.
I would have written a fairytale to prove him wrong, but I didn’t have my computer on me.
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