uddle of techs in their futile efforts.

Suddenly then--"Code!" he heard one of them say, gesturing excitedly.
"Post-subjective synapse!" another tech yelled, and there was a sudden
scurry of activity about the screen. Without warning or appreciable
reason those symbols had begun to shift ... wild and elusive, ghost
patterns without semblance or sense, but so unmistakable that even Jeff
Arnold was jarred alert; Arnold stared, then suddenly was white as chalk
as he ploughed into the midst of his techs.

Beardsley stood frozen, a fatuous smile about his lips; there was only
silence now, a silence that had a pulse in it--the beating of his heart.
Seconds only ... suddenly there was another pulse, from another heart.
ECAIAC wasn't quite finished! Unerring and resolute the sound came up,
slowly at first and then faster, gathering strength into a steady drone
as if every synapse were dredging, dredging deep into the sensitized
structure ... and even before the panel attained flux again, a tech was
waving his notes and yelling, "It's true! Post-subjective synapse!
Unbelievable ... Jeff, we now have a Constant!"

But ECAIAC was telling them that. The sound went on, and on, wild and
lone and constant, ascending to the confines of the room, transcending
the confines of reason. It was crescendo incarnate; it was purpose gone
rife; it was human and more than human, with all the fears and hopes and
hates, as it attained a high-pitched scream with wailing overtones such
as even Arnold had never heard. There was sentience in it, there was
awareness in it, there was fury in it and who could say if there was
grief...? There might have been.

Only Beardsley knew. He felt suddenly packed in ice, from his lips to
the pit of his belly; he revolved slowly away, took a few steps and
caught the edge of the panel. His whole body began to shake
uncontrollably and his lips moved in a soundless whisper that seemed to
say, "No, no ... don't you understand? ... we're friends now!"

But no one heard; no one would have understood. Arnold handled the tape
as it came looping out. The words fell slowly at first, then faster and
faster in constant repeat: CANCEL LAST EQUATE--SOLUTION TENABLE--CANCEL
LAST EQUATE--SOLUTION TENABLE--

Another word came, a single word. Arnold stiffened. One of the techs was
so indiscreet as to exclaim: "_Murderer?_ Where did it pick up that
word! 'Final Equate' is proper...."

A space, a whirr, and the rest of it came