'No. I'm sure she's right. She relies on you.' And too much, I thought. 'Is she still drugged?'
'Sedated.' The word was a reproof.
'Sedated, then.'
'Yes, of course.'
'And for the court hearing tomorrow?' I asked.
'Tranquillisers,' Sarah said decisively. 'Sleeping pills after.'
'Good luck with it.'
'Yes,' she said.
She disconnected almost brusquely, leaving me with the easement of having been let off an unpleasant task. Once upon a time, I supposed, we would have clung together to help Donna. At the beginning our reactions would have been truer, less complicated, less distorted by our own depressions. I mourned for the dead days, but undoubtedly I was pleased not to be going to spend the weekend with my wife.
On the Friday I went to school still with the computer tapes in my jacket pocket and, feeling that I owed it to Peter at least to try to play them, sought out one of the maths masters in the common-room. Ted Pitts, short- sighted, clear-headed, bi-lingual in English and algebra.
'That computer you've got tucked away somewhere in a cubby hole in the maths department,' I said, 'it's your especial baby, isn't it?'
'We all use it. We teach the kids.'
'But it's you who plays it like Beethoven while the rest are still at chopsticks?'
He enjoyed the compliment in his quiet way. 'Maybe,' he said.
'Could you tell me what make it is?' I asked.
'Sure. It's a Harris.'
'I suppose,' I said unhopefully, 'that you couldn't run a tape on it that was recorded on a Grantley?'
'It depends,' he said. He-was earnest and thoughtful, twenty-six, short on humour, but full of good intentions and ideals of fair play. He suffered greatly under the sourly detestable Jenkins who was head of the maths department and extracted from his assistants the reverential attitude he never got from me.
'The Harris has no language built into it,' Ted said. 'You can feed it any computer language, Fortran, Cobol, Algol, Z-80, Basic, you name it, the Harris will take it. Then you can run any programs written in those languages. But the Grantley is a smaller affair which comes all ready pre-programmed with its own form of Basic. If you had a Grantley Basic language tape, you could feed it into our Harris's memory, and then you could run Grantley Basic programs.' He paused. 'Er, is that clear?'
'Sort of.' I reflected. 'How difficult would it be to get a Grantley Basic language tape?'
'Don't know. Best to write to the firm direct. They might send you one. And they might not.'
'Why might they not?'
He shrugged. 'They might say you'd have to buy one of their computers.'
'For heaven's sake,' I said.
'Yeah. Well, see, these computer firms are very awkward. All the smaller personal computers use Basic, because it's the easiest language and also one of the best. But the firms making them all build in their own variations, so that if you record your programs from their machines, you can't run them on anyone else's. That keeps you faithful to them in the future, because if you change to another make, all your tapes will be useless.'
'What a bore,' I said.
He nodded. 'Profits getting the better of common sense.'
'Like all those infuriatingly incompatible video-recorders.'
'Exactly. But you'd think the computer firms would have more sense. They may hang on to their own customers by force, but they're sure as Hades not going to persuade anyone else to switch.'
'Thanks anyway,' I said.
'You're welcome.' He hesitated. 'Do you actually have a tape that you want to use?'
'Yes.' I fished in my pocket and produced Oklahoma. This one and two others. Don't be misled by the packaging, it's got computer noise all right on the tape.'
'Were they recorded by an expert or an amateur?'
'An expert. Does it make any difference?'
'Sometimes.'
I explained about Peter making the tapes for a client who had a Grantley, and I added that the customer wouldn't let Peter try out the programs on the machine they were designed to run on.
'Oh, really?' Ted Pitts seemed happy with the news. 'In that case, if he was a conscientious and careful chap, it's just possible that he recorded the machine language itself on the first of the tapes. TOMs can be very touchy. He might have thought it would be safer.'
'You've lost me,' I said. 'What are TOMs?'
'Computers.' He grinned. 'Stands for Totally Obedient Moron.'
'You've made a joke,' I said disbelievingly.
'Not mine, though.'
'So why should it be safer?'
He looked at me reproachfully, 'I thought you knew more about computers than you appear to.'
'It's ten years at least since I knew more. I've forgotten and they've changed.'
'It would be safer,' he said patiently, 'because if the client rang up and complained that the program wouldn't run, your friend could tell them how to stuff into their computer a brand-new version of its own language, and then your friend's programs would run from that. Mind you,' he added judiciously, 'you'd use up an awful lot of computer space putting the language in. You might not have much room for the actual programs.'
He looked at my expression, and sighed.
'OK,' he said. 'Suppose a Grantley has a 32K store, which is a pretty normal size. That means it has about forty-nine thousand store-slots, of which probably the first seventeen thousand are used in providing the right circuits to function as Basic. That would leave you about thirty-two thousand store-slots for punching in your programs. Right?'
I nodded. 'I'll take it on trust.'
'But then if you feed in the language all over again it would take another seventeen thousand store-slots, which would leave you with under fifteen thousand store-slots to work with. And as you need one store-slot for every letter you type, and one for every number, and one for every space, and comma, and bracket, you wouldn't be able to do a great deal before all the store-slots were used and the whole thing was full up. And at that point the computer would stop working.' He smiled. 'So many people think computers are bottomless pits. They're more like bean bags. Once they're full you have to empty the beans out before you can start to fill them again.'
'Is that what you teach the kids?'
He looked slightly confused. 'Er… yes. Same words. One gets into a rut.'
The bell rang for afternoon registration and he stretched out his hand for the tape. 'I could try that,' he said, 'if you like.'
'Yes. If it isn't an awful bother.'
He shook his head encouragingly, and I gave him The King and I and West Side Story for good measure.
'Can't promise it will be today,' he said. 'I've got classes all afternoon and Jenkins wants to see me at four.' He grimaced. 'Jenkins. Why can't we call him Ralph and be done with it?'
'There's no hurry,' I said, 'with the tapes.'
Donna got her probation.
Sarah reported, again sounding tired, that even the baby's mother had quietened down because of Peter being killed, and Donna had gently wept in court, and even some of the policemen had been fatherly.
'How is she?' I said.
'Miserable. It's just hitting her, I think, that Peter's really gone.' Her voice sounded sisterly, motherly, protective.
'No more suicide?' I asked.
'I don't think so, but the poor darling is so vulnerable. So easily hurt. She says its like living without skin.'
'Have you enough money?' I said.
