'Thanks for coming on short notice,' said Sarah. 'I need all the help I can get in selling this budget to Krupp, and your statistics might impress him.'
Casimir, chewing vigorously on a big bite of generic white bread and generic chunkless peanut butter, drew a few computer-printed graphs from his backpack. 'These are called Lorentz curves,' he mumbled, 'and they show equality of distribution. Perfect equality is this line here, at a forty-five degree angle. Anything less than equal comes out as a curve beneath the equality line. This is what we had with the old budget.' He displayed a graph showing a deeply sagging curve, with the equality line above it for comparison. The graph had been produced by a computer terminal which had printed letters at various spots on the page, demonstrating in crude dotted-line fashion the curves and lines. 'Now, here's the same analysis on our new budget.' The new graph had a curve that nearly followed the equality line. 'Each graph has a coefficient called the Gini coefficient, the ratio of the area between the line and curve to the area under the line. For perfect equality the Gini coefficient is zero. For the old budget it was very bad, about point eight, and for the new budget it is more like point two, which is pretty good.'
Sarah listened politely. 'You have a computer program that does this?'
'Yeah. Well, I do now, anyway. I just wrote it up.'
'It's working okay?'
Casimir peered at her oddly, then at the graphs, then back at her. 'I think so. Why?'
'Well, look at these letters in the curves.' She pulled one of the graphs over and traced out the letters indicating the Lorentz curve: FELLATIOBUGGERYNECROPHILIACUNNILINGUSANALINGUSBESTIALITY….
'Oh,' Casimir said quietly. The other curve read: CUNTFUCKSHITPISSCOCKASSHOLETITGIVEMEANENEMABEATMELICKMEOWNME…. Casimir's face waxed red and his tongue was protruding slightly. 'I didn't do this. These are supposed to say, 'new budget' and 'old budget.' I didn't write this into the program. Uh, this is what we call a bug. They happen from time to time. Oh, Jeez, I'm really sorry.' He covered his face with one hand and grabbed the graphs and crumpled them into his bag.
'I believe you,' she said. 'I don't know much about computers, but I know there have been problems with this one.'
About halfway through his treatise on Lorentz curves it had occurred to Casimir that he was in the process of putting his foot deeply into his mouth. She was an English major; he had looked her up in the student directory to find out; what the hell did she care about Gini coefficients? Sarah was still smiling, so if she was bored she at least respected him enough not to show. He had told her that he'd just now written this program up, and that was bad, because it looked— oy! It looked as though he were trying to impress her, a sophisticated Humanities type, by writing computer programs on her behalf as though that were the closest he could come to real communication. And then obscene Lorentz curves!
He was saved by her ignorance of computers. The fact was, of course, that there was no way a computer error could do that— if she had ever run a computer program, she would have concluded that Casimir had done it on purpose. Suddenly he remembered his conversation with Virgil. The Worm! It must have been the Worm. He was about to tell her, to absolve himself, when he remembered it was a secret he was honor bound to protect.
He had to be honest. Could it be that he had actually written this just to impress her? Anything printed on a computer looked convincing. If that had been his motive, this served him right. Now was the time to say something witty, but he was no good at all with words— a fact he didn't doubt was more than obvious to her. She probably knew every smart, interesting man in the university, which meant he might as well forget about making any headway toward looking like anything other than an unkempt, poor, math-and-computer-obsessed nerd whose idea of intelligent conversation was to show off the morning's computer escapades.
'You didn't have to go to the trouble of writing a program.'
'Ha! Well, no trouble. Easier to have the machine do it than work it out by hand. Once you get good on the computer, that is.' He bit his up and looked out the window. 'Which isn't to say I think I'm some kind of great programmer. I mean, I am, but that's not how I think of myself.'
'You aren't a hacker,' she suggested.
'Yeah! Exactly.' Everyone knew the term 'hacker,' so why hadn't he just said it?
She looked at him carefully. 'Didn't we meet somewhere before? I could swear I recognize you from somewhere.' He had been hoping that she had forgotten, or that she would not recognize him through his glacier glasses. That first day, yes, he had read her computer card for her— a hacker's idea of a perfect introduction!
'Yeah. Remember Mrs. Santucci? That first day?' She nodded her head with a little smile; she remembered it all, for better or worse. He watched her intensely, trying to judge her reaction.
'Yes,' she said, 'sure. I guess I never properly thanked you for that, so— thank you.' She held out her hand. Casimir stared at it, then put out his hand and shook it. He gripped her firmly— a habit from his business, where a crushing handshake was a sign of trustworthiness. To her he had probably felt like an orangutan trying to dislocate her shoulder. Besides which, some apple-blackberry jam had dripped out onto the first joint of his right index finger some minutes ago, and he had thoughtlessly sucked on it.
She was awfully nice. That was a dumb word, 'nice,' but he couldn't come up with anything better. She was bright, friendly and understanding, and kind to him, which was good of her considering his starved fanatical appearance and general fabulous ugliness. He hoped that this conversation would soon end and that they would come out of it with a wonderful relationship. Ha.
No one said anything; she was just watching him. Obviously she was! It was his turn to say something! How long had he been sitting there staring into the navy-blue maw of his mini-pie? 'What's your major?' they said simultaneously. She laughed immediately, and belatedly he laughed also, though his laugh was sort of a gasp and sob that made him sound as if he were undergoing explosive decompression. Still, it relaxed him slightly. 'Oh,' she added, 'I'm sorry. I forgot Neutrino was for physics majors.'
'Don't be sorry.' She was sorry?
'I'm an English major.'
'Oh.' Casimir reddened. 'I guess you probably noticed that English is not my strong point.'
'Oh, I disagree. When you were speaking last night, once you got rolling you did very well. Same goes for today, when you were describing your curves. A lot of the better scientists have an excellent command of language. Clear thought leads to clear speech.'
Casimir's pulse went up to about twice the norm and he felt warmth in the lower regions. He gazed into the depths of his half-drained beer, not knowing what to say for fear of being ungrammatical. 'I've only been here a few weeks, but I've heard that S. S. Krupp is quite the speaker. Is that so?'
Sarah smiled and rolled her eyes. At first Casimir had considered her just a typically nice-looking young woman, but at this instant it became obvious that he had been wrong; in fact she was spellbindingly lovely. He tried not to stare, and shoved the last three bites of pie into his mouth. As he chewed he tried to track what she was saying so that he wouldn't lose the thread of the conversation and end up looking like an absent-minded hacker with no ability to relate to anyone who wasn't destined to become a machine-language expert.
'He is quite a speaker,' she said. 'If you're ever on the opposite side of a question from S. S. Krupp, you can be sure he'll bring you around sooner or later. He can give you an excellent reason for everything he does that goes right back to his basic philosophy. It's awesome, I think.'
At last he was done stuffing junk food into his unshaven face. 'But when he out-argues you— is that a word?'
'Well let it slip by.'
'When he does that, do you really agree, or do you think he's just outclassed you?'
'I've thought about that quite a bit. I don't know.' She sat back pensively, was stabbed by her chair, and sat back up. 'What am I saying? I'm an English major!' Casimir chuckled, not quite following this. 'If he can justify it through a fair argument, and no one else can poke any holes in it, I can't very well disagree, can I? I mean, you have to have some kind of anchors for your beliefs, and if you don't trust clear, correct language, how do you know what to believe?'
'What about intuition?' asked Casimir, surprising himself. 'You know the great discoveries of physics weren't made through argument. They were made in flashes of intuition, and the explanations and proofs thought up afterward.'
'Okay.' She drained her coffee and thought about it. 'But those scientists still had to come up with verbal proofs to convince themselves that the discoveries were real.'
