Smart House by Kate Wilhelm Page B

relief. “First, you said he could have programmed in features or macros. Would you explain those terms?”
    Alexander shifted as if in agony. After a pause he said, “Let me describe one of the things we programmed in, to give you an idea. Suppose someone in room number three is a smoker. In each room there’s a smoke alarm, of course, but they’re all set to register minute amounts of smoke—cigarette smoke or pipes, whatever. We put in a conditional macro that says in effect that if the smoke detector is activated at a certain minimum level, then certain other steps are taken. I mean the air conditioner is re-programmed to exhaust smoke, and change the air more often, things like that. That’s a feature activated by a macro—it’s a string of commands in a permanent file that is started by a signal, in this case the smoke detector. Of course, smoke from a real fire would cause other things to happen—the fire alarm, sprinkler system to start, things of that sort. But any string of commands can be activated by a key, or combination of keys, or any signal you program in.
    That’s what the hand-held computers could do, send the signal.”
    Constance nodded thoughtfully. “I see. So the little computer could have been used to erase someone playing the game, just as Bruce suggested?”
    He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Sure. That’s the point. Gary could have programmed that in, or a number of other things. I don’t know if he did, but he could have.”
    “Thanks for being our guide,” Charlie said, taking Constance’s arm. “Onward and upward. See you later.”
    Alexander darted away, and they went upstairs without speaking. At the top Constance said, “Charlie, you know carbon dioxide poisoning isn’t the same as anoxia.”
    He grinned. “I thought I would have to explain that to you.”
    “But why did you go on about it down there?”
    He put his finger on her lips. “I want them all to talk as freely as possible. If our killer needed inside info, who’s a better bet than Alexander? Good God, he must have chips instead of gray matter in that skull of his. Look, there’s someone new. More than one, in fact.”
    He was looking down into the atrium. Constance joined him and saw Milton with three people they had not met, two men and a woman. The woman was very beautiful.
    “Let’s take a quick look at Gary’s room, and a quick look at the roof, and then go meet the newcomers.”
    Gary’s suite was a disappointment. Without his possessions it was just another luxurious hotel suite. There were two rooms: a small office with two computers, and his bedroom. There was a walk-in closet, and a bathroom twice the size of the one in the room Charlie and Constance had. Charlie gazed around with dissatisfaction. “We’ll get back to it,” he said. “Now the roof.”
    This was a disappointment also. The mist had grown so dense that the ocean had vanished into it. Little of the grounds was visible. The dome was glass, the flooring plastic, and, Charlie realized, it was constructed of solar collectors. A small redwood building housed the elevator and held many outdoor collapsible chairs and several small tables. It was cold and wet up there; they did not linger.
    They took the elevator back to the ground floor and entered the atrium where a small group had gathered and was having drinks at the bar. The odor of chlorine and gardenias and blooming orange and lemon trees made the room stifling to Constance. As they approached the bar, she realized that she hated Smart House. As beautiful as it was, as modern and comfortable and convenient, it was also too inhuman in scale, in expertly selected furnishings and colors, and in spy eyes everywhere that might or might not be watching.
    “Constance, Charlie,” Milton Sweetwater greeted them. “Laura and Harry Westerman, and Jake Kluge, and now you’ve met us all.”
    It used to be, Charlie thought almost aggrievedly as they all shook hands and made quick, mutual