Stanley Whiteside

“ As inventor and owner of the Solver, my rights are patent."
"How come Sassoon grabbed your gadget, Professor?"
"The Solver is not a gadget!" he snaps. "It's a delicate machine—and dangerous! The man who controls it can solve any riddle, given time. Therefore, it should remain under scientific control. It belongs rightfully to the Science Department." ”

“ Sassoon," he said apologetically as the boss of Geo-politics swung around to face him. "The Solver is not purely mechanical, you know. The actual work is done by the bio-chemical cells and these cannot be reset to zero without discharging their concept energy."
"Huh?" Sassoon frowned at the interruption. "Well, discharge 'em!"
"That's the trouble, sir. A Solver cell is like a human brain cell, it must complete its function in order to relapse into inactivity. Shutting off the Solver merely holds its processes in abeyance. ”

“ I called up Professor Connor, the inventor, and told him who I was.
"I have no comments for the press!" he says tartly. In the visiplate, his beard was thrust forward so pugnaciously that it was all out of focus and I had to peer through the brush in order to see his face.
"Take it easy, Professor." I smiled suavely. "The Press is your best friend. If you're getting a dirty deal we will tell the whole world about it! Are you going to appeal the court decision?" ”

“ The Solver was invented because the human brain is limited to a few concepts at one time. Science needed a brain that could juggle a whole bunch of ideas simultaneously. And since the Solver was fed only facts, its multi-brain wasn't cluttered with useless junk.
It had taken months to build it—and a lot of dough. So the scientists weren't anxious to have it snitched from them by any politician like Sassoon. ”

“ Bertrand shook his head.
"As you may recall, Joe Squeeb definitely asked for an exact answer. The Solver will give it—regardless!"
"Eight— —one— —two—" The Solver was beginning to sound labored. Inside the great machine relays were madly racing.
"I guess Joe Squeeb just lost a job," I murmured.
"He has another job waiting for him." Bertrand almost grinned. "We need someone to dust our equipment—someone who knows enough not to monkey with things. It'll really be a pension job."
I looked at Sassoon. He appeared very unhappy. ”