any number of would-be competitors who will do
whatever
it takes to obtain our testing techniques, our evaluation algorithms, anything. And remember, the secrecy is not just for
us
.” He gestured toward the other room below them, turned another knob.
“. . . if I’d known just what was in store for me, I don’t know if I’d have had the
cojones
to take that eval,” a tall, athletic-looking man in a crewneck sweater was saying. “It was a brutal day. But now that it’s seven months behind me, I know it was the best thing I ever did.”
“I went to a typical online dating service once, a couple of years back,” another added. “Couldn’t have been more unlike Eden. Crude. Low-tech. They only asked a few questions. And guess what the first one was: Are you interested in a casual or a serious relationship? Can you believe it? I was so insulted I walked out the door right then!”
“I’ll be paying off the loan for years,” said a woman. “But I’d have paid twice as much. It’s like they say on that wall in the lobby. What price can you put on happiness?”
“Anybody here ever fight?” somebody else asked.
“We disagree,” a silver-haired woman at the far end responded. “Wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. But it just helps us learn more about each other, respect each other’s needs.”
Mauchly turned off the sound again. “You see? It’s for
them
, as well. Eden provides a service nobody’s ever dreamed of before. We can’t take any chance, no matter how small, of compromising that service.” He paused. “Now listen. I’m bringing in someone you can talk to, ask a few questions. But you must understand, Dr. Lash:
he doesn’t know
. Morale at Eden is exceptionally high. People are very proud of the service they provide. We cannot undermine that, even with an unrelated tragedy. Understood?”
Lash nodded.
As if on cue, a door opened at the far end of the room and a figure in a white lab coat stepped forward.
“Peter, there you are,” Mauchly said. “Come and meet Christopher Lash. He’s doing some random follow-up checks on a few of our clients. For statistical purposes.”
The man came forward with a shy smile. He was little more than a youth, really. There was an abundance of carrot-colored hair above his forehead that bobbed slightly as he shook Lash’s hand.
“This is Peter Hapwood. He’s the evaluation engineer that did the one-on-one with the Thorpes when they came back for their class reunion.” Mauchly turned to Hapwood. “Do you remember Lewis and Lindsay Thorpe?”
Hapwood nodded. “The supercouple.”
“Yes. The supercouple.” Mauchly turned his hand toward Lash, palm extended, as if inviting questions.
“In the one-on-one with the Thorpes,” Lash asked the young engineer, “did anything stand out in particular?”
“No, nothing. Not that I can remember.”
“How did they seem?”
“They seemed happy, like everybody else on their return interview.”
“How many couples have you interviewed? On their six-month return, I mean?”
Hapwood thought a moment. “A thousand. Maybe twelve hundred.”
“And they’ve all been happy?”
“Without exception. After all this time, it still seems uncanny.” Hapwood shot a quick look at Mauchly, as if wondering whether he’d said something inappropriate.
“Did the Thorpes say anything about their lives since meeting each other?”
“Let me think. No. Yes. They’d recently moved to Flagstaff, Arizona. I remember Mr. Thorpe saying he was having a little trouble with the altitude—he was a jogger, as I recall—but they both loved the area.”
“Anything else come up in the questions?”
“Not really. I just went through the standard question set. Nothing got flagged.”
“What standard set is that?”
“Well, we start with the mood-setting items, just to establish a comfort level, by—”
“I don’t think such specifics are necessary,” Mauchly said. “Any other questions?”
Lash felt the
whatever
it takes to obtain our testing techniques, our evaluation algorithms, anything. And remember, the secrecy is not just for
us
.” He gestured toward the other room below them, turned another knob.
“. . . if I’d known just what was in store for me, I don’t know if I’d have had the
cojones
to take that eval,” a tall, athletic-looking man in a crewneck sweater was saying. “It was a brutal day. But now that it’s seven months behind me, I know it was the best thing I ever did.”
“I went to a typical online dating service once, a couple of years back,” another added. “Couldn’t have been more unlike Eden. Crude. Low-tech. They only asked a few questions. And guess what the first one was: Are you interested in a casual or a serious relationship? Can you believe it? I was so insulted I walked out the door right then!”
“I’ll be paying off the loan for years,” said a woman. “But I’d have paid twice as much. It’s like they say on that wall in the lobby. What price can you put on happiness?”
“Anybody here ever fight?” somebody else asked.
“We disagree,” a silver-haired woman at the far end responded. “Wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. But it just helps us learn more about each other, respect each other’s needs.”
Mauchly turned off the sound again. “You see? It’s for
them
, as well. Eden provides a service nobody’s ever dreamed of before. We can’t take any chance, no matter how small, of compromising that service.” He paused. “Now listen. I’m bringing in someone you can talk to, ask a few questions. But you must understand, Dr. Lash:
he doesn’t know
. Morale at Eden is exceptionally high. People are very proud of the service they provide. We cannot undermine that, even with an unrelated tragedy. Understood?”
Lash nodded.
As if on cue, a door opened at the far end of the room and a figure in a white lab coat stepped forward.
“Peter, there you are,” Mauchly said. “Come and meet Christopher Lash. He’s doing some random follow-up checks on a few of our clients. For statistical purposes.”
The man came forward with a shy smile. He was little more than a youth, really. There was an abundance of carrot-colored hair above his forehead that bobbed slightly as he shook Lash’s hand.
“This is Peter Hapwood. He’s the evaluation engineer that did the one-on-one with the Thorpes when they came back for their class reunion.” Mauchly turned to Hapwood. “Do you remember Lewis and Lindsay Thorpe?”
Hapwood nodded. “The supercouple.”
“Yes. The supercouple.” Mauchly turned his hand toward Lash, palm extended, as if inviting questions.
“In the one-on-one with the Thorpes,” Lash asked the young engineer, “did anything stand out in particular?”
“No, nothing. Not that I can remember.”
“How did they seem?”
“They seemed happy, like everybody else on their return interview.”
“How many couples have you interviewed? On their six-month return, I mean?”
Hapwood thought a moment. “A thousand. Maybe twelve hundred.”
“And they’ve all been happy?”
“Without exception. After all this time, it still seems uncanny.” Hapwood shot a quick look at Mauchly, as if wondering whether he’d said something inappropriate.
“Did the Thorpes say anything about their lives since meeting each other?”
“Let me think. No. Yes. They’d recently moved to Flagstaff, Arizona. I remember Mr. Thorpe saying he was having a little trouble with the altitude—he was a jogger, as I recall—but they both loved the area.”
“Anything else come up in the questions?”
“Not really. I just went through the standard question set. Nothing got flagged.”
“What standard set is that?”
“Well, we start with the mood-setting items, just to establish a comfort level, by—”
“I don’t think such specifics are necessary,” Mauchly said. “Any other questions?”
Lash felt the
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