Transient

"Moon in 14° Pisces," said the little perforated card. Henderson stepped back from the computer and scratched his hairy head. Nonsense again. He threw the card in the wastebasket and repeated his directions on another:

"One hundred fifty cancer susceptible mice were injected in the pectoral region with 1/cc of aromatic compound A. One hundred fifty identical control mice were injected with isotonic saline, B. Eight in group A developed sarcomas at the point of injection, Group B developed none. Test the null hypothesis at 5% level of statistical significance."

The computer accepted Henderson's second offering, chewed it into acceptable code, swallowed it, and burped. Henderson watched suspiciously as red and green blinkers went on and off and a contented humming noise came from the machine's bowels. After a while the card emerged from another opening—which orifice had been thoughtfully placed at the appropriate end of the machine, anatomically speaking; thus establishing rapport between Henderson, a biologist, and nature's final product of evolution, the machine.

Henderson looked at the card: "Today you should seek solace with close friends. Give some thought to personal finances. Evening: get out and see people. A stranger will bring news."