The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai (18 page)

As B. Banzai used the copter’s radio to relay the welcome news to us that he was safe and en route to the Institute to check what progress we had made in our investigation of Yoyodyne Propulsion Systems, it perhaps behooves us to backtrack slightly and note how that helicopter came to be there when Buckaroo needed it.

“T
he Banzai Institute, an independent, non-profit, research organization of ranking scientists, is located an hour from New York City in Holland Township, New Jersey. Overlooking a truly panoramic expanse of the Delaware River Valley, it is a one-hundred-and-twelve-acre haven for scholars of all disciplines, but the sciences in particular.” I am reading from the Institute’s brochure. Those of us who live there know it as something much livelier than it sounds, but for a general description of the Institute’s history and function, the literature suffices. I will continue. “Founded in 1972 to fulfill a need of the scholarly community for greater continuity of research . . .” In civilian language I will interpret, taking the above phrase to mean that most researchers live and die by the government grant. When the government in its often capricious way loses interest in a given subject, it stops sending money for its study. This stop-and-go process is destructive and wasteful on at least two counts (viz.) the government seldom understands just what it is funding to begin with and therefore is uncannily apt to cut off funds at the precise moment that real progress begins to be made, and the researcher is continually distracted from the greater purpose of his work in order to “show” the government “hard results” so as not to lose his funding. There is, in other words, the constant worry over money in the back of the researcher’s mind, costing him time and energy and, most importantly, independent initiative. For when quick results begin to outweight long range possibilities, experimentation is the first casualty, experimentation by definition being unpredictable. It was this vicious cycle of reliance on the National Science Foundation that the Banzai Institute sought to change at its inception in 1972. Promising researchers would be given the time and freedom to focus their full energies on their topics of interest without the necessity of championing themselves in their roles as fund-raisers. It was believed, and has been demonstrated, that the Institute could be self-supporting if both researchers and staff lived frugally and in a familial atmosphere, donating a percentage of their royalties from any commercial applications and patents which might arise from their work within its walls. This is not to say that remunerative considerations are the paramount criterion by which proposals for funding are judged—far from it, as there exist no criteria at all and no proposals! At the Banzai Institute, it is the candidate who is appraised and not the proposal. As a scientific sleuth himself, B. Banzai knows the impossibility of predicting in advance where one’s nose will lead, as well as the exhilaration when one experiences a “sudden flash” from out of the clear blue, as it were. There is a term sometimes used at the Institute: the three Bs, meaning the Bus, the Bath, and the Bed. That is where the greatest discoveries are made in science. When one is at his most relaxed, his most receptive, that is when a foreign consciousness, a “stray bullet” as B. Banzai calls it, may pop into one’s head. B. Banzai himself has had so many of his greatest ideas while shaving that he finally has been forced to abandon his father’s straight razor in favor of the gyroscopic shaver I have mentioned, so often has he cut himself when seized by sudden revelations.

Again quoting from the brochure, I read: “If a candidate is approved by the board—” (that twenty member group composed of B. Banzai and the representatives from various walks of life who serve without pay) “—he is given a key, a small monthly stipend, and a Spartan cell without electricity or running water, where he sleeps on a straw mat atop a wooden bunk. He arises at 4
A.M.
, washes in cold water—” I needn’t go on. The brochure amply makes its point. It is not the sort of place for everyone, and yet hundreds more apply to enter than are accepted, among them some of the finest minds in the world. If one is tempted to ask why—and many are, at such places as the Rand Corporation, Lawrence Livermore, Los Alamos, Hudson, Sandia, Brookings, and all the other intellectual watering troughs—the answer is predictable—Buckaroo Banzai. His message is simple and direct, the same to everyone, regardless of position: greatness is attainable only when it is not sought. When this paradox is understood, we are great.

“A scientist, like a warrior, must cherish no view,” he has written. “A ‘view’ is the outcome of intellectual processes, whereas creativity, like swordsmanship, requires not neutrality, or indifference, but to be of no mind whatever.”

To this end, the famous games and thought experiments so central to the Institute’s program have been designed. I will not attempt to describe these games of which so much has been written, other than to say that they employ the full complement of game elements: choice, interdependence, imperfect information, and chance. Sets of partners act as single players, and the stakes are theoretically life and death. Are these games dangerous? Detractors never tire of asking. I would answer by saying that it is the awareness of death that makes life precious, and that which heightens the awareness of death enhances the quality of life. Only a few hairbreadths mark the difference between life and death at any moment; when this is fully understood, life can only be the sweeter. Furthermore, one only learns to win (to live) by being prepared to lose (to die); for this reason if no other, games of high risk are essential to the soul.

Games such as “Airplane and Submarine,” “Silent Guns,” and others developed by the Banzai Institute have been adopted for use by the militaries of a number of countries in their training and have even found their way into the popular culture, especially what is called “pop psychology,” as evidenced by the success of a recent best-selling book which counseled its readers to “cure the anxiety by curing the love.” In his foreword to the computer game version of “Silent Guns” (in which a player cannot know when his adversary has fired since he does not know which guns, if any, are silent), B. Banzai states: “The player, emptied of all thoughts, all desire to win, will be the winner. The hand on the joy stick must move independent of intellect and emotion.”

Forgive me, reader, if I am obstinate in continuing to digress, but there are things I must say. I am reminded of so many things from my own past history, my own days at the Institute, that I cannot quite end the tune just yet. I am reminded of certain extraordinary successes naturally, the scientific breakthroughs in which I took part as a member, however indirectly, of the team: the OSCILLATION OVERTHRUSTER, cellular radio, the development of the drug Interferon, the computer program later adopted by NASA for assessing survival probabilities of its missions,* *
(The survival probability for Buckaroo Banzai in his attempt to pilot the Jet Car through solid matter? Only 52%.)
the Numerical Aerodynamic Simulator, the invention of Kevlar (five times the strength to weight of steel), DATASAT, the first data of steel, transfer satellite (capable of carrying the entire contents of the Library of Congress into space, to be accessed by any home computer), and many more, from robotics to gene technology. But I am also just as proud of those rather quixotic and yet strangely sensible projects which flourish within the portals of the Banzai Institute; ideas, or “moonbeams” as we call them, which would almost certainly only draw quizzical stares and ridicule from other, more staid institutions. I’m thinking of Pecos, my dear Pecos, and her preoccupation with the skyhook concept, a notion best characterized as a space elevator. Briefly, a cable would be strung from a geostationary satellite to the ground and people and cargo would be hauled up, reminiscent of Jack and the beanstalk. Then there was Rawhide and his quest to develop a high-protein livestock feed out of houseflies; and Perfect Tommy, who burst in on us one day and claimed with a totally straight face to have discovered a hitherto undiscovered layer of atmosphere shrouding the Earth. Judging from his excitement, we were excited also. “It’s dense,” he said, “and getting denser every day. I call it the Flatusphere. formed by all the methane gas from bullsh—s like me!”

Tommy could fill a chapter all by himself, which he does in
Bastardy Proved a Spur.
His testimony before Congress on limiting the nuclear arms race contained the following scheme, which I reproduce here from the Congressional Record:

Senator Nunn of Georgia:
You would not then be favorably disposed to the MX dense-pack concept, Perfect Tommy?

Perfect Tommy:
As I have indicated in my opening remarks, Senator, I believe it to be a colossal waste of sorely needed resources and one which we need not incur in light of the Bluff Concept developed by the Banzai Institute in the study report now before the committee.

Senator Nunn:
Could you describe in layman’s terms, without the mathematic notation, how the Bluff Concept works?

Perfect Tommy:
Senator, it is predicated upon the fact that nuclear intimidation—the real game we and the Russians play—is a game in the classic sense, in that the outcome is dependent upon the moves of the participants, neither of whom has perfect information about the other; also going on the assumption that each side seeks gain but is also rational—

Senator Nunn:
The “We’re both sane men” theory—

Perfect Tommy:
The alternative does not compute, Senator.

Senator Nunn:
Agreed. How do we bluff the Soviets?

Perfect Tommy:
Our concept of bluff comes into play only assuming we have an already credible hand, Senator—an already formidable nuclear deterrent which in fact exists. On the other hand, we would be remiss if we did not analyze the game carefully to derive maximum advantage with a minimum of risk to ourselves. It is this analysis of the parameters of the game that we have undertaken at the Banzai Institute, the result being what you have at your fingertips, Senator. It is our finding that the element of bluff—that side using it—is strongly favored by the peculiar nature of the game: namely, that it is a game of stalemate, the stakes being so high that the degree of risk-taking affordable by either player is quite small, certainly nowhere near the level of calculated risk required to “win” the game. Indeed, the concept of “winning” is limited entirely to the area of intimidation. All of this works in favor of the Bluff Concept, which I will state in practical terms: since neither side can for the foreseeable future be protected on a maximum basis from nuclear missiles, and using game theory elements developed by the Banzai Institute, we advocate that instead of deploying the one hundred MX missiles presently proposed, we employ a much smaller classified number—roughly ten to twenty, for the sake of discussion—and build ten times that number of dummy missiles. Since the Soviet cannot know which or how many missiles constitute genuine threats, they must assume they all do and will be forced to modify their own game plan accordingly, spending huge resources to match us. In any case, we will have achieved our objective, the effect of our bluff being exactly the same as if we had deployed one hundred MX missiles at a cost of several hundred billion dollars. If the Soviets seek to go ahead in the game, at our much smaller cost we can continue our mixture of real missiles and dummies ad infinitum, staying easily ahead of them while they spend their economy into ruin.

(The Senator hearing room falls almost eerily quiet for a moment, as Senators lean back from their microphones to confer with aides. An initial buzz in the spectators’ gallery turns quickly to applause before the Chairman can sound his gavel.)

Senator Tower of Texas:
What if the Russians start to dummy missiles?

Perfect Tommy:
I would answer, Senator, by asking you a question: How do you know they haven’t already? (followed by a pause)
I rest my case.

I was in the gallery that day and, as I told Perfect Tommy later, felt it to be the singular most important piece of testimony given before the Senate committee in my lifetime. Without exaggeration it was Perfect Tommy’s hour, surpassing even that time we found him singing and clapping for himself—both in his sleep; I only regret that our recommendations have not been acted upon.

And inasmuch as I have been speaking my own sentiments on something as altogether wondrous as the Institute, perhaps I should conclude with something applicable to the subject stated by B. Banzai himself, the following delivered by him to a recent graduating class at the Harvard School of Business:

Not only is the business executive naturally uncertain about the future, but, in addition, rumor (i.e., all the news which he obtains from outposts, through spies, or through the grapevine) exaggerates problems on the horizon. The majority of people are timid by nature, and that is why they constantly exaggerate danger. All influences on the executive, therefore, combine to give him a pessimistic impression of things, and from this arises a new source of indecision. Thus, excessive intellection can easily become irrationality, as the executive
begins to desire to make the right choice at all costs.
To
desire
to make the correct choice is the beginning of the end for any leader. The successful executive is he who grows accustomed to living dangerously day after day and grows the thick skin of a fatalist. He can drop off to sleep with a gun pointed to his head and can enjoy his dinner while a lynch mob prepares his execution all around him. Those of you who learn to step over this threshold, I congratulate you, for that is what we teach at the Banzai Institute.