"So because I wanted to do something you didn't think I could do, you slapped a 'dysfunction' marker on me and yelled to the authorities." The mental numbness was fading now, anger once more rising to take its place. "Is that it?"
"It has nothing to do with what I personally think," Max protested. "Your conditioning places specific limitations on your actions, limitations as laser-cut and well defined as—"
"As your own programming?"
"I wouldn't have put it quite that way—"
"But that's what you were thinking, wasn't it? Well, I've got fresh input for you. You may be defined down to twelve decimals, but I am not. I'm a human being, and I can do anything any other human being can do."
"Tomo, your vocal stress levels are becoming—"
Tomo cut him off with a well-aimed slash at the control ball. Getting to his feet, he stomped over to the exit door. For a moment he stood there, anger battling common sense for supremacy. But the anger was far stronger. Slapping the touch plate, he stepped out into the port corridor. This time, no one was in sight. Picking a direction, he started off, determined to find his way to Halian's office. Halian, Scharn, Ross, even Max: he'd show all of them.
—
The deviation between the two curves was small—well within the one-sigma accepted tolerance—but with the advantages of hindsight it was obvious to Scharn that that was where it had begun. "Right there," she told Halian and Ross, tapping the spot on the screen. "You can see the slip starting to form as early as a year ago."
"Too small a change for the MX to key on," Ross muttered.
"I wasn't blaming the MX," Scharn said, leaning back in her chair. "And it brings up an interesting question. Is Tomo becoming mentally unbalanced, or is his genetic programming somehow unraveling and allowing his personality to drift more toward human norms?"
"How could it do that?" Halian asked. "A genetic effect like that should be permanent."
Scharn shrugged. "In theory, so should damage to a section of mature brain. But stroke and accident victims routinely regain lost functions as the neural pathways restructure themselves. Perhaps some combination of hormones and neurotransmitters is acting to counteract the genetic bias here."
Halian harrumphed. "I don't buy that. Anyway, I can't see that it makes any practical difference—"
"Of course it makes a difference," Scharn shot back. "In the first case he's ill and can probably be treated with some form of chemo-imbalance correction. In the second, though, what we actually have is a rapid version of personality evolution, which is not only normal but could be dangerous to suppress artificially."
"I believe," Ross interjected quietly, "that Mr. Halian was referring to Tomo's continuing presence aboard the Goldenrod."
It took a moment for Scharn to pick up exactly what he meant. "You mean leaning toward sociability will make him less able to stand solitude? Um... Maybe, maybe not. It depends partly on whether—"
She stopped as a double ping sounded from Halian's desk, followed by Iris's cool voice. "Mr. Halian, Goldenrod Mainter Tomo has left his quarters and entered the station: moving spinward on corridor D-9. Do you have instructions?"
Scharn felt her stomach tighten. It had been her suggestion, but she hadn't really expected Tomo to act on it. Halian and Ross looked even more stunned.
"Full sector/level monitor until further notice," Halian instructed the computer. "Is anyone else in that immediate area?"
"Negative," Iris reported. "D-8, D-9, and D-1 are clear."
"All right." Halian looked at Ross as if for advice, but didn't seem to get any. "All right, just monitor Tomo's movements and keep me informed. I'll be on mobile. Oh, and better lock down all computer outlets and elevators in his vicinity, just in case." He picked up a small rectangular clip-on from the side of the viewer screen and stood up, the others following suit. "Let's get after him."
"Can't you seal him into that corridor?" Scharn asked.
"I could," Halian told her. "But it occurs to me that letting him run into a few people might be the best way to convince him that he can't handle that kind of social interaction."
Scharn's first reaction was that he was making an exceptionally poor joke. A half second later she realized he was serious. "And what if it merely drives him over the edge permanently?" she asked coldly. "Or don't you care about that?"
"He won't hit any heavily populated areas for quite some time without the elevators," Halian assured her. "If meeting with us didn't do anything permanent to him, neither will any situation he's likely to run into up there. Besides—" He hesitated. "The fewer people who know about this, the better. For all concerned."
Especially for you, Scharn thought bitterly. "I'm going for the sedation kit I left in my quarters," she said. "Will one of you wait here for me?"
"We both will," Ross said before Halian could respond.
There was something in his voice that made Scharn look hard at his face. But whatever was wrong was too well hidden for a quick interpretation, and she didn't have time for anything else. "All right," she said. "I'll be right back."
—
Ross waited until the door had closed solidly behind the psychiatrist before turning to Halian. The director returned his gaze steadily; and after a moment Ross realized the other was going to make him raise the subject. He cleared his throat, glancing at the desk to make sure Iris's monitor was off. "You realize, of course," he told Halian, "that Tomo will pass through the thorascrine leak area on G-deck if he stays in 9-sector on his way down."
"That area's been adequately cleaned up," Halian returned evenly. "You certified that yourself."
"For us, yes. But Tomo's been in a medium-radiation environment most of his life. There've been reports that that can sensitize a man, make him much more susceptible to thorascrine poisoning." He paused, waiting for a reaction that didn't come. "But I see you already knew that, didn't you?"
"I may have heard of it somewhere. I don't remember."
"Sure." The sheer callousness of Halian's attitude was infuriating... and yet, even Ross could see the logic behind it. Legally, Tomo was less human than he was property, and Halian had both the right and responsibility of treating him as any other malfunctioning component. "Well," he said slowly, "I suppose it actually would make things a lot easier if Tomo got incapacitated somehow. The Goldenrod would leave on schedule without him and you wouldn't have to make a snap decision on his fitness for deep space. Scharn could take him dirtside and study him to her heart's content. The Goldenrod can manage with a missing mainter, can't it?"
"It can theoretically fly with even three of the six missing." Halian seemed to be having trouble meeting Ross's eyes. "The question then is what would happen to Tomo. If we take him off the Goldenrod he'll probably never be placed on another ship, even if he can be cured or whatever. So Scharn studies him for maybe a year or two... and then what? Starship mainting is all he knows how to do, and given his personality there's really nothing else he can be retrained for."
Ross felt his mouth go dry. To remove Tomo from his ship—by whatever means—was one thing. But this— "What you're talking now is way beyond an incapacitating injury," he said softly. "You're talking deliberate murder."
"I'm not talking anything," Halian said, his face unreadable. "I'm simply... thinking how an accident at this point would... simplify things."
This isn't happening, Ross thought as a sense of unreality seemed to darken the air between him and Halian. Premeditated murder... or was it? How human was Tomo, anyway? Form, intelligence—neither one was exclusive human property anymore. Genetic structure? Tomo's was no more human than that of any other biological construct. Surely there were legal guidelines, but Ross had no idea what they were. He could still raise a fuss, of course, and he could sense that Halian would back down at sun-grazer speeds if he did so, whether the director was in the legal right or not. But would that really do Tomo any favors? Because Halian was right—Tomo really couldn't do anything else. Unless Scharn's bafflegab about some so-called personality evolution came true with a vengeance... but no, that theory was equal parts absurdity and wishful thinking. Which left Ross exactly where he'd started, at dead center.