"But they had to ask for it," Bickel said. "And we'll have to doctor up some kind of report."
Bickel looked at Flattery. "You can cook up a report for Hempstead, Raj. Psychiatrists are experts at deception."
At times, this Bickel is uncommonly aware of subtleties, Flattery thought. I must warn Prudence. "All of us renounced deception, John."
"Just like we renounced birth and parents," Bickel said. "It was easy. Somebody did it for us."
Flattery knew he had to speak quickly, before this conversation devolved into self-pity. He kept his attention on a tiny paint flaw in the hard-baked surface of the master board, chose his words carefully: "The ship has to have conscious direction for the long haul, John. It has to. The trip involves too many unknowns that have to be dealt with on conditions of immediacy. So what do we do?"
"You're asking me?" Bickel asked. "You're the psychiatrist."
But I'm not the motivator here, Flattery thought. Pin not the one who can inject purpose into our efforts.
"This is going to require more direct methods," he said.
Bickel stared at him.
"Well, what're you going to tell them?" Timberlake asked. "They want to know why we didn't alert them when the first brain conked out. Of all the -"
"There's another thing," Bickel said, shifting his attention to Timberlake. "They gave us no code for that particular emergency. Are we to assume they thought it impossible for the OMCs to fail? We are not! We have to assume they had some other motive. They put the threshold high on that one for a specific purpose."
"Ali, for hell sakes," Timberlake protested, "you're finding bogeymen where they don't exist, Bick."
Bickel shook his head from side to side. "No... they were telling us in no uncertain terms that once we blew the whistle we were on our own. We have to find our own long-haul driver for the Tin Egg."
He's circling all around it, Flattery thought. When will he zero in?
Bickel wet his lips with his tongue. This borderline conversation, skirting the need for a consciousness to command the ship, disturbed him deeply. He was too honest with himself to ignore this fact.
Timberlake, picking up the threads of a previous conversation, said: "There was no physical reason for those brains to fail. The life systems were perfect. It's as though they committed suicide... under some unknown stress."
With an abrupt gesture, Bickel shifted his AAT board into transmit phase: "Okay, we'll stall 'em on their detailed report. They know it'll take time, anyway. As to why we didn't alert them earlier, I've decided to tell 'em flatly it was because they goofed and didn't give us a code for this particular emergency. If they -"
"You'll only get Hempstead angry," Flattery said.
"Hempstead angry will be more help to us than Hempstead cool and devious," Bickel said. "The angry man will make mistakes. He'll let some real help slip through to us."
"What makes you think Big Daddy would try to foul us up?" Timberlake asked.
"He's a political administrator. Even if it's unconscious..." Bickel hesitated; an idea had flicked into his mind... then eluded him. He went on, in a lower tone: "Even if it's unconscious, he'll put political considerations ahead of anything else. His first efforts will be to keep himself in power. We're in a position to throw out political elements and concentrate on our immediate problem. To do that, we throw monkey wrenches into the political gears and focus just on what we need. The things we need will come through."
Adroit, subtle, and capable of profound cunning, Flattery thought. This Bickel bears the most careful watching.
"Things we need," Timberlake said. "Such as what?"
"Such as advice from certain specialists at Moonbase, and as much computer time as they can spare us."
"You can't separate the political from everything else," Flattery objected. "You'll only stir things up and -
"If you want to see what's in the bottom of the kettle, you have to give it one hell of a stir," Bickel said. "And I want them to define consciousness for us."
He was way ahead of me again, Flattery thought. I have to stop underestimating him. One slip could ruin everything.
CHAPTER 8
Of all the Earthling's crew, Raja Lon Flattery has been provided with the most accurate information, suitably weighted, of course. This was necessary because he had to be provided with a secret terminal in his quarters through which he can monitor the mood of ship and crew. A primary fuse has to be connected to the system, and Flattery is that fuse.
SHE HAD COME into Com-central still feeling weak and disoriented. It was obvious that the shift of dominance had gone faster than expected, and she had forced herself to overcome her body's weaknesses, putting on a mask of well-being and composure that she did not feel.
The ovoid Com-central room should not have confused her - she had put in too many hours of training among these dials and gauges and pipes and keyboard consoles before their departure - but the feeling of unfamiliarity persisted. Then, as awareness increased, she saw the subtle changes in connections and controls and readouts. Bickel's handiwork.
All the changes were necessary to put the ship on manual, she realized, but she could feel the inadequacies of what had been done.
It was only then that she realized the thin edge they walked, and she turned her attention to Flattery who was finishing out his shift on the big board. The signs of strain were obvious in his movements - still exact with a surgeon's sureness, but the control betrayed its thinning energy in the way he relaxed abruptly after each adjustment of the board.
He should be relieved now, she thought, but she knew she was not yet ready to have that green dial point down at her, and she was not sure of the conditions of Bickel and Timberlake.
Timberlake radiated glum silence.
Bickel had greeted her warmly enough, then handed her a load of programming. The task obviously pointed toward construction of an electronic multi-simulation model of their main computer's core memory input/output.
Much of the programming remained to be completed. She lay back on her action couch, examined the test display of one series on the screen beside her. She felt the couch's enfolding cocoon through the vacsuit, wished there were time to let her body recover fully from its dehyb ordeal.
The evidence was all around her, though, that she had to get to work. There was no time for the luxury of slow recuperation.
Okay, you're so proud of your position and title... Prudence Lon Weygand, M. D., she told herself. You asked for this job. You know what you have to do; get with it...
The old self-lecture failed to rekindle her energies, and she steeled herself to hide all signs of weakness before speaking.
"Moonbase is taking longer to answer this time than it did before," she said. "And I gave 'em some questions to answer."
"They're too busy trying to decide what our reply really means," Bickel said.
"Or they could be figuring out how to tell us we've bitten off more'n we can chew," Timberlake said.
She heard the fear in his voice. "Raj has been on that board over four hours. Isn't it time somebody spelled him, Tim?"
Flattery knew what she was doing, but could not prevent the feeling of tension from gripping his spine. There was always the possibility Timberlake couldn't take this.
Timberlake felt the dryness in his mouth. Naturally, she assumed he was giving orders here. He was the life-systems man. She had not volunteered to take the board, either... the bitch. But maybe it was too soon after dehyb. Metabolisms differed. She would know her own capacities, certainly. Besides, she was scheduled to follow Bickel on the board in the normal rotation.