“Surely it would call for millions of readings, and more calculating power than you people like to play with.” Hugh had not liked interrupting, and had briefly delayed doing so while he wondered why the Naxian was addressing Janice so specifically, but S’Nash’s enthusiasm seemed to be getting somewhat out of hand, if that were the right word.
“It does not require artificial intelligence, if that’s what you’re hinting,” Rekchellet cut in immediately. “A dedicated number handler of appropriate power can deal with the work. The problem is securing the data — the measurements — the observations.”
“True.” Hugh decided not to argue. Basically the Crotonite was right. However, the thought of feeding such a mass of information to anything but a well developed AI unit made him cringe like an astronomer asked to do an asteroid orbit with pencil, paper, and log tables. Still, this was hardly a time to dispute what amounted to a religious attitude. Maybe the native Habras could face it; they were primitive enough to be used to tedious labor. They built their submarines with manual tools.
More important, maybe a project like this could be put together in a way that Hugh and Janice and their fellow Erthumoi would find useful…
“The equipment is simple,” S’Nash continued.
Some sort of shock producer and a lot of receiving transducers.”
“How many? How big an area can be checked at a time? How long would a set of observations take? How and where do you get the equipment, now that the Pits have been started and basic procedure settled?” It was a lot of code for Janice to fire off at once, but it should take a lot of answering. She, as S’Nash had done at Hugh’s interruption, settled into i more comfortable stance on the snow and looked steadily at the Naxian. Something, Hugh could tell, had interested her. S’Nash presumably knew this, too; maybe it/he could even guess what it was — no, Naxians weren’t supposed to be mind readers. Maybe his wife was doing some hypothesis testing of her own.
“A single shock source will do, but we’d really want lots of sources, lots of stations. For each station, anywhere from a dozen to a thousand sensors would be appropriate. The more receivers, the more quickly the data can be secured…”
“And the more complex the calculations,” keyed Hugh, with his newly born thought in mind. S’Nash could only read approval, one could hope. “Exactly.”
The realistic limit, then, is how many receivers you can get.” “Yes.”
“You say such a project is going on, and you’re keeping in touch with it. How many do they have? How are they handling data? Who’s involved? The Guild?”
“We’re trying to keep in touch informally, without interfering with our work here.”
“Or your status.” Hugh regretted the remark as soon as it was uttered; it was probably unfair. Neither S’Nash nor Rekchellet seemed to notice the interruption, however; the Naxian went on.
“I don’t know how big the project is, or how many are involved, or just who is running it. I don’t think it’s the Guild, which is another reason we aren’t in really close contact.”
“And also why,” added Hugh, “you seem to feel such a need for secrecy about all this. I don’t blame you for not discussing it in detail until we got out here.”
Rekchellet made a chuckling sound which, the translator indicated by a standard nonverbal symbol, actually did signify humor, and took over the explanation. “The local people who would disapprove,” the Crotonite said, “quite aside from the Guild, which wouldn’t really care much, are some of S’Nash’s fellow Naxians. They also include the Locrian coordinator for the Project, Spreadsheet-Thinker. S’Nash feels it/he needs something to explain its/his chronic condition of anxiety, which any Naxian can sense. I’m afraid you are the villains, Hugh and Janice. While I am sure S’Nash has never said this in so many words to other Naxians, or to the coordinator, they all have the idea that you are exerting pressure on it/him to overcome the natural, healthy distrust of artificial minds which all but Erthumoi possess. I trust you don’t mind being used, too.”
Janice raised her eyebrows and looked at her husband. Hugh shrugged, wondering what S’Nash had read of his reaction to that charge. “As long as he thinks they won’t know better from reading our feelings,” he tapped.
“Feelings aren’t thoughts,” the Naxian reminded them. “You could be happy or unhappy, anxious or calm, for any number of reasons unconnected with me. I’ve been uneasy about this misdirection, but with your aid and that of Rekchellet there should be no more trouble. Species other than my own, fortunately, seem not to be bothered by such acts as deceptive reporting, and…”
Janice and the Crotonite objected simultaneously, but the former was hampered by her need to use code. Rekchellet’s broad wings spread indignantly— but briefly; the wind was still rising — and his drawing equipment fell to the snow.
“Are you saying that all Crotonites are liars?” His fury was plain enough even to the Erthumoi, and jolting to S’Nash, they felt sure. The feelings of the necessarily less articulate woman and her silent husband were presumably also clear to it/him. For several seconds the Naxian was silent, no doubt trying to spot a path out of the verbal trap so carelessly sprung; then Janice, who for a moment had intended to object as strongly as Rekchellet, let her normal conciliatory self lake over. After all, the Naxian was supplying her with interesting data.
“I think it’s just that S’Nash can see that without the Naxian sense it’s easier for us deceive one another,” she keyed, “and that a good many of us sometimes actually do that intentionally. In view of us/his current plans, it/he can’t be…” she paused, looking for just the right word…”criticizing us for the tendency, Rek. Much less for the ability.”
“Precisely,” exclaimed the Naxian, uncoiling and rewinding the other way. “Thank you, Janice. I chose my words very badly indeed.” It/he paused and looked at husband and wife intently.
“Rekchellet has agreed to help. I can tell that you feel some sympathy, Erthumoi. Can you help without causing yourselves trouble? You are closely tied in with the work of the Project as it stands, Janice, but what I suggest interests you.”
Again the couple eyed each other, and again Hugh shrugged.
“How would Administration feel?” he asked. “I should think you’d have checked that.”
“Ged Barrar is a Samian. You know that as well as I do. All he’d want is for the investigation to come up with a convincing answer, so the Project will be listed as a success on his administrative record.”
Janice knew there was more difference among Samian personalities than S’Nash claimed, and was sure it/he knew it, too. However, there was no point arguing the matter in code, especially since Barrar had frankly admitted holding precisely that view point as part of a much more complex one only hours earlier. S’Nash had no doubt based its/his remark on something much more solid than a general attitude toward Samians.
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t help out,” she keyed, hoping her doubts didn’t show, or at least that they were blanketed by her interest, but realizing resignedly that the snaky alien would know both feelings anyway.
“It sounds like fun,” added her husband. She could see a smile which might mean enthusiasm through his faceplate. She was no Naxian. but knew he was thinking about their other job, and how it might just have become somewhat easier.
If S’Nash grasped anything beyond the sincerity of the Cedars’ words, it/he said nothing to reveal it. Naxians seldom went out of their way to make their own emotions obvious to aliens. Janice, who tended to think the best of everyone, assumed that the need would never occur to them, and did not suppose they were displaying Locrian-style secretiveness about their powers.