Sir George wondered exactly why that was. From the general knowledge of computer systems which the dragon-man had implanted in his brain, he knew what the official answer would be. Since the Federation prohibited the development of true artificial intelligence, Computer's failure to report the occasional mutinous comment he must have noticed in one or another of those recorded conversations over the years was the inevitable consequence of his creators' deliberate restrictions upon his capabilities. He didn't attempt to divine and execute their intentions because they'd given him no true ability to "think," and so made him forever incapable of anything other than slavish obedience to the exact letter of very specific orders.
That was the official answer, but unlike the dragon-men, Sir George had spent many hours analyzing political equations, planning strategies—political and military, alike—and evolving and executing tactics upon the field of battle with Computer's assistance. Many times during that process Computer had anticipated his questions, needs, or simply his desires before he ever enunciated them. More than that, Computer hadn't simply anticipated them, he'd acted to answer or fulfill them without direct orders. If he was capable of that when working with Sir George, then logic suggested that he must have the same capabilities when it came to obeying his masters among the starship's crew... whether he exercised them or not. All of which suggested to the baron that there might be more rats in the walls of the demon-jester's castle than even the dragon-men realized.
Whatever the reason for Computer's literal-minded obedience to the letter of his orders, it had seriously compromised the demon-jester's crew's surveillance measures. His programmed instructions required him to report any signs of conspiracy or disaffection he picked up over his communication relays, but the spy devices were a separate system, and no one had ever specifically instructed him to analyze what they recorded. All he'd been told to do was to record and store it for the crew to analyze. He had to be aware of what was contained within those recordings, but he'd never told any crew member about their content, and it was quite apparent that none of them had ever run an independent analysis of the endless hours of surveillance recordings stored in Computer's memory banks. Even worse from their viewpoint, had they only known it, was the fact that they had even more contempt, in many ways, for the dragon-men than for the humans. Absolutely confident in their programmed guard force's helpless subservience, and with no suspicion that it was even physically possible for dragon to communicate with human, the guildsmen made no effort to conceal the placement of their listening devices or their conclusions about what the English were up to from their bodyguards. As a result, the dragon-men had been able to identify two locations on the periphery of the current encampment which were simultaneously inaccessible to Computer's communications links and left uncovered by the crew's sloppy placement of their backup spies.
All of which meant that if Sir George was very careful, it was possible to speak to his subordinates in places where Computer couldn't overhear them and the crew probably wouldn't realize that he had. But those conversations must be brief. Whatever he might suspect about Computer's failure to independently report suspicious conversations to the demon-jester, he dared not assume that Computer's reticence would continue. Nor could he afford to rely upon the flesh and blood crew's laziness. When the stakes were so high, he couldn't risk the possibility that the crewmen officially responsible for keeping watch upon him and his people might develop a more energetic sense of curiosity if they happened to note that he'd abruptly begun spending a suspicious amount of time in the dead zones Computer's active communication links couldn't cover.
And it was difficult, Sir George soon discovered, to plan a desperate rebellion, even with men who'd known and served with one for decades, when that planning could be carried out only in bits and pieces. Especially when the entire plan had to be completed and in place in no more than twelve days.
Matilda came first, of course. He'd feared that she would believe his dream had been just that—only a dream—and he could hardly have blamed her if she had. After all, he had more than half-believed it one when he awoke. But she'd only gazed deeply and intently into his eyes for several moments as they'd stood in a small hollow beside the river, temporarily safe from any eavesdropper. Then she'd nodded.
"I understand, my love," she'd said simply. "Whom shall we tell first?"
Matilda's belief made things much simpler. Despite the frequency with which she and the other women and children were left in stasis while the troops were awakened for combat, every one of Sir George's officers knew that she was his true executive officer and closest advisor and confidante, as well as his wife. They weren't precisely accustomed to receiving orders directly from her, for she'd always been careful to remain in the background where purely military matters were concerned, however active she might have been in administering the many other aspects of their community. But by the same token, they neither felt surprised nor questioned her when she did inform them that she spoke for her husband.
With her assistance, Sir George found it relatively simple to inform those most necessary to working out and executing the plan. Father Timothy was crucial, not least because the demon-jester had accepted his role as a spiritual counselor from the very beginning. The demon-jester might scoff at "primitive superstition," but clearly he had no intention of attempting to suppress it. In fact, from comments the "Commander" had let drop, Sir George knew that he actively encouraged the Faith among his human slaves in the belief that it kept them more pliable. But that was perfectly acceptable to the baron, for Father Timothy's pastoral duties gave him an excellent excuse to be out and about among the members of his flock. His ability to speak to any human without arousing suspicion, coupled with the imprimatur of his moral and religious authority in the eyes of those to whom he spoke, made him of enormous value as a plotter. And the fact that the demon-jester and his "civilized" crewmen regarded the Faith as nothing more than the sort of empty, foolish superstition to be expected of primitives led them to regard the priest who served it with the dismissive contempt appropriate to someone who was either a self-serving charlatan or so stupid he actually believed the nonsense he preached.
Rolf Grayhame was the next most important member of the cabal. The burly archer went paper-white when Sir George first broached the subject, for, despite his hatred for the "Commander," Grayhame, more than any other among the English, especially since Skinnet's death, had had the lesson of the guildsmen's inviolability driven into his head. Indeed, Sir George had done a great deal of the driving himself, for it had seemed far more likely that the archers might decide they could reach the demon-jester than that one of the knights or men-at-arms who must somehow come within arm's reach with weapon in hand might decide the same thing.
But despite his initial shock, Grayhame recovered quickly, and his smile was ferret-fierce and hungry when Sir George explained his part in the plan.
"Said it was the only reward I really wanted, now didn't I, M'lord?" the archer demanded, his voice little more than a harsh, whispered mutter despite Sir George's assurance that no spies were placed to hear or see them at the moment. "Can't say the notion of relying so much on the dragon-men will make me sleep sound of nights, but for the rest—pah!" He spat on the ground. "I'll take my chances, M'lord. Oh, aye, indeed will I take my chances!"
Along with Matilda, Timothy, and Grayhame, Sir Richard Maynton completed the uppermost tier of the conspiracy, and, in some ways, his was the hardest task of all. Since Skinnet's death, Sir Richard had become Sir George's true right hand where the mounted and foot men-at-arms were involved. Dafydd Howice fulfilled the role of Sir Richard's sergeant, especially for the foot, but it was Sir Richard upon whom Sir George had truly come to depend, and it was Maynton who faced the most complex assignment.