"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.
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.
His glance followed the Com-central track, the way the board circled around their positions. Bickel was in number-one spot, then Prue, then Flattery - and he sat here on the end.
It's my watch, Timberlake told himself.
He felt perspiration start in his palms.
Bickel had taken the board in his turn, obviously begrudging every minute away from his damned computations. He would not volunteer.
I've got to take that board, Timberlake told himself.
He thought of the more than three thousand lives immediately dependent on him when that green arrow slid over to his position... all the other lives and dreams that had been poured into this project.
Every bit of it pointing a finger at him.
I can't! he thought.
He's taking too long, Flattery thought. "I'll give you the board on the count, Tim. I'm wearing pretty thin."
Before Timberlake could protest, the count had started and his hand went automatically to the big red switch. Board and arrow came to him. Necessities of the job caught him immediately. Almost a third of the shield temperature control needed trimming to bring it into better balance.
We should trace out the OMC linkages for this and install automatics for the gross part of the job, he thought.
Presently, he fell into the routine of the watch.
"Here's our operating procedure," Bickel said. He looked up, caught an exchange of knowing glances between Flattery and Prue, hesitated. Something going on between those two? If it was man-woman problems, that could cause trouble.
"You were saying," Prudence said.
Bickel saw she was staring directly at him. He cleared his throat, glanced at his figures and schematics for reassurance. "The computer must be the basis for anything we build, but we can't interfere with core memory and switching controls. That means we have to use an electronic simulation model. Part of the AAT system..."
"What about communication with Moonbase?" Prudence asked.
That's a stupid question, he thought, but he hid his irritation. "A switching system will automatically restore AAT function when the reply burst hits our antennas. We'll use an alarm klaxon."
"Oh." She nodded, wondering how far she could go before he realized he was being irritated purposely.
"This will be an operational model," he said. "It'll duplicate real characteristics of the total system, but won't function as completely as the computer-based system. However, it will give us direct observation of functions with conventional equipment. It'll tell us where we have to go unconventional. The environment, the signals, and the system parameters can be observed and changed as development progresses. And we'll only need a one-way, fused link with the computer to permit it to record all our results."
This much was predictable, Flattery thought. But where does he go from here?
"We'll generate an environment in scaled time and apply its own effect signals to the system under analysis," Prudence said. "Good. What then?"