Part 10 (1/2)
Well, it's a large galaxy. But it so happens I personally directed the metachip design effort there. That's how I happened to recognize the changes you've introduced in the chips.”
”My hyperchips will be fester and more powerful than die old metachips by at least two orders of mag- nitude,” Polyon said. ”They'll revolutionize the industry. It didn't take any genius to recognize that.
The genius was in figuring out how to do it.”
”And that's not all the hyperchips will do, is it, de Gras-Waldheim? Industry isn't the only thing about to suffer a... revolution.”
Polyon inclined his head slighdy. ”YouTI have a gla.s.s of Stemerald with me, to celebrate our arrangement?”119.
Ma.s.son's eyes widened and he licked his lips. ”Why, I haven't tasted Stemerald in - in - well, it must be ten years! Not since I came here! I must say, de Gras- Waldheim, I didn't think you'd take our little arrangement so well.”
Polyon's back was to Ma.s.son as he poured out the Stemerald into two sparkling globes from OG GUmware.
”A lot of men would be petty about cutting me in on the profits,” Ma.s.son babbled on, accepting his globe and draining it between words, ”but that's you High Families type, you know how to accept defeat gra- ciously. And after all, giving me a small cut isn't much when you think of what it would do to your plans if I told Governor Lyautey about all the hyperchips'
programming.” He swallowed the last drops of Stemerald, ran his tongue round his lips once more to savor the taste, then sat back with the slightly dazed ex- pression of a man who'd just had his first strong drink in ten years.
”As I said,” Polyon repeated, ”you leave me no choice in the matter.” He frowned quickly. ”You have honored your end of the agreement, haven't you, Ma.s.son? No word to anyone else?”
”No word,” Ma.s.son agreed. He spoke more slowly now. ”I wouldn't... want... anyone else .., cutting in ...” His eyes glazed over and he sat staring into s.p.a.ce with a blissful smile on his face.
”Very good. Now, Ma.s.son, I have a special task for you.” Polyon leaned forward. ”Hear and repeat! You will go to the dip chambers.”
”I... will... go... to... the... dip ... chambers,”*
Ma.s.son droned.
”I want you to make a surprise inspection. You will not announce yourself.”
”... not... announce... 'self.”
”You do not need a protective suit.”
Ma.s.son nodded and smiled. All the intelligence had 120.
&? Mwgorrf Ban left his face now. Polyon felt a twinge of regret. The man had been brilliant; would be again, if the Seductron wore off. He could have been a useful sub- ordinate if he hadn't made the mistake of trying to blackmail Polyon. But as it was ... well, there was no point in waiting, was there? d.a.m.n Alpha. If she'd only developed the controlled Seductron she kept promis- ing, with doses ranging from ten-minute zaps to a state of mindless, permanent bliss, there would be no need for this last distasteful step.
Polyon finished his orders to Ma.s.son and snapped a dismissal. ”Go. Now!”
Ma.s.son stood unsteadily and left Polyon's inner of- fice. Polyon sat back and began sketching a metachip linkage plan with one forefinger, tracing glowing paths across the design screen.
Five minutes later, his vidcomm lit up to show the face of the afternoon s.h.i.+ft supervisor. ”Lieutenant de Gras-Waldheim? Sir? There's been a terrible accident.
One of your designers just... the man must have gone mad, he walked right into the dip room without a suit... if only he'd knocked they could have kept him waiting in the outer lock until the gases were cleared out... they didn't even know he was there.... The room was filled with Ganglicide in gaseous form, he didn't have a chance....” Screams sounded in the background. ”Oh, sir, it's terrible!”
”A most distressing accident,” Polyon agreed.
”Begin the paperwork, 567934. And don't blame yourself. Sometimes it just takes them like that, you know, the lifers. Better any death than a lifetime on Shemali, they think, and who knows? Perhaps they're right. Oh, sorry, 1 forgot - you're a lifer too, aren't you?”
He didn't start laughing until the connection was broken.
* CHAPTER SEVEN
Spica Base, Central Date 2754: Caleb and Nancia Nancia limped into Spica Base on half power, depend- ent on Caleb for reports on the lower deck damage where her sensors had self-destructed to preserve her from shock when the asteroid struck them.
”Freak accident,” commented the Tech Grade 7 who came out to survey the damage in person.
Nancia mourned the sleek gloss of her exterior finish, now pitted and gouged around the torn metal shreds of the entrance hole. ”Ishould have takena different route.”
”Freak s.h.i.+p.” The tech snapped his IR-Sensor gog- gles down, hiding his eyes behind a band of black plastifilm. ”Ain't natural. s.h.i.+p talks, pilot don't.”
”The correct terms, as I'm sure you are aware, are 'brains.h.i.+p* and 'brawn,' ” Nancia said frostily. ”Caleb is... it's none of your business. Just leave him alone, okay?” She'd seen him plunged into these unreason- ing depressions before, whenever one of their missions was less than one hundred percent success- ful. He'd retreated into himself without speaking for a week after the disastrous undercover a.s.signment with Dorg Jesen, while Nancia tried to tempt his appet.i.te with fancy dishes from the galley and interesting tid- bits of news picked up from the gossipbeams.
”I'll need somebody at the other end to help me link the hyperchips into the s.h.i.+p's system,” the tech protested. ”Somebody who knows the s.h.i.+p. My guys are good, but this is a small base. They ain't never 122.worked on a talking s.h.i.+p before. And n.o.body's got that much experience with hyperchips. They might not in- terface with these sensor setups just like the old metachips did.”
”Then,” said Nancia, ”perhaps you should explain to them that a talking s.h.i.+p can, in fact, talk. There's no need to trouble my brawn for information; 111 manage the installa- tion myself” She didn't feel nearly so cheerful and carefree as she tried to sound; the thought of some dolt like this tech fooling around with her synaptic connectors made her feel sick and weak. But she did not want him bothering Caleb.
One thing she'd learned in the last four years of partner- s.h.i.+p was that Caleb only stayed depressed longer ifhe was forced to talk to people before he was ready to.
The tech grunted acquiescence and twiddled some- thing she couldn't see, ”Sensor connection to OP-N1.15, testing.”
”If you mean can I see what you're doing,” Nantia responded, ”the answer is no.”
The tech gaped but recovered himself quickly.
”Hah! OP-N1 series . . . optic nerve connections?
Sorry, lady - s.h.i.+p - whatever you are. What I'm looking at, see, it's just schematics. 1 didn't think ...”
His voice trailed off for a moment. ”Awesome, really, when you think about it that way. That there's zperson somewhere inside this steel and t.i.tanium.”
”Correction,” Nancia said. She was becoming used to this tendency among softpersons; they insisted on equating her with the body curled inside the t.i.tanium column, as if that was all there was to her. ”I am a per- son. That's my lower deck vision you're twiddling with now, and I'd very much like to have it - Thank you!”
A partial visual field opened as she spoke. Now she could see the tech again, and one gloved hand reach- ing up into the tangle of fused metal and wires that had been her lower deck sensory system.
”OP-N 1.15 restored,” the tech noted. ”Now if- say,123.
this is going to be easy. Don't need this stuff” He clipped a test meter to his belt and used both hands to rejoin severed wires. ”OP-N1.16 functioning now? Good. 17?”
He worked through the full series rapidly, while Nancia kept him informed of the status of each repair.
”Thank you,” she said again when he'd restored her full optic series for the lower deck. ”It's... most trou- bling, being unable to look at a part of myself”
”Imagine it would be,” the tech agreed. ”Glad to help a lady, any time.”
Nancia noted that in the course of one short repair session she had advanced from ”unnatural talking s.h.i.+p,” to ”person” to, apparently, ”lady in distress.” By the time the repairs are finished, he'll be wanting to sign up for brawn framing... and most distressed to learn he's over age.