"mayflies07" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

Tracer's green eyes were riveted to the display screen; her chapped hands curled around the edge of the bench and whitened at the knuckles. Holding her breath, she watched it turn from silver to muddy brown to ebony to-
The dials on the chamber swung with the force of the explosion. The anchored workbench shivered; a valve whistled as it bled off pressure. A good yield, but . . . Christ, she thought, can't use that for construction if it p lasts when it gets wet . . .
"Cube," she called.
"Yes?" The voice echoed off the bare metal walls.
"Did you know that was going to detonate?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you warn me?"
"You didn't ask."
"Goddammit!" she screamed, anger clawing at her throat, "goddammit, goddammit! I spent six months on this-when did you know it wouldn't work?"
"Shortly after the third refinement-approximately four months ago."
"And all that time you could have warned me."
"All that time you could have asked me."
She clamped her jaws together, knowing that if she continued to argue in her present emotional state, it would continue to make a fool out of her. Damn it anyway, for being such an icicle. Damn it for putting her in the wrong and keeping her here. She paced, scraping her soles on the deck's acid-splotched paint.
Relations between the Landers and the Cube had soured around 3288, shortly after they had accused it of brainwashing Andall Figuera, who had since become a mystic-contemplative hermit in the caves of 1 New England Park.
"So what?" it had replied. "He's still a Lander."
"Meth," they'd snapped. "He's sleetier than you are, and he's not going down. We won't have time for mental ' incompetents."
"The colony needs him to offset your hardheadedness."
"We're not going to take him."
"Then you don't go, either."
Acrimony had mounted in inverse proportion to the remaining distance to Canopus. The Cube had stopped speaking except when spoken to, and then as tersely as possible: Yes. No. 12.83. No assistance, no editorializing . . .
Much as she hated to admit it, Tracer missed the chatty Col'kyu of her youth. She'd grown up accustomed to an ubiquitous presence that spoke in metallic tones and was always available, always ready with a friendly word, warning, whatever the situation called for.
Now the presence, no less ubiquitous, was a surly Peeping Tom. At least to the Landers. Apparently it was still amiable with the Travelers. Dammit, she thought, it's not right. A lousy computer. Instead of doing what we tell it, it does what it wants. It's going to set us down under-equipped and doom us all. I've got to stop it.
Dully, her eyes crossed her workbench, resting on the stoppered vial. The silvery dust mesmerized her. An idea formed in the back of her mind. She shied away, at first, but then it became attractive . . . she'd need a few items from inventory.
Deliberately ignoring the vial, she stepped to the dented hatch of the delivery unit and said, "Cube, I want a dozen radio capsules-the kind that open on receipt of a given signal-of one cc. each. I want a transmitter keyed to them. Also one dozen airtight test chambers big enough to hold the radio capsules; the chambers will need hookups to water and air supplies."
The items tumbled into her waiting hands quickly, without comment, but the pressure of the wall-units' eyes lit her cheeks with hot fire. Her feet stumbled over each other. Surely the Cube could read her plans; they must be branded on her forehead . . . but no servos appeared, so she proceeded. She'd see whose hand was quicker than whose eye . . .
Forty-five minutes later, the capsules were packed with SHE, which for some reason smelled like ripe tomatoes. She walked down the line of test chambers, putting one capsule into each, until all were filled and their doors screwed tight. She told the Cube, "Provide each chamber with a different environment, and measure the length of time it takes for deterioration and detonation, if they ever occur. Fill number one with water. Keep the relative humidity in number twelve at zero percent. Range the others between those two extremes. Can we get more?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
"As many as your budget can afford."
"Good." She paused to think, and ran long, slender fingers through her reddish-brown hair while she did so. There hadn't been a trace of suspicion in CC's voice; that buoyed her. "Tomorrow we'll set up environments where the humidity varies; later on, when results start coming in, I'll want some where the temperatures cycle, too. That's all for today."
God, she thought, it's so damn irritating to deal with a sullen computer-won't talk, won't offer advice-sure, it'll answer our questions, but who'd think to ask the questions in the first place? Dammit anyway, it needs to be taught a lesson.
On her way home from the lab, she stopped at Ivan Kinney's office, and found him stretched out on his sofa, catnapping. His huge feet were bare; she seized his big toe and twisted it gently.
"Ow!" He jackknifed up, and rubbed his blue eyes. "Oh, BJ-how are you doing?"
"Ivan," she said, shoveling his legs onto the floor so she could plop down, "we've got to talk to Mary Ioanni."
"Why?" When he got up, the sofa exhaled with audible relief.
"She's on good terms with the Cube, since she's heading up the Travelers."
On the other side of the office, Kinney crouched over a sink, and splashed water onto his craggy face. While he groped for a thick red towel, he said, "So what's that got to do with anything?"
"We should ask her to use her influence to get it to cooperate more readily with us-it's frustrating, the way that fuh'r watches all the time, and never says a word to help."
After tossing the towel at the rack, he slipped into his sandals and fingered their frayed straps up behind his ankles. "I agree that Iceheart's not volunteering much, but does it really matter?"
She sniffed, as if detecting something rotten. "I wasted four months on a research project because it didn't volunteer."
"We're still three years out from Canopus, BJ-and probably fifteen years from landing. What's four months?"
"A damn long time to waste!" Her eyes were burning emeralds. "We should have everything ready before we land--"
"BJ, we're not onto what we're going into-why tailor-make something for environments that may not exist?"
"You're hopeless." She felt exasperated, but patting the glass cylinder in her pocket calmed her down. "Listen-do you agree that if it came out of its sulks, it would improve things all around?"
"Sure, no argument there." He studied his forest-green tunic in the mirror and smoothed out the places that had wrinkled during his doze.
"All right! So let's go visit Mary Ioanni and-"
"Okay." He held up his hands in mock-surrender. "We'll go. Just you and me? Or-"
She nibbled her full lower lip. "The whole Lander hierarchy."
"Fine." He pointed to the sensor-head. "Iceheart, put me through to Mary Ioanni, please."
The unit was silent, but in a moment, her familiar voice asked, "Yes?"