imperceptibly. She hoped Sharita had enough self-control to follow her advice.
"Very well," Sharita said finally. She spoke slowly, as though she had to force out each syllable. "Your logic is convincing. We'll investigate." She looked into the lens of the humming microcamera floating nearby. "You heard me, people! We're going on a treasure hunt!"
She turned to Pearl. "Plot the trajectory of the wreck before we took it on board—we'll follow it. And not half a light-month, but four light-years."
"But that's much too far!" Pearl protested. What had gotten into Sharita this time? "That's almost a—"
"—hundred times. Exactly. Because of the high velocity, time ran a hundred times faster on the shuttle than for us. The fifteen days we're assuming are measured in subjective time on board the wreck."
Pearl felt herself turning red. "Oh. I didn't think of that."
"Don't worry about it," Sharita said. "That's what you have me for."
9
"Lemal?"
The Naahk of the Nethack Achton had to force himself to turn his attention away from the screen. He didn't appreciate being disturbed. Especially not when he was working on the Ship's chronicle.
"Yes? What is it?"
"The Tenoy have succeeded in capturing one of the traitors."
"Good."
Lemal Netwar bent over the screen once more. The work on the chronicle was difficult and tiring, but indispensable. Who would record the history of the Nethack Achton for future generations if not he? The Net, perhaps, but somehow he doubted a presentation by a group of linked computers would say much to human readers. In an attempt to present an accurate depiction of facts, the Net would support its account with graphs and statistics, possibly even letting the numbers speak for themselves with no text at all. Lemal Netwar was not interested in that kind of truth. His account was based on human qualities—and for him, chief among them seemed to be forgetfulness. It seemed to him that he found it harder to remember with each passing year.
And to remember, he needed quiet.
"Lemal?"
He suppressed a curse. "Yes, what is it? Have you caught more?"
"No, not yet," the Net replied. "But it won't be much longer. The interrogation will begin very soon."
The interrogation. The Naahk had managed to drive it out of his mind. "I know that."
"Don't you want to be present? The last time ... "
The last time was long ago! he wanted to shout. This interrogation, many other difficult decisions ... they were the price of his rank. He had to pay that price or resign his rank along with everything that came with it. At the thought, his hand went automatically to the chain around his neck, and he knew he could never make that sacrifice. Lemal Netwar had too much to lose.
"I'm coming," he said.
The Naahk left his rooms, something he did more and more infrequently. The older he grew, the more inclined to stay in his quarters he became. The Net took care of most routine business without his participation, and probably did it better than he would have—at least, truer to the spirit of the Ship and less prone to error. For the few critical decisions that required his involvement, he had learned that he could make them just as easily inside his quarters. He had even convinced himself that making judgments from the isolation of his quarters was better. Distance between him and those whose fates he determined allowed him to be more objective.
There was one additional and immediate reason why Netwar left his quarters only reluctantly: it was unbearably painful.
The Naahk's residence was situated near the long axis around which the Nethack Achton rotated in order to generate artificial gravity. Gravity increased with distance from the axis. The Inner Deck, which lay closest to the axis, had a third of the Homeland's gravity. In the Naahk's quarters, which hung like a spider's ensnared prey in a web of cable connections almost in the center of the Ship, that level sank to a tenth. Just enough for things to stay in place
"Very well," Sharita said finally. She spoke slowly, as though she had to force out each syllable. "Your logic is convincing. We'll investigate." She looked into the lens of the humming microcamera floating nearby. "You heard me, people! We're going on a treasure hunt!"
She turned to Pearl. "Plot the trajectory of the wreck before we took it on board—we'll follow it. And not half a light-month, but four light-years."
"But that's much too far!" Pearl protested. What had gotten into Sharita this time? "That's almost a—"
"—hundred times. Exactly. Because of the high velocity, time ran a hundred times faster on the shuttle than for us. The fifteen days we're assuming are measured in subjective time on board the wreck."
Pearl felt herself turning red. "Oh. I didn't think of that."
"Don't worry about it," Sharita said. "That's what you have me for."
9
"Lemal?"
The Naahk of the Nethack Achton had to force himself to turn his attention away from the screen. He didn't appreciate being disturbed. Especially not when he was working on the Ship's chronicle.
"Yes? What is it?"
"The Tenoy have succeeded in capturing one of the traitors."
"Good."
Lemal Netwar bent over the screen once more. The work on the chronicle was difficult and tiring, but indispensable. Who would record the history of the Nethack Achton for future generations if not he? The Net, perhaps, but somehow he doubted a presentation by a group of linked computers would say much to human readers. In an attempt to present an accurate depiction of facts, the Net would support its account with graphs and statistics, possibly even letting the numbers speak for themselves with no text at all. Lemal Netwar was not interested in that kind of truth. His account was based on human qualities—and for him, chief among them seemed to be forgetfulness. It seemed to him that he found it harder to remember with each passing year.
And to remember, he needed quiet.
"Lemal?"
He suppressed a curse. "Yes, what is it? Have you caught more?"
"No, not yet," the Net replied. "But it won't be much longer. The interrogation will begin very soon."
The interrogation. The Naahk had managed to drive it out of his mind. "I know that."
"Don't you want to be present? The last time ... "
The last time was long ago! he wanted to shout. This interrogation, many other difficult decisions ... they were the price of his rank. He had to pay that price or resign his rank along with everything that came with it. At the thought, his hand went automatically to the chain around his neck, and he knew he could never make that sacrifice. Lemal Netwar had too much to lose.
"I'm coming," he said.
The Naahk left his rooms, something he did more and more infrequently. The older he grew, the more inclined to stay in his quarters he became. The Net took care of most routine business without his participation, and probably did it better than he would have—at least, truer to the spirit of the Ship and less prone to error. For the few critical decisions that required his involvement, he had learned that he could make them just as easily inside his quarters. He had even convinced himself that making judgments from the isolation of his quarters was better. Distance between him and those whose fates he determined allowed him to be more objective.
There was one additional and immediate reason why Netwar left his quarters only reluctantly: it was unbearably painful.
The Naahk's residence was situated near the long axis around which the Nethack Achton rotated in order to generate artificial gravity. Gravity increased with distance from the axis. The Inner Deck, which lay closest to the axis, had a third of the Homeland's gravity. In the Naahk's quarters, which hung like a spider's ensnared prey in a web of cable connections almost in the center of the Ship, that level sank to a tenth. Just enough for things to stay in place
Similar Books
