programmed interaction, tracking physical parameters (temperature, pulse rate, skin conductivity) and system variables (nutrient rates, ambient gas profile, electrical stimuli). He did not check those parameters against any equipment performance specifications. He did not need to. The region of stability was well mapped, and over the years he had learned the limits of tolerable excursion from standard values. All the programs in use as they were swapped in and out of the computer provided their own audit trail, together with chemical readings and brain activity indexes. Reading and interpreting them was somewhere between an art and a science. It was something he had been doing for two-thirds of his life.
He sat there for six hours in a total trance. If anyone had asked him if he were enjoying himself, he could not have given a truthful answer. He was not happy, he was not sad. All he knew was that there was nothing in life that he would rather be doing. And when he found the first anomalies and began to piece together a picture, he could not have described the thrill. He had been provided with a precious broken ornament shattered into a thousand pieces. He had to recreate it. As he fitted those fragments together, one by one, tentatively and painstakingly, he sensed the skeletal outline of a total pattern. That was exhilarating. But no matter what he did, the picture remained tantalizingly incomplete. And that was unbearably frustrating. Not all of the pieces had been provided. Parts of the code were not in the system at all.
He was roused by the sound of Sylvia Fernald's voice. She had entered the room with Aybee Smith and Leo Manx in tow. Bey turned and addressed his question to all three of them. "These form-change tanks aren't completely self-contained, the way the BEC units would be and should be. Where's the rest of the computation done?"
"That must be in the main computer system for the farm," said Aybee at once. "It's a lot less expensive to do some of the analysis there. BEC and the other manufacturers rip you off bad. They overcharge you ten times for storage in their units. Is there a problem to use distributed computing? We do it a lot."
"It shouldn't be a problem. On the other hand . . ." Bey gestured into the port of the form-change tank. Aybee came close and stared in, frowning, for thirty seconds. Leo Manx could not take more than one horrified glance.
"I've checked the code, line by line," Bey went on. "And I'm convinced that the local programs here are working fine. It means that the problem has to be over in the main computer."
"Or in the communications lines," Aybee said.
"No." Bey shook his head, and suddenly felt his exhaustion. "Redundant transmission should correct for electronic noise in the signal. Even if that somehow weren't working, thermal noise or outside interference would give random errors. What we're seeing here is definitely not random change. It was closely calculated."
"But that makes it murder," Leo Manx protested.
Aybee gave him a fierce grin. "I guess that's exactly what the Wolfman is saying. And in that case, we'll have to meet with the farmers." He waved aside Sylvia's objection. "Don't tell me, Fern; I know they won't want to do it. But for murder, they don't have a choice. You real sure about this, Wolf?"
"Positive."
"I mean, you wouldn't like me to check your results?"
"I'd love you to—or at least, I'd like to see you try. If you were really lucky and smart, that would take you about a month." Bey shook his head. "Aybee, it's not a question of your ability—but I know this stuff, inside and out. Believe me, it would take you a week just to rule out impossible combinations of the main variables. We don't have time for that. I'll take your first suggestion. Let's go meet with the farmers. Right now."
"Hey, what about your Negentropic Man? That's what me and Leo came here for, not to look at dead things that make you puke."
"Plenty of time to look at that, too. We
He sat there for six hours in a total trance. If anyone had asked him if he were enjoying himself, he could not have given a truthful answer. He was not happy, he was not sad. All he knew was that there was nothing in life that he would rather be doing. And when he found the first anomalies and began to piece together a picture, he could not have described the thrill. He had been provided with a precious broken ornament shattered into a thousand pieces. He had to recreate it. As he fitted those fragments together, one by one, tentatively and painstakingly, he sensed the skeletal outline of a total pattern. That was exhilarating. But no matter what he did, the picture remained tantalizingly incomplete. And that was unbearably frustrating. Not all of the pieces had been provided. Parts of the code were not in the system at all.
He was roused by the sound of Sylvia Fernald's voice. She had entered the room with Aybee Smith and Leo Manx in tow. Bey turned and addressed his question to all three of them. "These form-change tanks aren't completely self-contained, the way the BEC units would be and should be. Where's the rest of the computation done?"
"That must be in the main computer system for the farm," said Aybee at once. "It's a lot less expensive to do some of the analysis there. BEC and the other manufacturers rip you off bad. They overcharge you ten times for storage in their units. Is there a problem to use distributed computing? We do it a lot."
"It shouldn't be a problem. On the other hand . . ." Bey gestured into the port of the form-change tank. Aybee came close and stared in, frowning, for thirty seconds. Leo Manx could not take more than one horrified glance.
"I've checked the code, line by line," Bey went on. "And I'm convinced that the local programs here are working fine. It means that the problem has to be over in the main computer."
"Or in the communications lines," Aybee said.
"No." Bey shook his head, and suddenly felt his exhaustion. "Redundant transmission should correct for electronic noise in the signal. Even if that somehow weren't working, thermal noise or outside interference would give random errors. What we're seeing here is definitely not random change. It was closely calculated."
"But that makes it murder," Leo Manx protested.
Aybee gave him a fierce grin. "I guess that's exactly what the Wolfman is saying. And in that case, we'll have to meet with the farmers." He waved aside Sylvia's objection. "Don't tell me, Fern; I know they won't want to do it. But for murder, they don't have a choice. You real sure about this, Wolf?"
"Positive."
"I mean, you wouldn't like me to check your results?"
"I'd love you to—or at least, I'd like to see you try. If you were really lucky and smart, that would take you about a month." Bey shook his head. "Aybee, it's not a question of your ability—but I know this stuff, inside and out. Believe me, it would take you a week just to rule out impossible combinations of the main variables. We don't have time for that. I'll take your first suggestion. Let's go meet with the farmers. Right now."
"Hey, what about your Negentropic Man? That's what me and Leo came here for, not to look at dead things that make you puke."
"Plenty of time to look at that, too. We
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