of liquid hydrogen near absolute zero. The storage was very efficient and very fast and the volume extremely large; yet from the beginning, Genesis had been plagued by insufficient storage. The programs and the data files were so enormous that every new shipment of memory filled up almost as quickly as it got installed. The situation was particularly critical with the Monster, their main computer. It was an order of magnitude faster than any other machine on the station, so of course everyone wanted to use it.
David hurried to her side. “I did,” he said. “I had to build a whole new bath for them, but I did it. Are they filled up already? ”
“That’s what it says.”
He frowned and glanced around the lab.
“Anybody have anything in storage here they’ve just been dying to get rid of?”
Jedda, who was a Deltan and prone to quick reactions, strode over with an expression of alarm. “If you delete my quantum data I’ll be most distressed.”
“I don’t want to delete anything,” Carol said, “but I just spent six weeks debugging this subroutine, and I’ve got to have it.”
At a lab table nearby, Del March glanced at Vance Madison. Vance grimaced, and Carol caught him at it.
“All right you guys,” Carol said. “Del, have you been using my bubble bath again?”
Del approached, hanging his head; Vance followed, walking with his easy slouch. They’re like a couple of kids, Carol thought. Like kids? They are kids. They were only a few years older than David.
“Geez, Carol,” Del said, “it’s just a little something—”
“Del, there’s got to be ninety-three computers on Spacelab. Why do you have to put your games on the main machine?”
“They work a lot better,” Vance said in his soft beautiful voice.
“You can’t play Boojum Hunt on anything less, Carol,” Del said. “Hey, you ought to look at what we did to it. It’s got a black hole with en accretion disk that will jump right out and grab you, and the graphics are fantastic. If I do say so myself. If we had a three-d display…”
“Why do I put up with this?” Carol groaned. The answer to that was obvious: Vance Madison and Del March were the two sharpest quark chemists in the field, and when they worked together their talents did not simply add, but multiplied. Every time they published a paper they got another load of invitations to scientific conferences. Genesis was lucky to have them, and Carol knew it.
The two young scientists played together as well as they worked; unfortunately, what they liked to play was computer games. Del had tried to get her to play one once; she was not merely uninterested, she was totally disinterested.
“What’s the file name?” she asked. She felt too tired for patience. She turned back to the console. “Prepare to kill a file,” she said to the computer.
“Ok,” it replied.
“Don’t kill it, Carol,” Del said. “Come on, give us a break.”
She almost killed it anyway; Del’s flakiness got to her worst when she was exhausted.
“We’ll keep it out of your hair from now on, Carol,” Vance said. “I promise.”
Vance never said anything he did not mean. Carol relented.
“Oh—all right. What’s the file name?”
“BH,” Del said.
“Got one in there called BS, too?” David asked.
Del grinned sheepishly. Carol accessed one of the smaller lab computers.
“Uh, Carol,” Del said, “I don’t think it’ll fit in that one.”
“How big is it?”
“Well…about fifty megs.”
“Christ on a crutch!” David said. “The program that swallowed Saturn.”
“We added a lot since you played it last,” Del said defensively.
“Me? I never play computer games!”
Vance chuckled. David colored. Carol hunted around for enough peripheral storage space and transferred the program.
“All right, twins,” she said. She liked to tease them by calling them “twins”: Vance was two meters tall, slender, black, intense, and calm, while Del was almost thirty
David hurried to her side. “I did,” he said. “I had to build a whole new bath for them, but I did it. Are they filled up already? ”
“That’s what it says.”
He frowned and glanced around the lab.
“Anybody have anything in storage here they’ve just been dying to get rid of?”
Jedda, who was a Deltan and prone to quick reactions, strode over with an expression of alarm. “If you delete my quantum data I’ll be most distressed.”
“I don’t want to delete anything,” Carol said, “but I just spent six weeks debugging this subroutine, and I’ve got to have it.”
At a lab table nearby, Del March glanced at Vance Madison. Vance grimaced, and Carol caught him at it.
“All right you guys,” Carol said. “Del, have you been using my bubble bath again?”
Del approached, hanging his head; Vance followed, walking with his easy slouch. They’re like a couple of kids, Carol thought. Like kids? They are kids. They were only a few years older than David.
“Geez, Carol,” Del said, “it’s just a little something—”
“Del, there’s got to be ninety-three computers on Spacelab. Why do you have to put your games on the main machine?”
“They work a lot better,” Vance said in his soft beautiful voice.
“You can’t play Boojum Hunt on anything less, Carol,” Del said. “Hey, you ought to look at what we did to it. It’s got a black hole with en accretion disk that will jump right out and grab you, and the graphics are fantastic. If I do say so myself. If we had a three-d display…”
“Why do I put up with this?” Carol groaned. The answer to that was obvious: Vance Madison and Del March were the two sharpest quark chemists in the field, and when they worked together their talents did not simply add, but multiplied. Every time they published a paper they got another load of invitations to scientific conferences. Genesis was lucky to have them, and Carol knew it.
The two young scientists played together as well as they worked; unfortunately, what they liked to play was computer games. Del had tried to get her to play one once; she was not merely uninterested, she was totally disinterested.
“What’s the file name?” she asked. She felt too tired for patience. She turned back to the console. “Prepare to kill a file,” she said to the computer.
“Ok,” it replied.
“Don’t kill it, Carol,” Del said. “Come on, give us a break.”
She almost killed it anyway; Del’s flakiness got to her worst when she was exhausted.
“We’ll keep it out of your hair from now on, Carol,” Vance said. “I promise.”
Vance never said anything he did not mean. Carol relented.
“Oh—all right. What’s the file name?”
“BH,” Del said.
“Got one in there called BS, too?” David asked.
Del grinned sheepishly. Carol accessed one of the smaller lab computers.
“Uh, Carol,” Del said, “I don’t think it’ll fit in that one.”
“How big is it?”
“Well…about fifty megs.”
“Christ on a crutch!” David said. “The program that swallowed Saturn.”
“We added a lot since you played it last,” Del said defensively.
“Me? I never play computer games!”
Vance chuckled. David colored. Carol hunted around for enough peripheral storage space and transferred the program.
“All right, twins,” she said. She liked to tease them by calling them “twins”: Vance was two meters tall, slender, black, intense, and calm, while Del was almost thirty
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