Closed System

'You know, dammit. You're playing with me. You know and you won't tell me.'

'I have been computing something you said pre­viously,' the old man said. 'You asked me specif­ically

what I know that you don't know. Is thatcorrect?'

'That is correct. Do you have a different answer?' 'By a narrow definition of that question, relat­ing it to your search for the missing segments oncertain of

my storage areas, I can say that I, ap­parently, know of one memory chamber.'

'Access numbers,' Pat ordered, feeling a surgeof hope.

'There are no access numbers. This chamber isconcerned with internal function of a Century Se­ries

computer.'

'Depth search,' Pat said.

'A capacity for self-diagnosis is built into theCentury Series. This chamber is accessible to au­thorized

repair technicians manually.'

'What is the purpose of this chamber?' Pat asked.

'Between cleanings and repairs I note all abnor­malities. Upon printout, the technician has a com­plete

record of those abnormalities.'

'Printout,' Pat ordered.

'Printout of the self-diagnosis chamber is activated . . .' The computer went into a complicatedtechnical

explanation.

'Repeat that slowly, one instruction at a time,'Pat ordered, after running to get his tool kit out ofthe mate's cabin.

He had removed an access plate, two plug-incircuit boards, and saw, just where the old mansaid it

would be, a two-stage switch. He activatedit. The computer began to spew out symbols incomputer language and figures.

'What is all this?' Pat asked in exasperation.

'I am printing the development of ionization inchamber 73-R-45-B.'

'Skip to sections relevant to alteration of thetrip log,' Pat ordered.

'I do not control this printout once it is under­way.'

'Great,' Pat said.

He watched the paper emerge. It was coveredwith data of meaning only to the computer and a good

computer tech.

It was difficult to be optimistic, with his timerunning out, but at least the new owner wouldhave the self- diagnosis printout in case he wantedto keepSkimmer in service instead of junking her.

Coffee. Blah. The old man announcing the num­bers of each chamber as he printed his own diag­nosis.

Pat sat up with a jerk as he recognized thenumber of the engine-room log. There were only afew abnormalities, and they were readable.

The following discharges and charges of theblink generator were erased on oral ordersfrom an unidentified operator:

She'd gone a long way. She'd blinked the generator several times on the way out and severaltimes on the way back.

It was another thirty minutes, during which Patwent quietly hyper, nerves jangling from too muchcoffee, before the old man got to the section in hisself-diagnosis chamber which dealt with abnor­malities in the chamber containing the trip log.

On oral orders from an unidentified operatorthe following blink coordinates were deletedfrom the trip log.

Pat whooped with joy. His hands were shaking from coffee nerves. He had on the printout all the coordinates for the blinks Corinne had taken while he was out. He could check against charts and tell where she'd taken theSkimmer. He was out of thewoods. All he had to do was call Jeanny and tell her.

Tell her what?

He could imagine a stern-faced X&A hangmansaying, 'The fact that, without your knowledge,the computer kept a record of the blinks whichyou erased does not lesson your guilt.'

Damn. 'Is that all, old man?'

Suddenly the printout was supplemented bysound. First the old man's voice. 'Space law statesthat access to the trip log shall be by manufac­turer and X&A only for the matter of alterations, and for extracting information access is granted to Xanthos Central Control or one of its substations.Therefore, since an unidentified operator, not men­tioned in space law, has ordered alterations of thetrip log, I have recorded for later identificationthat operator's voice.'

Pat whooped again, and then fell silent as Co­rinne's throaty, calm voice began to read off anorder to erase the following blinks, and then thenumbers, still in that cool, throaty voice.

He caught Jeanny just as she was entering heroffice. 'Get over here as quick as you can,' hesaid. 'And bring someone in authority with you.'

'I'm the authority, Pat, until I turn it over to the action section.'

'Then get over here, Jeanny, please.'

He was waiting for her with a hot cup of coffeejust the way she liked it, with plenty of low-calsweetener. He told her about the drug and then he showed her the self-diagnosis printout, let her hearCorinne's voice giving the illegal orders.

'Looks as if we can throw you in jail for beinggullible, Audrey,' she said.

He started to say it, but didn't, letting it pass.He'd had time to check the coordinates Corinne had used. They went right off any known chartinto a region of crowded stars toward the galacticcore. You didn't go too close to the core. The starswere dense there, and the chaos of interconnectedmagnetic and gravitational fields made naviga­ tion, and even survival, a nightmare. The massed stars put out storms of hot radiation which could cook anything living within the hull of a ship inseconds. But Corinne had gone toward that chaos, directly toward the heart of the galaxy, where that huge, fiery engine at the core gave off incredible energies.

Pat didn't tell Jeanny that he'd already checked the coordinates. Nor did he, for some reason, tellher about Murphy's Stone.

'I'd say that if we can find residue of that drugin your system, Pat, you have a good case for being reinstated,' Jeanny said.

He was burning inside. His entire body was vibrating, coffee nerves, a caffeine rush. And more.He was burning to find out where she'd taken theship, what was out there toward the core stars.

'What are you waiting for?' Jeanny asked. 'Let'sget over to the clinic.'

Pat lay on a cold metal table, separated from thecold metal by a thin sheet. A monster of a ma­chine lowered, buzzed. The results were in withinminutes. There was superficial damage to livercells. The damage was healing nicely. The damage was consistent with several known causes, amongthem an overdose of at least three separate drugs.Meanwhile, the analysis of his body fluids hadbeen completed. A technician came into the room where Pat, dressed again, sat drinking coffee withJeanny.

'Captain,' the technician said, 'I'd advise youto cut down on your intake of coffee. Your urine is discolored and I've never seen a higher caffeinelevel.'

'Yeah, thanks,' Pat said, putting down his cup.

'You do drugs often?' the technician asked.

'I do drugs never,' Pat said.

The technician glanced at Jeanny with a know­ing smile. 'Sometime during the past few weeksyou've taken a rather massive overdose of a littlegoodie which the druggies call heat, technical name dexiapherzede. I thought we'd just about done awaywith that one. We'd be interested in knowing, Cap­tain, just where you got your hands on it.'

'I'd like that report in writing in my office withinthe next hour,' Jeanny said, rising.

Pat was merely a ship's captain. Jeanny Thomp­son was a captain in X&A. When she gave an orderto a technician, that order was obeyed. In her office, the report in hand, she looked atPat with her eyes squinted. 'All right, Audrey—'

'Don't call me Audrey,' he said.

'—you're cleared. I've filed your reinstatementon the computer. If you leave Xanthos by shipwithin the next