longer exists.”
“Then what’s my non-existent command doing here?” Colin demanded.
“Null-value query.”
“Null-value?!
“Datum invalid,” Fleet Central observed. “No such unit is present.”
Colin resisted an urge to smash a bioenhanced fist through the console.
“Then what
“Data anomaly,” Fleet Central said emotionlessly.
“
“Perimeter Security defensive programming prohibits approach within eight light-hours of Planet Birhat without valid identification codes.
Colin punched a couch arm in sudden understanding. For some reason, this dummy—or its outer surveillance systems, anyway—had accepted
“Computer,” he said finally, “assume—hypothetically—that a unit identified as
“Programming error,” Fleet Central said calmly.
“Explain.”
“No Confirmation of Loss report on
“Which means?”
“ID codes for
Colin closed his eyes. Dear God. This brainless wonder had let
“How might that programming error be resolved?” he asked at last.
“Conflicting data must be removed from data base.”
Colin drew another deep breath, aware of just how fragile this entire discussion was. If this computer could decide something
“Evaluate possibility that Log Reference Rho-Upsilon-Beta-Seven-Six-One-Niner-Four is an incorrect datum,” he said flatly.
“Possibility exists. Probability impossible to assess,” Fleet Central replied, and Colin allowed himself a slight feeling of relief. Very slight.
“In that case, I instruct you to purge it from memory,” he said, and held his breath.
“Incorrect procedure,” Fleet Central responded.
“Incorrect in what fashion?” Colin asked tautly.
“Full memory purge requires authorization from human command crew.”
Colin cocked a mental ear.
“Can data concerning my command be placed in inactive storage on my authority pending proper authorization?”
“Affirmative.”
“Then I instruct you to do so with previously specified log entry.”
“Proceeding. Data transferred to inactive storage.”
Colin shuddered in explosive relaxation, then gave himself a mental shake. He might well be relaxing too soon.
“Computer, who am I?” he asked softly.
“You are Senior Fleet Captain Colinmacintyre, commanding officer HIMP
“And what is the current location of my command?”
“HIMP
“All
“What passeth, my Colin?” an urgent voice demanded through his fold-space link, and he realized he’d left it open.
“We’re in, ’Tanni! Tell all hands—we’re
“Bravely done! Oh, bravely, my heart!”
“Thank you,” he said softly, then straightened and returned to business. “Computer.”
“Yes, Senior Fleet Captain?”
“What’s your name, Computer?”
“This unit is officially designated Fleet Central Computer Central,” the musical voice replied.
“Is that what your human personnel called you?”
“Negative, Senior Fleet Captain.”
“Well, then, what
“Fleet Central personnel refer to Comp Cent as ‘Mother.’ ”
“Mother,” Colin muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. Oh, well, if that was what Fleet Central was used to…
“All right, Mother, prepare to accept memory core download from
“Ready,” Mother said instantly.
“Dahak, initiate core download but do not purge.”
“Initiating,” Dahak replied calmly, and Colin felt an incredible surge of data. He caught only the fringes of it through his feed, but it was like standing on the brink of a river in flood. It was almost frightening, making him suddenly and humbly aware of the storage limitations of a human brain, yet for all its titanic proportions, it took barely ten minutes to complete.
“Download completed,” Mother announced. “Data stored.”
“Excellent! Now, give me a report on Fleet status.”
“Fleet Central authorization code required,” Mother told him, and Colin frowned as his enthusiasm was checked abruptly. He didn’t
He pulled on the end of his nose, thinking hard. Only Mother “herself” could give him the codes, and the one absolute certainty was that she wouldn’t. She accepted him as a senior fleet captain, which entitled him to a certain authority in areas pertaining to his own command but did
Well, now, why did he have that information from Dahak? Because he was
To his surprise, he shrank from it. But why? He’d learned to accept his persona as