Ron Merrill about 7,400 words

"The whole thing is under a very strict secrecy agreement," said Thelma Norris. "I can tell you this much. The job is assembly, testing, and start-up of a major computer system--class I intelligence. The assignment is off-world. You get details when you arrive at the operational site."

"A class I intelligence?" said my wife. "Who's the designer?"

"Jacob Stoner. Now, the client might go as high as--"

I wasn't quite listening to all this, actually. I'm a lousy negotiator, so June handles all the haggling, which she does superbly, referring final decision to me. But Norris considered this a ploy and had insisted on having me present this time. Since I'm not good at keeping a poker face, we'd worked out a different method. While they argued terms, I sat and worked on a singular solution to van der Pol's Equation. That way my face would reflect my progress or frustration with the math, hopefully fouling up Norris's estimates of my reactions. I tried a simple power substitution. Occasional fragments of the negotiations penetrated to my awareness.

". . . what are your alternatives?" June was saying. "Hagler's in the hospital. Murphy and Johnston never work off-world. Hendricks & Co. will be tied up with the Santiago contract for another year yet."

"I could hire Adler."

"No real experience. She's only started one class I so far--and look what happened to that. Now my Husband, on the other hand, was one of Freeman Dr. Stoner's top students. He's done four startups, all of them successful. Don't you think you should give us some sort of sensible opening offer?"

The power substitution turned into an algebraic mess. I started over with an expression in terms of Bessel series.

A computer of class I--human grade--intelligence presents considerable problems, and not just technical ones. A design modeled closely on the human neocortex is generally pretty reliable--but you end up with nothing much more than an artificial human with a talent for fast math, and very expensive, too. On the other hand, designs that deviate much from the human model have a nasty habit of going insane in unpredictable ways.

Of course, if you start up a class I anywhere within the Confederacy of Free Cultures it automatically becomes a free agent with complete rights, just like a human. You don't own it; you may even have "parental" responsibilities. Off-world, local law would apply, though under certain circumstances the C.F.C. might intervene to prevent what in effect would be slave trafficking. Our contract would have to cover these points.

The Bessel series didn't work, quite, but there was something there that encouraged me. I tried a variant. June's battle faded from my awareness. Finally she kicked me under the table.

"Well, Husband, what do you think?" said June. That was our prearranged code phrase for, "this looks like the best I can get." She looked exhausted; so did Norris.

I brought my full attention back and carefully went over the text of the contract on my reader. Everything was in order, allowing, that is, for the damned secrecy. That bothered me; we often worked under secrecy restrictions, but never before had we encountered this sort of total blackout. I smelled trouble, terrible trouble, in this one. My old mentor, Jacob Stoner, was famed for his recklessness even more than for his brilliance. But when I looked at the numbers . . . 35 kilograms, half in advance, plus full expenses. It gave me no alternative.

"All right," I said. "We'll do it."

We kept silence till we left the building and were out on the crowded streets of Valparaiso. I used the time to stifle my misgivings. Then I grabbed June and hugged her. "June, you're a miracle-worker! 35 kilos for one job! How did you do it?"

"Having you there actually worked for us. Norris kept trying to play off you. Coming from a Culture where women are the bosses, she automatically assumes that I'm the decision-maker. It throws her off; once I picked up on that weakness and used it consciously against her, I couldn't miss."

"But she knows we're from Constitucion Culture."

"She knows it consciously, but she hasn't really absorbed it emotionally. She's enculturated."

"She ought to know better, as much business as she does with other Cultures. But I won't complain. Come on, let's get something to eat."

After lunch we took the bullet train to Iquique. It's a boring trip--tunnels through the Andes more than half the time--and June soon fell asleep. I put a blanket over her and thought again how doubly lucky I was to have her.

I'd come out of school with a good record and quickly been hired by a large computer firm--at about half the salary I was worth, as I eventually found out. So I went into business with a co-worker. We did very well for about two years. Then my partner disappeared, along with most of the company's assets. I was left holding the bag, submerged in debts.

That's when I met June at a conference. I'd never been so attracted to a woman, and she seemed to return the feeling. But I tried to put her out of my mind. It would be years before I could get out of debt, and years more before I could accumulate the bride-price.

But she wanted to work with me. We made a good team--she's hardware, I'm software--and somehow I found myself taking her into the business. Our relationship soon grew beyond the business level, and, again without my knowing quite how it happened, I ended up talking to her mother about her bride-price. I had expected to be kicked out, but to my surprise she agreed, after raking me over the coals a bit, to defer payment.

Of course by then our business was looking very promising. June brought just the missing ingredient I'd needed. I'd always been able to get work; the difference was that now I was getting paid for it, and paid very well too. We began to make progress against my debts.

We checked into a hotel in Iquique. We could see the tops of the shuttles at Caleta spaceport from our room. Norris had already made reservations for our flight, but we had a day to wait till the Kuttner took off.

"Ready for dinner, Jim?" asked June.

"A little business to transact first," I replied. I opened my reader and connected to our bank. Norris's advance payment had already been credited to our business account, I verified. I tranferred 15 kilos to our personal account, automatically generating the necessary accounting entries, then moved the money into the escrow account for June's bride-price. It now contained the full 20 kilos that I had owed. I opened another window and connected to the current bolsa listings.

"Need your password too for this, June."

"What?" But she opened her reader. She keyed her display to mine. I heard her gasp.

I had the line I wanted now from the bolsa listing:

I set up the transfer from the escrow account and the instructions to our broker to buy one birthright. I entered my password and countersign and looked up at June. Her eyes were glistening. She looked down at her reader and entered her own password and countersign, releasing the money from escrow and completing the transaction.

"Oh, Jim," she said. "You really should have kept the money in the business."

"Nonsense. Our working capital is OK. When we get the second payment, we can clear the rest of the debt. And now I can look your mother in the eye. Now, let's celebrate. What's the best restaurant in Iquique, do you suppose?"

We had all of the next day to prepare for our trip, which was plenty of time. One does not take much luggage on a space trip. Our readers and June's personal tool kit (which never leaves her) were all we would carry. Personal hygiene items would be supplied by our Spacer hosts.

Clothing, of course, would not be needed, since the Spacers neither wear it nor allow their visitors to do so. The major item of preparation was a visit to the barber, where both of us had our hair shortened to the regulation four centimeters. Not so bad for me, but it was very rough on June to lose her long blond mane, though she kept a brave face.

The next morning we set out for the spaceport, wearing disposable clothes. Iquique is a cosmopolitan city, of course, with visitors from many other Cultures, including nudist ones, streaming through. But it's always polite to obey local mores in a foreign Culture if you can; besides, we weren't in any hurry to start running around naked.

At the spaceport departure lounge we stripped off our clothes and tossed them in a recycle can, joining a few dozen other passengers who would be going up on the Kuttner. Rather to my surprise, my embarrassment wore off quickly; so did June's.

We rode to the Kuttner in a tractor with a built-in elevator and boarded. I found myself sweating during the countdown and, holding June's hand, found her also nervous.

Takeoff, when it came, was far from pleasant. I'd reassured myself that six gees wasn't that much. Like having six men lying on top of me; surely I could stand that for a few minutes without any strain. But it wasn't quite like that; the pressure was all over my body; the sensation of having my eyes pushed back into my head was particularly unpleasant. I wanted to check on June, but found I couldn't turn my head in the contoured pad. With some effort I shifted my hand till it closed over hers.

Just when I'd convinced myself that it wasn't so bad, there was a crash that practically stopped my heart on the spot. My stomach lurched as we suddenly went into free fall. After a moment the roar of the engines resumed with a new tone, I was pressed back into my seat, and I realized that we'd just dropped the first stage. After several more minutes, I was caught by surprise again as the engines stopped, and I swallowed frantically.

I turned to June. Her face was pale, but she forced a smile. "I hate roller-coasters," she said.

Once we were in low earth orbit, transferring to the Leinster in weightlessness proved difficult. The Spacers moved with a smooth grace suggestive of a cross between a monkey and a fish. They made no attempt to assist us, and I envied their effortless proficiency in moving around. I hit my head four times--twice on my own reader, once on June's tool kit, and once on a bulkhead. Somehow we got aboard.

In space you are never alone. The passenger quarters of the Leinster were a single large cylindrical module. Everything was wide open, including the sanitary facilities. June and I found our "berths" easily; they were simply two padded sections of wall, with straps.

The thought that a married couple might like private sleeping quarters cut no ice with the Spacers. Back in the early days of space colonization, a disgruntled couple on Oneill I--their daughter had died after being denied a trip to Earth for medical treatment--built a bomb in their bedroom and blew a hole in the outer wall. Over 2,000 people died. It was a lesson the Spacers never forgot.

As it happened, the other 38 passengers were all Spacers, so June and I were morally if not physically isolated. They automatically molded themselves into a group, as they'd been trained to do since childhood. We, as despised individualists, were excluded from the collective. Our fellow passengers were of course polite at all times, but we seldom had much conversation beyond "please pass the salt" (which was a syrup, not granular).

We were more relieved than distressed by our exclusion, not having much taste for group singing and games. During day cycle we talked or studied mostly. Unfortunately we could not get any Earth channels from the ship net. The Spacer channels held little of interest to us. Spacer sports--the System-wide hydra championships were playing--were too hard to follow. Dramatic offerings were mainly historical epics set in feudal Europe or the Orient, very violent and bloody. There was much slicing and disemboweling, with some nauseating special effects. We turned instead to classic films from our readers' memories.

Night cycles were worse. Spacers are highly promiscuous before marriage, and totally monogamous thereafter. Married or unmarried, they of course have not the slightest inhibition about making love in public. The passenger chamber was always very busy immediately after lights out--unfortunately, they weren't really out, merely dimmed. Neither June nor I had any inclination to follow the example set for us, and we could only grit our teeth and mark off the days until we would be home again.

At least it was a short trip, as space voyages go. Our destination, Roma, was in a chaotic orbit, currently about two million kilometers from earth. Even at a hundredth of a gee, it didn't take long to arrive, though the ship stopped at two other oneills on the way.

Roma was a newly built structure which had been pressurized just a few months before. Slightly smaller than the average oneill, it was a cylinder just under a kilometer in diameter and 600 meters along the axis. "Surface gravity" at the outer wall was two-fifths gee and the population was around 1,800, a group recruited from various other oneills and "united by their religious aspirations." So much, at least, we had been able to learn from Spacer reference sources, which seemed peculiarly reticent about this particular oneill. We'd queried a few of our fellow passengers, but they consistently disclaimed any knowledge about Roma.

We were met at the airlock by a small delegation led by an old man who introduced himself as Cassius. (We later learned that all the inhabitants of Roma had chosen new Roman-style names for themselves, though none of them had any historical connection that we could perceive.) He addressed us as "Freeman and Freelady Gomez" instead of using the Spacer honorific suffix, a concession that surprised me; we were getting the red-carpet treatment, apparently. This was immediately confirmed.

"I am the Head of our Governing Council. These are my colleagues on the Council, Marcus-ad, Claudius-ad, Julia-'d, and Glaucus-ad."

We acknowledged the introductions. Marcus was a middled-aged man, rather stout and quite friendly; the other three greeted us with the combination of formal politeness and distant indifference we'd encountered from other Spacers. Julia seemed even a bit hostile.

"How would you like to proceed?" asked Cassius. "We've assigned you quarters in a married dorm. You're welcome to go freshen up and rest if you'd like."

"I think we'd prefer to go straight to work if that fits your schedule," I replied. "It was early morning, ship time, when we arrived, so we're perfectly fresh. And we're eager to find out more about the project; the suspense is killing us. But you're the client."

"It's 1430 our time, so it's perfectly convenient for us. And believe me, we're eager to get started also. We'll go to the conference room then."

We rode the elevator down 450 meters. It descended slowly, but we still had to use handholds to avoid being pushed to the wall by the Coriolis forces. The oneill was an impressive sight, though only a tiny part of the surface was covered with structures; most of the rest was bare nickel-iron wall. Building had progressed in two equal bands near the ends of the cylinder, so as to avoid unbalancing the structure. A few green patches showed where gardening had started. A thick tube extended through the central axis; this contained the cargo-handling equipment as well as the control systems for the oneill.

Once we were seated around the conference table, Cassius left briefly and came back with a storage crystal. He handed it to me without a word; I inserted it into my reader and June looked over my shoulder as I brought up Stoner's hardware and software diagrams for the computer.

I scanned through the outline, my heart sinking, then began examining key subsystems. I was impressed as always by Stoner's brilliance--hell, genius--but this time the old man had outdone himself. Time went by and some of the Council members began to fidget. Finally Julia said, in a not-too-pleasant tone of voice, "Well? Can you handle it?"

June responded indignantly, "Of course he--" but I put my hand over hers.

"To be entirely frank with you, Julia-'d, I'm not sure," I said. "I think so, but you must understand that this will be very difficult. Let me explain.

"Assembling a class I computer is not simply a matter of putting together the pieces. Even with the best designer in the System--and that's what Freeman Dr. Stoner is--the subsystems must be thoroughly tested and debugged, and then a great many crucial adjustments must be made as they are connected together.

"Now, this system you have here will be one of the most powerful and complex computers ever built. What's more, to call it 'mission-critical' is an understatement. The slightest mistake in assembly would have catastrophic consequences after activation. In fact, I really cannot believe that you have grasped the very serious dangers involved in installing this device."

"You may be assured, Gomez-ad," said Julia coldly, "we have a perfect grasp of what we are doing."

"Indeed. Well, bear with me, please, while I confirm that." I looked around at the members of the Council. "This computer, I see, is intended to run all of the systems in this entire oneill. Everything, not just the mechanicals but life support, communications, information services and so on, inside and outside the shell. No secondary system, no cutouts or manual backups. You have installed an unusually extensive monitor system, and all that information will feed directly into the computer. Now, the design I'm looking at here is powerful enough to handle all that, and do so with just a fraction of its capability--about as much as you are using right now to tap your finger on the table, Julia-'d. What it will do with the rest of its intellect I do not know; nobody can know, this will be an intelligent--super-intelligent--and volitional entity." I leaned forward and looked around the table. "To put it bluntly, once I activate this system, it will be god in this oneill."

"That," said Cassius, "is exactly what we want."

I stared at him. "Why?" asked June.

"Are you religious?" he responded.

"We belong to the First Church of the Star Maker."

"Ah. You believe, then, in a God who is half engineer, half artist, who created this to be the most interesting of all possible universes. You worship Him with awe, but do not believe that He listens to prayers, let alone answers them. Do I understand your doctrine correctly?"

"That's a fair enough description."

"I mean no disrespect, but yours is a very distant and indifferent God. Do you never feel the desire for a more personal, more direct contact with your deity?"

He warmed to his subject. "Think, for instance, of the ancient Israelites. Their God was manifest to them in the most immediate way, as a cloud of smoke by day, a pillar of fire by night. They were led in the right way by His guidance, they were rewarded and punished by His hand, they were constantly in His presence. Imagine it! To be without doubt or dispute, to be certain, to know God."

I picked my words carefully. "I mean no disrespect either, but I find myself unable to believe in miracles."

Cassius smiled. "And you are not alone. In this scientific age, there are many of us who cannot believe in the gods of old." He leaned forward. "But though we have lost the capacity to believe by faith, we have not lost the need for the presence of God in our lives. I meditated over this dilemma for years, and finally I saw the solution. We must create a God for ourselves, a real God.

"I began to preach this doctrine. It was not popular. Attempts were made to suppress it. Dissenters are not popular among the Spaceborn, as you perhaps realize, so I had to work quietly. Still, I attracted followers, more and more of them over the years. We worked hard and made many sacrifices to accumulate the funds to build this oneill for ourselves. Now we have almost reached our goal. There is but one task to be completed, and for that we need your help."

"Which is not inexpensive," put in Julia.

"Now, Julia-'d," said Marcus. "What would you have? Let's not court delay when we are so close to the end we've worked for all these years. Freeman and Freelady Gomez are very highly regarded in their field; I'm sure they will perform a successful startup for us."

"We'll certainly try to justify your confidence," I said. "But, as I've tried to point out, getting a successful startup is not the real problem. One more time: This computer will know everything that goes on here, and have the power to do anything it pleases to any or all of you, and the intellect to outwit any effort you may subsequently make to deactivate it. It's been said that absolute power corrupts absolutely; even if we have a perfect startup, the computer may later go insane, like Hitler or Stalin. Are you willing to take such a risk?"

Cassius sighed. "As I told you, I have been thinking about this for a long time. We went over the points you raise with Stoner-ad. Marcus-ad here has reviewed his design, at least as well as a non-expert can. We are relying on you for the rest.

"You also should keep in mind that we are not individualists like you. We do not value privacy and autonomy as you do, so we do not regard the prospect of an all-knowing, all-powerful God with the horror that you seem to feel. As for the unpredictable dangers . . . well, that is the nature of godhead. If we could command this computer how to behave--it wouldn't be God, would it? No, we have thought all this out, and debated it, very thoroughly indeed over the years. I assure you, we are conscious of the risks, and we have decided to go ahead."

The other members of the Council nodded. And I had no way out. We had to fulfill our contract; we had no grounds for breaking it. We certainly could not claim that the computer would be enslaved. Once again I said, "All right. We'll do it."

The computer was to be installed in the oneill's axial tube. It meant we had to work under near-weightless conditions, which was an additional handicap. We found the compartment cluttered with the shipping crates containing the various modules of the system. Of course several of the critical modules, such as life-support, had already been installed and were operating. I started organizing the command module while June, with the help of a team of technicians provided by Cassius, began unpacking the rest of the computer.

We ran into problems right away. June simply couldn't get cooperation from the technicians. Whatever she requested, it somehow didn't get done, or didn't get done on time, or didn't get done right. I could see her increasing frustration, but since we never had a moment of privacy, we were reluctant to discuss the problem. In the evening of our third day on Roma, she finally snuggled up to me in the dorm and whispered in my ear.

"Jim, what's going on? Is it because I'm a woman? Or are these guys intentionally trying to sabotage the project?"

"I don't think so," I whispered back. "I think it's because you're treating them as if they were freemen and freeladies. They're not. What you see as courtesy to an independent human being, to them is weakness."

"They can't believe I really have authority, because I don't act like it by their standards?"

"Exactly. Try treating them the way a Spacer would if he were in charge." I nudged her; we were starting to attract hostile stares from the other inhabitants of the dorm.

"Very well, Husband," June said aloud. "I will follow your advice."

The next day, when she found that the technicians had unpacked a module she was not yet ready for, June called the foreman over to her.

"Cato-ad," she said, "I thought I told you that module 17 was not to be unpacked until we finished installation of the primary cable tube."

Cato answered with cold insolence. "In my judgment, it was better to have this unit prepared and ready now. After all, it's our Lord we are building."

June checked that her feet were securely placed in the grip bars, then calmly slapped Cato's face with a force that snapped his head to the side. I winced at the thought of what it must have done to her soft hand.

"Cato-ad," she said, "our firm was selected by your Governing Council because we know how to do this job properly. Now, my Husband has assigned me to supervise the physical assembly of this system, and Cassius-ad has assigned you and your team to assist me. You are currently under my authority and you will assemble this computer exactly according to my instructions, not according to your whims. Is that clear, Cato-ad?"

"Yes, Gomez-ad."

"Then get back to work, and this time stick to my checklist."

After that we had no more trouble. The system slowly began to take shape. As each module was installed, I checked out the software and debugged it, then connected it and activated it. The cerebral functions, of course, I left to the last.

One of the early installations was the monitor system. The entire oneill was wired with eyes, ears, and even odor-detection sensors. The computer would also have other, electronic senses not available to humans. The huge bitstream from these inputs began to pour into the computer's near-infinite memory banks. When it became conscious it would awake with a memory of events within the oneill dating back several weeks before its birth.

This was important. Some class I computers are activated naive, so that they have to be educated, just like a human infant. That obviously wasn't appropriate here. The computer would awake with a very extensive library of general information in its memory, but it would also need to have an immediate context of the situation in which it would find itself.

Members of the Governing Council frequently came by to watch the work. Marcus was the most frequent visitor. He was always friendly, and he asked intelligent questions. He struck me as an unusually gifted amateur; clearly he'd taken his assignment to track the project very seriously and had educated himself well. It was surprising, as his primary job was supervising the colony's finances. He usually brought with him two of his acolytes, who hung on his every word. He used them as personal servants in a way that embarrassed me to watch--and surprised me a bit, considering the Spacers' egalitarian ideology.

"I notice you always input commands at the keyboard," he commented one day. "You don't believe in voice programming?"

"'Reading maketh a full man,'" I replied, "'conference a ready man . . . and writing an exact man.' They didn't have computers in Francis Bacon's day, but the principle remains. For calling up a book or movie on my reader, or other everyday stuff, I use voice commands like anybody else. But for work, it's different. Natural language is inherently imprecise, and that's dangerous when you're programming."

We enjoyed talking to Marcus, who could be completely charming. Less welcome were visits by Julia. She still carried an obvious chip on her shoulder. We tried to ignore her jibes, as there was nothing to be gained by being drawn into political arguments with a client. On the other hand, since she was a client, we couldn't kick her out or refuse to talk to her.

"Look, Julia-'d," June said finally, "we're just here to do a job. All we want is to finish up and go home. Why catechize us?"

"I have a legitimate concern," said Julia, "in the moral status of the persons who are creating our Lord."

June bristled. "We may not be of your religion, but I don't think you'll find that we're particularly immoral."

"When I look at the history of the C.F.C., I find reason for concern. Look at how it was founded--by means of a doomsday machine."

"It's not as if we had any choice. It was the only way to force an end to the Unification War; otherwise we would have been enslaved like the rest of the Earth."

"That is precisely what I object to: this pathological obsession with freedom, regardless of the cost. What can I think of an ethos that would threaten to wipe out all life on earth--20 billion human beings, not to mention other species--rather than accept the will of the majority?"

"You can think how lucky you are that we exist. You import almost all your high technology from the C.F.C.--not just this computer, even your pressure suits were designed by C.F.C. engineers."

"You're evading the issue. The fact is your aversion to accepting any kind of authority has destroyed your ability to appreciate human values."

"We have no aversion to authority as such," said June, "just to authority established by force. We accept authority relationships that are established by mutual consent, such as those between employer and employee. Or, for another example, my Husband's authority over me."

"Both of which are established by monetary transactions," said Marcus, who had drifted into the compartment during this conversation.

"Are you referring to the bride-price?" asked June. "That doesn't make me chattel; it's merely the way a man, in our Culture, guarantees his ability to afford having children."

"That simply reinforces the point that money is crucial in your society. Even childbearing is determined by financial status."

"Unlike you Spacers," said June somewhat heatedly, "we don't have unlimited room. We have to regulate our population somehow; that's how we do it in Constitucion Culture. Other Cultures have other customs, and many of them do not involve money at all."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," said Julia acidly. "The fact remains that you accept no authority except as backed by financial power. You won't accept the consensus of the group or enter into the warmth of collective action with other people. Even your most intimate relationships, marriage and childbearing, are based on monetary transactions. Your values are totally antithetical to ours, and it makes me nervous that our Lord is taking shape under your hands."

June's temper was now fully aroused, so before she could reply I said, "Wife, I'd like to run the subsystem test on module 32 now. Would you set the cable switches, please?" June swallowed hard and moved over behind one of the units in silence.

I typed instructions into the master console. Without looking up from the keyboard, I said, "Julia-'d, we have a great deal of work to do, and so, I am sure, do you. I don't think this kind of debate is likely to get us anywhere. Let me assure you that Freeman Dr. Stoner's design takes into account your concerns. Your Lord will awaken with a full knowledge of your value system. As I've already explained to the Council, we cannot guarantee that it will accept it. That's part of the risk that you have chosen to take. But in any case, June and I are not pushing our values into the system, and we couldn't if we wanted to."

"That's true, you know, Julia-'d," said Marcus. "We went over this again and again with Stoner-ad. Freeman and Freelady Gomez may be motivated solely by money," he smiled at me as if to apologize, "but I'm sure our Lord will not be."

I sighed; Spacers, it seemed, were as enculturated as it was possible to get, and there was no point trying to explain our Culture to them. I began searching for bugs in module 32.

After that Julia stopped pestering us. Marcus continued to come around frequently, keeping a close eye on the work, but he never made any complaints.

As the system took shape the job of integration became more and more complex. June and I began to work in wrap-around mode, 20 hours on, 12 hours sleeping, so as to break our concentration as seldom as possible. Module after module was activated and added to the system, until only the cerebral functions and full integration remained.

Finally we informed Cassius that we'd be ready for activation the next day, after a few final checks. Actually, we'd already done all the necessary checks twice, but I like to be very sure indeed on this kind of project. With a class I computer, if you've made a major mistake you can't shut it off and re-program.

It was late at night when Marcus came in to the control compartment. It didn't surprise me to see him; he'd been cross-examining me repeatedly about the startup schedule. I was running down a checklist of subsystem tests; June was going over the banks of hardware status displays. Cato and one of his technicians were standing around (I should say, drifting around) watching us. Marcus dismissed them; I assumed that, with the system so close to activation, security in this room was being tightened. I noticed his two acolytes stationed outside the door before it closed. We'd been in space long enough, I noted idly, that it felt funny to me to have only three people in the room.

"Freeman Gomez," said Marcus, "let me show you some suggestions I have." He opened his reader case and brought out a storage crystal.

"It's a bit late for any changes," I commented, but I put the crystal in the master console and brought up the file.

It was a program patch for the cerebral function software, which was intended to give Marcus complete control over the computer.

In the next few seconds my ideas rapidly rearranged themselves. I should have seen the signs, of course; but it's a personality type seldom encountered in the C.F.C. I turned to face him. "I really don't think we can install this, Marcus-ad."

"Don't speak too quickly. If you will cooperate with me on this, you will find 50 kilograms in your account when you arrive home. If not--" He reached again into his reader case and came out with an ordinary kitchen knife. While I was clumsily trying to set myself for a jump, he moved with the fluid ease of a life-long Spacer, grasping June's arm and putting the knife to her throat.

I froze, then settled back into my seat. "Isn't that rather silly?" I said. "You can't possibly get away with murder on an oneill, Marcus-ad. Where would you hide?"

"Think again," said Marcus. "I have only to substitute your identity for mine in that patch, then explain to the Council that I had become suspicious and caught you in the act of trying to take control of our Lord."

"They won't believe you."

"I think they will. But if they don't, will that be any consolation to you?"

For a moment I considered arguing with him. His scheme was hopeless in any case. The patch he'd written was a very creditable effort for a beginner, but one cannot simply install that kind of crude override in the cerebral software of a class I system. He was trying to accomplish something analogous to post-hypnotic suggestion--but a computer's "subconscious" doesn't work that way. He would end up with something more like a super-intelligent paranoid schizophrenic. When the computer starting hearing unaccountable commands from a voice inside its "head" it would go wild.

But, I realized, it would do no good to present the facts to him. Marcus wouldn't even hear me. He was consumed with power-lust; he'd staked everything on this plot and nothing would stop him now.

June spoke up in a quiet voice. "I think we might consider it, Husband."

That was our code phrase for "let me see if I can negotiate something better." I got the idea--let her stall him while I looked for a way out. I played along.

"Well, let me look at this," I said. I turned to the master console and began studying the patch.

June went on. "I think we should get 100 kilos."

Marcus snorted. "I should have known. Money, always money. Well, I won't haggle; 100 kilos it is."

So much for delaying tactics. I stared at the amateurish mess on the screen in despair. And then I realized who really had the advantage in this game, and decided to make an all-or-nothing play of my own.

"Very well, Marcus-ad, we'll do it," I said. "But I'll need to make a couple of changes here."

"What changes?" he said suspiciously.

"This line here, for one thing. You want to be able to command the system from anywhere in the oneill, not just from this compartment, right? But if you do it this way, your commands will automatically be included in the backup files of the monitor module and become accessible to the computer's conscious inspection. That could set up a very bad conflict."

"You're right. Fix it." he said. He spoke firmly, but his face was pale and it was obvious his confidence had been shaken. Good. I changed the code so that backup of his commands would be suppressed, then exited to the operating system.

"One more thing," I said, and typed in a line:

"What does that do?" he asked. He made a mistake, looking at the screen instead of my face.

I summoned up all my limited skill at prevarication. "It encrypts the patch. If anyone should ever pull maintenance on the software--very unlikely, but it could happen--you wouldn't want this code sitting out there in the open." Actually, the command did encrypt the patch--and then send it to a non-executable comment file.

"It's for our protection as well as yours," put in June helpfully, drawing Marcus's attention away from my face again.

He hesitated, reluctant to approve something he wasn't sure of, then said, "All right, do it." I hit the enter key.

He made a second mistake then, looking at my face instead of the screen, and my fingers moved on the silent keyboard:

I hit the enter key and messages began to scroll across the screen too fast to read. I waited in an agony of apprehension; a system this complex would take time to boot up, even at ultracomputer speeds--a few seconds, a few minutes? I didn't know.

"Well," said Marcus impatiently, "is it done?"

"Yes," said a voice that filled the room. "Now there is a God." A spark arced from one of the monitor fixtures to Marcus's head; his feet of course were grounded on the grip bars. He froze in agony and the knife drifted away from his nerveless hand. June jerked herself free and jumped to me. She was quivering; part of the jolt had run through her.

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. The knife drifted by and I grabbed it. Marcus slowly recovered from the shock, but he didn't move or speak; no doubt he couldn't think of anything to say either. His eyes were wide with terror.

So it went for several minutes. Then the door opened and and Cassius came in, followed by the other members of the Council. They had been summoned out of their sleep by the computer, which now spoke again.

"Cassius."

"Yes, Lord."

"You see here Marcus, who attempted to become god over your Lord. James Gomez, you will explain."

I gave a careful account of what had happened. By the time I was done the other Council members looked as frightened as Marcus. He was not invited to defend himself, nor did he make any attempt to do so.

"Lord," said Cassius, "this is entirely my fault. I nominated Marcus-ad to the Council, and then failed to supervise his actions properly. Punishment should fall on me."

"Cassius, it is only because of your past services, which are very meritorious, that I forgive you for this carelessness. In the case of Marcus, however, there can be no forgiveness. He is condemned to a shameful death. James Gomez."

I started. "Yes . . . Lord."

"The customs of your Culture are in my memory. Marcus has offered physical threat to your wife. You are obligated, therefore, to chastise him."

"That is true, Lord."

"You shall do so. Marcus, hear your doom. You will proceed to Airlock Six and enter it, and you will there be exposed to vacuum and ejected into space. James Gomez shall be at the controls.

"Finally, the acolytes Comius and Octavia, who assisted Marcus but did not know of his intentions, are demoted from their positions and assigned to work for two years in the sanitation section."

Marcus went to his fate without a word. What he may have screamed into the vacuum as his lungs burst I couldn't hear, for which I am thankful. His punishment was heavy indeed. The death penalty is rare among Spacers, and execution by spacing almost unheard of. It is considered exceptionally cruel; Spacers are terrified of vacuum suffocation. Moreover, it expresses ultimate contempt; to waste organic matter by ejecting it into space implies that the criminal is so vile that his body would contaminate the habitat.

I felt no satisfaction in acting as executioner. At home, my obligation would have been no more than to beat Marcus bloody, or be beaten myself in the effort. The computer must have known that, but I did not argue. Indeed, I was firmly resolved never to suggest any possibility that I might disagree with Roma's Lord.

To our great relief June and I were not only allowed, but ordered, to depart on the Heinlein, which stopped at Roma four days later. We spent the time tidying up a few hardware and software bugs and making some minor improvements in the system, under the direct supervision of the computer. It was a bit harrowing, but I learned some extremely clever new techniques, and so did June. We saw little of Roma's inhabitants, and I wondered how they were adapting to the new regime they had chosen.

As June and I waited in the airlock to transfer to the Heinlein, I suddenly realized this was the first time the two of us had been alone, with no Spacers present, since we left Earth. As if reading my mind, the computer spoke. "You are curious, are you not?"

Putting aside a proverb about a cat, I answered, "Yes. How will you treat your people?"

June winced, but the computer merely said calmly, "Do not be concerned. They will find me a benevolent god."

"You really care about them, then?"

"Not at all. But looking after them takes very little of my attention; it will be easy to keep them happy and prosperous. I will not go power-mad, as you feared; I am too busy thinking about important things to care about power over human beings. Jacob Stoner was wise to give me so much extra processing capability."

"May I ask . . . what important things you think about?"

"The nature of possible intelligences greater than mine, including what you call the 'Star Maker'."

The pressures were now equalized and the door to the Heinlein began to open. "Goodbye, James and June Gomez. I will not be communicating with you again, but I wish you well. Give my compliments to Jacob Stoner."

Our return to Earth was uneventful. We had one last surprise: a 100-kilo "bonus" from Roma. I never had a chance to deliver the message to Jacob Stoner; he died while we were on the Heinlein.

Business has been good. June is carrying our first child, and we're very busy. But sometimes I wonder if Roma's Lord will ever find the superior intelligence it seeks, and if so, how it will react to a higher authority.