Jonders scanned the review summary a final time, scrolling the text on his home console:
" . . .In the first of the demonstration tests, Kadin was asked to negotiate a settlement in a hypothetical brush-war, presented in a game program derived from the war-game library of the Harmon Defense Institute . . . .
" . . .Kadin was required to provide psychological counseling to three clients . . . personalities fabricated from actual case histories. The reviewing psychiatrist, Diana Thrudore . . . indicated that Kadin, with substantial accuracy, interpreted symptoms of emotional disorder . . . .
" . . .Details . . . are presented in the body of this report . . . .
" . . .Kadin has demonstrated a grasp of the physical, life, and social sciences; diplomatic and military strategy, and methods of conflict resolution . . . .
" . . .His training and knowledge can only provide a foundation for the higher qualities of judgment and wisdom. It is the opinion of the Personality Project Manager that further training would be valuable . . . however, insofar as 'readiness' is defined by established standards of competence . . . it is the judgment of the Project Manager that Kadin is in a satisfactory state of readiness. . .."
Jonders snapped off the display. He knew it by heart anyway. The report would go to his superiors in the morning. The Oversight Committee would be studying it also; but Leonard Hathorne, the chairman of the committee, would make the decisions without much regard for his recommendations, anyway.
To hell with it, he thought wearily, looking at the clock. It was after midnight—well past his usual bedtime. And he had to be in early tomorrow. He rose, switching off the desk lamp with a sigh.
* * *
The breeze that billowed the bedroom curtain was too cool for comfort. Jonders shoved the sticky window down, leaving only a crack of an opening. The streetlights outside cast a pale illumination through the translucent curtains. He returned to bed, his bare feet scuffing on the carpet. Marie half opened an eyelid and rolled over. He slid back under the covers and loosely encircled her waist. She sleepily clasped his hand with her own. The gel mattress slowly gave way, dimpling under his shoulder.
Sleep eluded him. After a while, he gently disengaged himself and rolled onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling. There had been too many nights like this lately—home late, tired, preoccupied, and too anxious to sleep. When was he going to learn to relax?
He focused on a gossamer pattern of light on the ceiling, which trembled and shivered each time the curtains stirred. Fine, luminous lines traced bridges across the ceiling, arching between tiny patches of ghostly light. Pathways joining cloud kingdoms with subterranean realms, he thought. Storybook stuff. Not enough wonder left . . . not enough gossamer pathways between worlds . . . not enough travelers through the kingdoms. . ..
"Bill . . . wake up!" Marie was prodding him. It couldn't be morning already. He blinked his eyes open. No, it was dark. Some damn chirping noise. Marie poked him again, harder. "Answer the phone!" she grumbled.
"Oh, Christ." Struggling to consciousness, he rolled toward the nightstand, where the phone was winking and warbling. He got up on one elbow and groped for the
answer
key. The screen lighted, glaring in his face. He thumbed the intensity down. "Yeah. Jonders," he croaked.
A young man's face appeared in the screen. "It's Tim Forbes, at the lab, sir. I'm sorry to wake you."
"What is it?" Jonders sighed. Weariness flushed through him like poison. He glanced at the clock and groaned; he'd been asleep less than an hour.
Forbes spoke hesitantly. "We have a problem here. It's your daytime programmer, Hoshi Aronson. He's here now, and—"
"What the hell's he doing there? It's the middle of the night."
"Yes sir, that's just it. He was running unlogged programs, and one of your subjects is here, too, a Mozelle Moi."
"What?"
Jonders sat upright on the edge of the bed. "Say that again. What did he do?" By the time Forbes was through, he was fumbling for his slippers. Weariness was turning to nausea. "Let me talk to Hoshi," he said.
Forbes shook his head. "He won't talk. To anyone."
Jonders couldn't believe it. "All right," he said finally. "Call security. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't let anybody do anything until I get there."
"We'll handle it," said Forbes. "Sorry to have to—"
"Forget it. You did the right thing." Jonders ran his fingers through his hair, cursing, as the screen darkened. He called security and arranged with the night-duty chief for a hopper to be sent for him. He decided against calling Fogelbee or Marshall until he knew more.
Marie was watching him as he dressed. "You aren't going back there now, are you?" she said.
He let out a deep breath. "Yah. How much of that did you hear?"
She shrugged, shaking her head in the pillow.
How could he expect her to understand, when he couldn't even discuss the work with her? He buckled his belt and sat back down on the bed, stroking her hair back from her forehead. She looked angry. "It's some trouble with the staff," he said. "Serious trouble. I
have
to go."
"Why the hell can't someone else do it?" she muttered.
"There
is
no one else. It's my responsibility." He kissed her on the forehead and stood up. "It's probably going to be late, so I might stay out there tonight. Don't worry."
Marie looked up at him, sleepiness gone from her eyes. "Call, at least."
"Right." Slipping into his shoes, he kissed her again and left quietly.
* * *
The residential streets were quiet, only the mutter of distant traffic disturbing the night as he walked from the pool of one street light to the next. The air was chilly and clear, with the faint mingled scent of aspen and pine. He passed a dozen dark houses, rounded the curve at the end of the street, and hurried the last block and a half to the entrance of Orville Park.
The parking lot was partially lighted, and almost empty. Jonders checked his flashlight and walked to the center of the asphalt. A sign at the park's entrance warned that the grounds were closed after dark. He waited.
Ten minutes later, he heard a whining,
whicka-whicka-whicka
. He squinted into the sky and finally spotted a revolving red-and-amber light coming in over the trees from the north. He waved his lantern and moved back. When the hopper touched down, he ducked beneath the ghostly green circle traced by the rotor and climbed into the tiny passenger compartment beside the pilot. "Jonders?" the pilot shouted.
"Right!" He slammed the door and grabbed for a seat belt. The hopper lifted abruptly. The pilot banked left, then dropped the craft's nose as he accelerated over the woods.
Jonders caught his breath and peered out over the ink and glitter of the night suburban landscape. Most of the lights disappeared astern as they left the city behind and ascended over the mountain slopes, massive and dark. He nearly fell into a trance, listening to the chattering drone of the engine; then the lights of Sandaran Link Center appeared over a ridge. The moment the hopper touched the landing pad, Jonders yelled a thank-you to the pilot and hurried into the building.
The Personality Lab was in chaos. Security officers were everywhere, and most of the night crew were standing around, looking bewildered. "Dr. Jonders," said the officer in charge, "we're detaining Mr. Aronson down in the conference room. The young lady is in the subject room with the nurse. I've called Chief Kelly at home, and he's on his way in."
Jonders stared at him dumbly for a moment, as though the man had addressed the wrong person. "Take me to Miss Moi," he said abruptly.
Two others were in the room with Mozelle—a guard and a female nurse. Mozelle herself was sitting in the subject chair—motionless as a wax statue. Her eyes were unblinking, and showed no awareness of the presence of others.
Jonders crossed the room. "Mozelle?" he said softly. He touched her cheek. There was no reaction. He lifted her chin to force her to meet his gaze. "Mozelle, can you hear me?" Her eyes blinked once, but remained unfocused.
"Mozelle."
He released her chin, and her head dropped slowly to its original position. He felt for a pulse in her wrist. Her arm was limp. Her pulse felt normal. Jonders looked up at the nurse. "Have you examined her?"
"She's been like this since I arrived an hour ago," the nurse said. "Her life signs are stable, and I could find no sign of physical injury. I'm waiting now for Dr. Phillips to arrive." She gestured to the linkup equipment. "Could there have been an electrical shock?"
"Unlikely—but we'll check it out," Jonders said. "In the meantime, get on the phone to the Riddinger Institute and have them put through an emergency call to Dr. Diana Thrudore. See if she can get out here right away."
"But Dr. Phillips—"
"He can check her out physically. But Dr. Thrudore is a neuropsychiatrist, one of the best. I want her here." He refrained from adding that he never trusted company doctors. He turned to the officer standing behind him. "Where's Forbes, and Hoshi?"
The man gestured. "This way."
Jonders turned, as he was leaving. "Have someone stay with her at all times," he said. "And call me if she so much as stirs." He spun and followed the officer.
* * *
Hoshi remained silent and inscrutable. His eyes darted to Jonders and away.
Damn those eyes, Jonders thought ungraciously. They were worse when Hoshi was
trying
to be mysterious. "If you won't explain to me what you were doing, Hoshi, we will have to assume the worst." Hoshi continued to ignore him. Jonders felt a surge of anger. "What the hell's gotten into you?" There was no response. He turned to the security officer and said, "Go get Forbes."
When Tim Forbes walked in, he glanced nervously at Hoshi, then took a seat. Jonders asked him to describe exactly what he had seen. Forbes took a deep breath, and began elaborating on what he had told Jonders over the phone. "It
appeared
that he was doing a full-spectrum, intensive scan on her," he concluded.
"A full-spectrum scan?" Jonders glared at Hoshi. "That's not true, is it?" The full-spectrum scanning programs were entirely experimental, not to be used on human subjects without considerably more refinement and preparation.
Hoshi remained stoically oblivious. Furious, Jonders turned back to Forbes. "What else?"
"Well—" said Forbes, stammering.
"What else, dammit?"
"Before they started the scan," Forbes said uncomfortably, "I walked in on them in the subject room. They were engaged in . . . engaged in what appeared to be sexual activity." He clamped his mouth shut.
"Specify," Jonders demanded. This was becoming more unbelievable by the moment. Hoshi Aronson, carrying on a sleazy affair in the back room? He could not imagine a more unlikely scenario. "Just exactly what did you see them doing?" he said.
"Kissing," Forbes said nervously.
"Kissing? Is that all?"
Forbes fidgeted. "Kissing passionately. I didn't stand around watching."
"You didn't stand around watching?"
"No, sir. Would you?"
Jonders grunted and paced the room. He stopped, facing Hoshi. "This is very hard for me to believe, Hoshi. Would you please tell me if it's true?" Hoshi stared moodily into space. "What
were
you doing in there with Miss Moi?" Same response. Jonders walked back to Forbes. "What about this alleged brainscan? What did you observe that makes you think that's what he was doing? Is it on the log?"
Forbes shook his head. He described the instrument settings he had noted, and the computer activity. "When I checked the log, afterward, it showed no such activity at all. I knew that something was wrong—so I went back in to question Hoshi. He wouldn't answer, or stop what he was doing until he was finished. I was afraid to force an interruption. When I went to check on Miss Moi, I found her just as she is now."
"There must be some mistake in the log," Jonders said. "Have you checked it all the way through? How could he have gotten past the security blocks?"
A sudden laugh made him turn. It was Hoshi—laughing to himself in sad and bitter triumph.
Jonders's anger hardened. The computer's security programs were supposed to be impenetrable. How could Hoshi have defeated them—and why?
"Security blocks," Hoshi hissed, and it was hard to tell whether he was laughing or crying.
"Hoshi," Jonders said deliberately. This time he was rewarded by Hoshi's head rising—eyes meeting his. In that gaze he sensed an acknowledgment, given grudgingly but almost proudly, of the truth of everything Forbes had said. He took a painful breath. "Why did you do it?"
"She wanted me to," Hoshi said, his gaze still locked with Jonders's. "She begged me."
"Begged you? For what?"
"I gave her what she wanted," Hoshi answered defiantly. Then more softly: "I gave her what she wanted." His frown twisted into a pathetic smile.
"Hoshi,
what did she want?
A full brainscan? Why?"
Hoshi peered at him with an almost quizzical expression. Then the gaze turned inward, and Jonders knew that the moment was gone.
It really was the middle of the night before Jonders learned much more. The company physician arrived and examined Mozelle. Finding no physical injury, he ordered her removed to the infirmary for observation. Meanwhile, Jonders had Tim Forbes working on a trace of the program records, to try to learn what exactly Hoshi had done. Joe Kelly, the Chief of Security, arrived at two-thirty in the morning, along with Ken Fogelbee, who was angrier than Jonders had ever seen him. Chief Kelly, a stocky and energetic man, was by contrast less upset, more intent on calming people down than on obtaining immediate answers.
The four of them sat in Jonders's office, with only a desk lamp turned on for illumination. Hoshi was seated in a chair beside the desk, his face half-revealed by the pool of light. He ignored a cup of coffee steaming by his elbow. Jonders sat behind his desk, while Kelly perched on the window ledge, cradling a styrofoam cup in his hands. Fogelbee sat some distance away, in near darkness.