Believing Is Seeing

A clear childish voice spoke. “This is Candida Two, Candy,” it said. “Candida One, I need your confirmation.”

It was no voice F. C. Stone knew, and it seemed to come from the screen. Her eyes turned to the mug of kivay. Perhaps she was in a state of altered consciousness.

“Candida One!” the voice said impatiently. “Confirm that you are conscious. I will wait ten seconds and then begin lifesaving procedures. Ten, nine, eight …”

This sounded serious. Coffee poisoning, thought F. C. Stone. I shall change to carrot juice or cocoa.

“… seven, six, five,” counted the childish voice, “four, three …”

I’d better say something, thought F. C. Stone. How absurd. Weakly she said, “Do stop counting. It makes me nervous.”

“Are you Candida One?” demanded the voice. “The voice pattern does not quite tally. Please say something else for comparison with my records.”

Why should I? thought F. C. Stone. But it was fairly clear that if she stayed silent, the voice would start counting again and then, presumably, flood the room with the antidote for xfy.

No, no, this was ridiculous. There was no way a word processor could flood anyone’s system with anything. Come to that, there was no way it could speak either—or was there? She must ask Da

Her hand shot out to the radio beside her, which she kept for aural wallpaper during the duller part of her narratives, and switched it on. Click. “During this period Beethoven was having to contend with his increasing deafness—”

The childish voice cut in across this lecture. “This voice is not correct,” it pronounced, putting paid to that theory. “It is the voice of a male. Males are forbidden access to any of my functions beyond basic navigational aids. Candida One, unless you reply confirming that you are present and conscious, I shall flood this ship with sedative gas ten seconds from now.”

Then perhaps Da

And the childish voice was at its counting again: “… six, five, four …”

Finding that her mouth was hanging open, F. C. Stone used it. “I know this is a practical joke,” she said. “I don’t know what it is you’ve done, Da

The countdown stopped. “Voice patterns are begi

Fortified by the knowledge that this had to be a joke of Da

“Apologies,” spoke the childish voice, “but who is Da

The joke was getting worse. Da

“Of course,” said the voice.

F. C. Stone spent a moment in angry thought. Da

“If you like,” the voice responded. Had it sounded puzzled? Then Da

Motorways, thought F. C. Stone, but where did he get the name?

“Visual,” said the voice. Blocks of words jumped onto the screen. They seemed to be in—Russian? Greek?—capitals.

It had to be a computer game of some kind, F. C. Stone thought. Now what would Da

The trouble was that she was accustomed so to prowl whenever she was stuck in a sentence. As her a

Neat blocks of Greco-Cyrillic script jumped to her screen. “Candy!” said the childish voice. “Why don’t you answer? I repeat. We are well inside the Dna System and coming up to jump.”

F. C. Stone was startled enough to swallow a mouthful of scalding c’phee and barely notice what it was called. “Nonsense, Da

The script on the screen blinked a little. “His name is Adny,” the voice said, sounding a little helpless. “If you do not remember that, or that microjumps are possible, then I see I must attend to what he has been telling me. Candy, it is possible that you have been overtaken by senility—”

“Senility!” howled F. C. Stone. Many murderous fates for Da

“—and your male has been imploring me to ask you to authorize his use of functions Five through Nine to preserve this ship. Will you so authorize? Some action is urgent.”

A certain curiosity emerged through F. C. Stone’s anger. How far was Da

It seemed he had. A symbol of some kind now filled the screen, a complex curlicue the like of which F. C. Stone had never seen or imagined her equipment capable of producing. A wholly new voice spoke, male and vibrant. “I thank you,” it said. “Function Eight will serve for now. This justifies my faith in you, Candida Three. I am now able to bypass the computer and talk to you direct. Please do not turn your power source off again. We must talk.”