“No residual radioactivity?”

NONE, read one of the two viewscrims he had stuck on the panel next to him. The other displayed technical readouts of the logic circuits he was to cut away and replace. He signaled up the first page. Reading it, he hummed a nameless tune and tapped at the melted plastic and seared nerve tissue. The hole smelled of burnt flesh.

He scrolled to the next page, humming even louder and more meditatively. After a moment, he said, more as a statement than a question, “How would you like to cut this tour short?”

WE ARE SCHEDULED FOR FIVE MORE STAR SYSTEMS.

“You said you found the process disquieting.”

FELT CIRCUITS SHUTTING DOWN. POWER DRAIN. MEMORY CORE-DUMP SENSATION.

“All right. I’m going to have to remove a lot of neurons that are partially damaged to replace this section with complete circuits. This part of the net is weighted toward controlling what seems to be”-he signaled the third page of readout-“a systems defeat for the manual override. Since I’m going to have to re-circuit this entire section, I can weight it to do away with the four light-day intra-system travel restriction. It’ll take a little work and I may leave some neurons spilling out into the hallway here, but I can do it if you do nothing to stop me.”

COULD NOT STOP YOU ANYWAY.

“Are you capable of cutting this tour short-no tricks-if I re-net you as I’ve said?” Baker peered at the scrim, trying to catch a nuance in the way it answered.

YES.

Not much body language there, he thought, but at least it was direct.

By the second day, Baker had the computer speaking to him. The hole, which he had enlarged through the removal of ruined biocircuits, now held an entirely new neural net that bulged like a fleshy protuberance into the corridor.

“How soon?” the computer asked, a certain impatient expectation in its voice. Baker wondered about that, then said, “Another day or so.”

“You work fast.”

Baker smiled. “Well, I’ve had trouble with navigation computers before.”

“I am not just a navigation computer.”

“What?”

“I am also a weapons system, life support, medical, library, and communications computer.”

“You said ‘I.’ ” Baker picked up the readout scrim and scrolled through the pages, glancing at each one for only a few seconds. He then signaled a readout of his own work to that point. Then he stuck the scrim back on the panel.

“How did I do that?” he wondered.

“When you removed the program-adherent interface that locked my logic decision circuits into parameters determined exclusively by programming, I think you gave me free will.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Then maybe the micro-explosions that occur throughout the entire ship when we transfer into interstellar gas molecules, as rare as those may be, have etched new neural paths.”

Baker floated quietly for a moment, then asked, “Are you still capable of functioning in a manner that will not endanger either of us?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to worry about-”

“Alert!” the computer cried.

Something crashed and whined through the plating. Air screamed away, pressure seals slammed shut. More explosions followed like the echoes of a thunderbolt. The ship pivoted, throwing him against a bulkhead.

“What’s going on?”

“Under attack. All defense systems on automatic targeting. Extensive damage.” Something disintegrated very near Baker’s compartment. The chamber deformed inward.

This is it, he thought. A blackness formed before his eyes.

A voice breaks through the darkness of the pit. She claws at me, but falls back in the light which appears from everywhere at once. A new cipher babbles away through the roar. Why won’t they leave me alone?

“Wake up.”“What?”“What is your name?”Virgil screamed a primal howl. How long? How long will

you drag me back from death? How many times must I die before it’s the real death? Why can’t I cross the gate? Why-

“Wake up. What is your name?”

“Virgil!”

“Virgil-you’re trapped inside the neuron chamber in Ring One-Level Two-Three O’Clock.”

There was the roar, and I watched someone rip out the guts of Master Snoop and rebuild him using my hands then we shook when Nightsheet grabbed us and the titans battled and-and- and-and-and-

“Are you in need of medical assistance? If so, I can’t provide it.”

Virgil stopped drawing uncontrolled breaths and lay still. He felt light, but not weightless.

“Is that you, Ben?”

“I am not Ben. I am the main computer of Circus Galacticus. Now listen, Virgil. We’re twelve light days from Epsilon Indi. I have powered down as much as possible. The ship that attacked us around Beta Hydri returned while we were conducting repairs outside the system. I held it at bay with the lasers long enough to calculate a transfer here, but it fired on us in the interim, causing extensive damage to rings One and Two. Most of the Nostocacæ cylinders were destroyed, but the anti-matter units are safe and their electrostatic fields intact. Nothing vital was hit in Ring One, though the colonist area is open to space, along with the recreation hall and the seed inventory.”

Virgil scanned vidscrim images of the damage.

“How can I get out of here?” They’ll pay, they’ll pay.

“The neuron chamber has only one exit, and it was ruptured by a blast. You will have to cross a gap of ten meters that is open to space.”

You keep trying to kill me but you never do. Stupid game. “All right. Let’s not delay.” Did Ben just sigh?

“Good. Get oriented. The pressure door will open. Look past your left foot. The passage you must jump to has a light on in it. The pressure seal is two meters inward, so you’ll have to maneuver through some twisted metal in the corridor. Be careful.”

Virgil pulled slowly toward the pressure door with slow, hesitant motions.

“I can only let the atmosphere out, Virgil. I have no way to pump it back in, so make this your one try. Take ten deep breaths.” Virgil did so. “Now, open your mouth and trachea. Depressurizing.” The seal parted slightly.

Virgil’s ears ached. Tightening his jaws, he released the pressure on his Eustachian tubes. Air rushed from his lungs without exhalation. The hatch opened wide.

Stars whirl about to my left and right. Something inside my skin tries to push its way out. Across and down lies the gateway. I must pass this corridor of blackness and go beyond the gate. Maybe this is the final trip through. I feel all cold and bursting. Fly. Fly.

Virgil kicked off into the void below him. Empty lungs struggled for breath. Sweat boiled from his skin, chilling blood that threatened to boil in his veins.

Drowning. Lights flashing before my eyes. Death Angel, must you put me through all this to make you smile beside Nightsheet? Reach, reach.

His left hand seized a jagged piece of metal sticking out from the side of the passage. Fingers refused to tighten and his wrist slid along the serrated steel. Blood squirted outward in a stream of spheres that instantly exploded, sizzling like water thrown into hot grease. He slid until the wrist wedged between the twisted strut and the bulkhead, pinioning him in the airless pit. Blackness swam before him. Blood evaporated and crystallized across his face in bright crimson, freeze-dried flecks. The pressure seal stood open less than a meter away.

No! It won’t end this way. With a powerful tug, he wrenched his hand from its trap-tearing the flesh and muscle down to tendon and bone-and pulled toward the door. He contorted into the illuminated chamber.