Corbell held lengthy conversations about it. "Can I possibly be that lonely?" he demanded of himself. "Or that bored? Or that desperate to hear another human voice again? Other than my own-" His own voice echoed back from the Womb Room walls.

"Computer," he said at last, "reconnect the message laser receiver." And he waited.

Nothing. Hours passed, and nothing.

He was savage. Pierce must have given up. Somewhere in the city that Pierce had never shown Corbell, Pierce the checker would be training another revived corpsicle.

The voice caught him at breakfast three days later. "Corbell!"

"Hah?" That was strange. Computer had never addressed him before. Was it an emergency?

"This is Peerssa, you traitorous son of a bitch! Turn this ship around and carry out your mission!"

"Get stuffed," Corbell said, feeling good.

"Get stuffed yourself," said the voice of Peerssa, turned suddenly silky-smooth.

Something was wrong here. Don Juan was almost half a light-year from Sol. How could Peerssa... ? "Computer, switch off the message laser receiver."

"That won't work, Corbell! I've beamed my personality at your computer, over and over again for these past seven months! Turn us around or I'll cut off your air!"

Corbell yelled something obscene. The silence that followed commanded attention. The purr of air moving through the life-support system was a sound he never heard anymore; but he heard its absence.

"Turn that back on!" he cried in panic.

"Will you bargain, Corbell?"

"Never! I'll throw-" What was heavy and movable? Nothing? "I'll pry the microwave oven loose and throw it into the computer! I'll give you nothing but a wrecked ship!"

"Your mission-"

"Shut up!"

The voice of Pierce the checker was silent. Corbell heard the purr of moving air.

What next? If Pierce controlled the computer he controlled everything. Why didn't he turn the ship himself?

Had he? Corbell climbed up into the Womb Room and settled in the control chair. "Full view," he commanded.

He floated alone in space.

Half a light-year of distance had not changed the pattern of the stars. A year of acceleration had. Don Juan was now meeting all light rays at an angle, so that the entire sky was puckered forward.

In his first life, during nights spent aboard a small boat, Corbell had made a nodding acquaintance with the constellations. Sagittarius was just where he had left it, directly overhead. A ring of white flame around and below him was hydrogen guided and constricted to fuse in stellar fire: the exhaust of his drive. Sol was a hot pink point beneath his feet... and something flickered across it.

Corbell, staring, made out a humanoid form barely blacker than space, walking toward him across the stars. Coming close.

Narrow features, light hair... it was Pierce. Corbell watched, barely breathing. Pierce was as big as Don Juan. Pierce was angry...

Corbell said, "Computer, get that mannequin off the screen."

The figure vanished.

Corbell resumed breathing. "Pierce, or Peerssa, or Computer, or whatever name you will answer to, I give you your orders. You will proceed to the galactic axis under one gravity of acceleration, making turnover at midpoint. You will take all necessary steps to guard my life and the integrity of the ship, subject to this mission. Now speak if you like."

The voice of Pierce the checker said, "I prefer Peerssa."

Corbell sighed his relief. "So do I. Are you in fact under my orders?"

"Yes. Corbell, there are things we must discuss. You owe your very existence to the State. You've stolen a key to the survival of mankind itself! How many seeder ramships do you imagine we can build? How many package probes do you think will succeed in converting alien atmospheres to something men can breathe? Or do you think that men will never need to leave the Earth?"

"Computer, you will henceforth answer to the name Peerssa. Peerssa, shut the fuck up."

Silence.

Now Corbell caught himself giggling occasionally. It could happen anytime. At meals, or sitting in the Womb Room watching the sky, or using the Health Club, he would suddenly start giggling. And then he couldn't stop, because Peerssa could hear, and Peerssa couldn't answer-

Peerssa. The naming of names: Pierce the checker was far in Corbel's past, while Peerssa was a personality imposed on a computer's memory bank. The distinction was worth remembering. There would be major differences between the man and the computer. Peerssa had different senses. Peerssa would never suffer hunger pangs or a frustrated sex urge. Peerssa would never exercise or use the rest room. Peerssa might well have no sense of self-preservation. That was worth finding out.

And Peerssa was compelled to follow orders. Peerssa was Corbel's slave.

Two weeks passed before Corbell gave in to the urge for conversation. Seated in the control chair, floating among stars that were already brighter and bluer above than below, Corbell said, "Peerssa, you may speak."

"Good. You've instructed me to guard your life and the ship. I can't maintain one gravity all the way without killing you and wrecking the ship."

"Don't lie to me," Corbell snapped. "I checked it out on the computer before I ever passed Saturn. The ram effect works better at high velocities, because I can narrow the width of the ram fields. Greater hydrogen flux."

"You used data already in the computer."

"Yes, of course."

"Corbell, that data was meant for jumps of up to fifty-two light-years. Not thirty-three thousand. We built the field generator as strong as possible, but it will not stand one gravity at your peak velocity. The strains will tear it apart. We'll have to decrease thrust starting three years from now, if you want to live."

Pierce the checker had never lied, had he? Pierce had never bothered. Why lie to a corpsicle? Peerssa was something else again. Corbell said, "You're lying."

"I deny it. Make up your mind. You've ordered me not to lie. Am I under your orders? If not, why don't I just turn and head for Van Maanan's Star?"

Corbell gave up. "This ruins my itinerary, doesn't it? How long will it take us to reach the core?"

"In near-perfect safety, about five hundred years."

"Give me... oh, a ninety-percent chance of getting there alive. How long?"

"Computing. Insufficient data on interstellar mass density. We'll correct that on the way. One hundred and sixty years, four months, plus or minus ten months, all figures in ship's time."

Corbell felt cold. That long? "Suppose we don't go direct? We could skim above the plane of the galaxy-"

"And thin out the interstellar matter. Computing. Good, Corbell. We lose some time thrusting laterally at turnover, but we still shave some time. One hundred and thirty-six years, eleven months, confidence of a year and a month."

"That still isn't good."

"And you'd have to spend the same time coming home. You'd get home dead, Corbell. We could finish your original mission faster than that. Well?"

"For-" Never say Forget it to a computer. "You have your orders. I now amend them. Your mission is to get us to the galactic axis in minimum ship's time relative, ninety-percent confidence of getting me there alive."

"You'll never see Earth again."

"Shut up."

Silence.

"You may speak."

Silence.

"Does it bother you, being cut off like that?"

"Yes, of course it bothers me. I've been silent for a week. That's four weeks added to our trip time. The longer it takes me to persuade you, the longer it will take us to complete our mission!"

"I could order you to give up that idea."

"I would do it. Snarling of my circuits might result. Corbell, I appeal to your sense of gratitude. The State created you, you owe your very existence-"