autodoc took its time answering, lights flickering while it consulted its data banks. MIRI ROBERTSON WILL INSERT HER HAND INTO THE UNIT, it directed, a small slot opening to the right of the keypad.
Miri stuck her left hand in as far as it would go, felt the tingle; heard the chime and saw the words. MIRI ROBERTSON WILL WITHDRAW HER HAND .
The slot closed and the screen cleared. More lights flickered. Then: RECUPERATION NEARING COMPLETION. SLEEP-LEARNING ALLOWED FOR MAXIMUM THREE-HOUR SHIFTS, NOT EXCEEDING THREE SHIFTS PER DAY; MINIMUM BREAK SHIFTS TWO HOURS. SUPPLEMENTS SUGGESTED AFTER EACH LEARNING SHIFT TO INSURE RECUPERATION AT CURRENT SATISFACTORY RATE. DISPENSED BELOW.
"I suggest," said Val Con softly, "that you are better nourished than you were at fourteen. I also suggest that this module is properly tuned and equipped." He slipped the supplement pack out of the dispensary and handed it to her. "An Agent is too valuable to lose to brain-burn; a failed mission far too high a price to pay for faulty machinery."
She stared at him; turned to look at the module, complete with dead-man switch, open and ready to receive her.
"Three hours?" It seemed like three centuries.
"It is the most efficient block of time," Val Con said gravely, and stroked her hair. "Miri, I swear that you are in no danger."
She looked at him, remembering the pain and the burning and the terror. "It's really that important?" But of course it was that important. He was her partner. It was his responsibility to see she had what she needed to survive; what she needed for them both survive.
"OK," she said, and suddenly, desperately, reached up to kiss him. He hugged her tight.
"I will be watching," he murmured. "Malfunction triggers an alarm on the pilot's board. Use the switch, if you feel any discomfort."
"Right." She stepped back, stuck the vitamin pack in her pouch and went over to the module. She lay down and took a grip on the switch. Val Con lowered the lid.
The connectors slid out of the mattress and out of the canopy, stinging a little as they pierced her. Miri closed her eyes against the starless black overhead, and let the program take her.
A two-toned chime was going off insistently in her left ear, gradually gaining volume. Miri opened her eyes and sat up, blinking in bleared confusion at the nest-like unit, its black dome lid raised.
Right. Learning module.
She struggled out of the nest and took a couple of deep breaths, head clearing rapidly. Behind her the chiming changed from a two-note chiding to a one-note demand. Frowning, she turned, saw the slip of paper sticking out of the slot near the timer and yanked it free.
The chiming stopped.
Miri frowned at the paper. The words blurred out of focus; steadied: Absorption rate 98% overall. Feedback accurate 99.8%. Self test consistent 98.4%.
Miri shook her head, remembered the packet of vitamins in her pouch and went to get something to wash them down with.
Val Con was coming toward her as she entered the bridge and she froze, mind presenting a good dozen ways to address him; combinations of bows and salutations branching off into a veritable jungle of possibilities, none seeming more right than another. The combination for greeting a senior officer presented itself and she grabbed it, executing the bow in barely proper time.
"Sir," she said, remembering to straighten before speaking, and to speak with the inflection of respectful attention, "I have completed my session with the Instructor."
Both brows shot up before he returned her bow, briefly, and with subtle irony. Miri was dismayed; recalled that one might accept idiosyncrasies of style, so long as they did not cross the line of what one's own melant'i would tolerate.
"Ma'am," Val Con said, senior to junior, though with an undefinable under-inflection, which seemed to echo the irony of his bow, "I am delighted to find your time with the Instructor so fruitfully spent. However, I believe that
Miri stuck her left hand in as far as it would go, felt the tingle; heard the chime and saw the words. MIRI ROBERTSON WILL WITHDRAW HER HAND .
The slot closed and the screen cleared. More lights flickered. Then: RECUPERATION NEARING COMPLETION. SLEEP-LEARNING ALLOWED FOR MAXIMUM THREE-HOUR SHIFTS, NOT EXCEEDING THREE SHIFTS PER DAY; MINIMUM BREAK SHIFTS TWO HOURS. SUPPLEMENTS SUGGESTED AFTER EACH LEARNING SHIFT TO INSURE RECUPERATION AT CURRENT SATISFACTORY RATE. DISPENSED BELOW.
"I suggest," said Val Con softly, "that you are better nourished than you were at fourteen. I also suggest that this module is properly tuned and equipped." He slipped the supplement pack out of the dispensary and handed it to her. "An Agent is too valuable to lose to brain-burn; a failed mission far too high a price to pay for faulty machinery."
She stared at him; turned to look at the module, complete with dead-man switch, open and ready to receive her.
"Three hours?" It seemed like three centuries.
"It is the most efficient block of time," Val Con said gravely, and stroked her hair. "Miri, I swear that you are in no danger."
She looked at him, remembering the pain and the burning and the terror. "It's really that important?" But of course it was that important. He was her partner. It was his responsibility to see she had what she needed to survive; what she needed for them both survive.
"OK," she said, and suddenly, desperately, reached up to kiss him. He hugged her tight.
"I will be watching," he murmured. "Malfunction triggers an alarm on the pilot's board. Use the switch, if you feel any discomfort."
"Right." She stepped back, stuck the vitamin pack in her pouch and went over to the module. She lay down and took a grip on the switch. Val Con lowered the lid.
The connectors slid out of the mattress and out of the canopy, stinging a little as they pierced her. Miri closed her eyes against the starless black overhead, and let the program take her.
A two-toned chime was going off insistently in her left ear, gradually gaining volume. Miri opened her eyes and sat up, blinking in bleared confusion at the nest-like unit, its black dome lid raised.
Right. Learning module.
She struggled out of the nest and took a couple of deep breaths, head clearing rapidly. Behind her the chiming changed from a two-note chiding to a one-note demand. Frowning, she turned, saw the slip of paper sticking out of the slot near the timer and yanked it free.
The chiming stopped.
Miri frowned at the paper. The words blurred out of focus; steadied: Absorption rate 98% overall. Feedback accurate 99.8%. Self test consistent 98.4%.
Miri shook her head, remembered the packet of vitamins in her pouch and went to get something to wash them down with.
Val Con was coming toward her as she entered the bridge and she froze, mind presenting a good dozen ways to address him; combinations of bows and salutations branching off into a veritable jungle of possibilities, none seeming more right than another. The combination for greeting a senior officer presented itself and she grabbed it, executing the bow in barely proper time.
"Sir," she said, remembering to straighten before speaking, and to speak with the inflection of respectful attention, "I have completed my session with the Instructor."
Both brows shot up before he returned her bow, briefly, and with subtle irony. Miri was dismayed; recalled that one might accept idiosyncrasies of style, so long as they did not cross the line of what one's own melant'i would tolerate.
"Ma'am," Val Con said, senior to junior, though with an undefinable under-inflection, which seemed to echo the irony of his bow, "I am delighted to find your time with the Instructor so fruitfully spent. However, I believe that
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