Destination: Void: Prequel to the Pandora Sequence by Frank Herbert

and as much computer time as they can spare us.”
    “You can’t separate the political from everything else,” Flattery objected. “You’ll only stir things up and—”
    “If you want to see what’s in the bottom of the kettle, you have to give it one hell of a stir,” Bickel said. “And I want them to define consciousness for us.”
    He was way ahead of me again, Flattery thought. I have to stop underestimating him. One slip could ruin everything.

Chapter 8
    Of all the Earthling’s crew, Raja Lon Flattery has been provided with the most accurate information, suitably weighted, of course. This was necessary because he had to be provided with a secret terminal in his quarters through which he can monitor the mood of ship and crew. A primary fuse has to be connected to the system, and Flattery is that fuse.
    —Morgan Hempstead, Lectures at Moonbase
    She had come into Com-central still feeling weak and disoriented. It was obvious that the shift of dominance had gone faster than expected, and she had forced herself to overcome her body’s weaknesses, putting on a mask of wellbeing and composure that she did not feel.
    The ovoid Com-central room should not have confused her—she had put in too many hours of training among these dials and gauges and pipes and keyboard consoles before their departure—but the feeling of unfamiliarity persisted. Then, as awareness increased, she saw the subtle changes in connections and controls and readouts. Bickel’s handiwork.
    All the changes were necessary to put the ship on manual, she realized, but she could feel the inadequacies of what had been done.
    It was only then that she realized the thin edge they walked, and she turned her attention to Flattery who was finishing out his shift on the big board. The signs of strain were obvious in his movements—still exact with a surgeon’s sureness, but the control betrayed its thinning energy in the way he relaxed abruptly after each adjustment of the board.
    He should be relieved now, she thought, but she knew she was not yet ready to have that green dial point down at her, and she was not sure of the conditions of Bickel and Timberlake.
    Timberlake radiated glum silence.
    Bickel had greeted her warmly enough, then handed her a load of programming. The task obviously pointed toward construction of an electronic multi-simulation model of their main computer’s core memory input/output.
    Much of the programming remained to be completed. She lay back on her action couch, examined the test display of one series on the screen beside her. She felt the couch’s enfolding cocoon through the vacsuit, wished there were time to let her body recover fully from its dehyb ordeal.
    The evidence was all around her, though, that she had to get to work. There was no time for the luxury of slow recuperation.
    Okay, you’re so proud of your position and title … Prudence Lon Weygand, M.D., she told herself. You asked for this job. You know what you have to do; get with it …
    The old self-lecture failed to rekindle her energies, and she steeled herself to hide all signs of weakness before speaking.
    “Moonbase is taking longer to answer this time than it did before,” she said. “And I gave ’em some questions to answer.”
    “They’re too busy trying to decide what our reply really means,” Bickel said.
    “Or they could be figuring out how to tell us we’ve bitten off more’n we can chew,” Timberlake said.
    She heard the fear in his voice. “Raj has been on that board over four hours. Isn’t it time somebody spelled him, Tim?”
    Flattery knew what she was doing, but could not prevent the feeling of tension from gripping his spine. There was always the possibility Timberlake couldn’t take this.
    Timberlake felt the dryness in his mouth. Naturally, she assumed he was giving orders here. He was the life-systems man. She had not volunteered to take the board, either … the bitch. But maybe it was too soon after dehyb. Metabolisms