“It has moved from the realm of the possible into that of the probable, yes. As to the expense, I have already eliminated a number of additional locations where the probability of intrusion exists but is lower. I regret I cannot be more precise.”

So do I, Oristano mused. Nevertheless, it was a relief to be able to deal with something besides febrile cybernetic hallucinations. It would help the morale of the staff. One thing to say a threat exists, another to alert security in Madrid. Time for a little reality to replace supposition.

“Interesting that you don’t include Central.”

“The threat is not directed here. At least, not now.”

“Then this is all you deem necessary?”

“For now, Martin. I will notify you if I feel further steps should be taken.”

“Good enough.” He felt a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to rejoin human company.

He sought out the diminutive programmer from Behar.

“More troubles with the unnameable threat?” Dhurapati asked. The cabochon ruby in her nose was almost black in the dim light of the corridor.

“I’m afraid so. Now I’m to call a worldwide alert at CS Service Termini.”

She shook her head, black hair moving beneath the thin silk of the work sari. “This can’t go on forever. Tell me, Martin, do you still believe in the seriousness of this ‘threat’?”

“Why else would the machine call an alert?”

“Because it senses your doubt and mine and everyone else’s, and seeks to justify its confusion and concern by raising an alarm, perhaps to no more purpose than to reinforce its own closely held delusion.”

He eyed her appraisingly. They were in a service corridor decorated to resemble a similar tunnel on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. Water dripped off ferns and epiphytes. It was hard to believe they weren’t strolling through that tropical paradise. Yet overhead lay several thousand meters of solid granite and beyond, the cold wastes of the Alps.

“You’re still insisting something’s wrong with the Colligatarch’s central logic functions?”

“I’m not ready to insist on it. Not yet. But I do think it’s time for you to order an independent study. Care should be taken not to make the machine suspicious. The investigation should be cloaked in the guise of a standard circuitry checkup. This much needs to be done.” She stopped, stared up at him. “There are others on the staff who agree with me, Martin.”

“Very well. I confess to having second thoughts myself. Go ahead and set up the necessary study. I’ll clear it through the network.” His thoughts shifted.

“You know, the Colligatarch is still new enough so that we don’t, even after all these years of operation, know everything about it. It’s continually evolving, electronically and mentally. This sort of checkup ought to be carried out on a regular basis. Increased sophistication of operation requires a corresponding increase in the sophistication of monitoring such operations.”

“We need to tread very lightly here, Martin. I realize it’s unlikely we could do anything to alarm the machine, but we need to tread very lightly.”

“I leave it to you, Dhura, to devise a check program which will do just that.”

“I will, Martin.” She reached out for him, rested a tiny hand on his arm. “I know this has been difficult for you, Martin. The responsibility of seeing to it that mankind’s most important tool continues to function smoothly rests ultimately on your shoulders. It’s not a responsibility I would care for.”

Martha was very far away then. The hand was warm and gentle on his arm, and he’d been stuck inside the mountain for a long time. It was hard just to nod.

“Thank you for your concern, Dhura. It’s nice to know someone’s sympathetic. Besides the verdammt machine, of course.”

“We’re all sympathetic,” she said. As he did not respond, her hand drew back. “If there’s anything else you need, if you need to talk again, please call on me.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that. But I’m not on the verge of collapse just yet.”

“I understand,” she said, favoring him with one of her rare smiles. He was reminded of certain tropical flowers that blossom only once or twice a year. The blossom moved away, graceful and delicate beneath the thin sari.

It took an effort to drag his thoughts back to business. The import of what they were going to do with the machine weighed heavily on him. Their worries were still subjective, but there had never been a situation quite like this one in the whole history of Colligatarch Central. Doubts nagged at him as he walked back toward his office.

How would the machine react to such a probe? It was feeling threatened from outside. Would it interpret a special investigation of its innards as a threat from inside?

Nonsense, he told himself firmly. You’ve seen too many horror-optos. The Colligatarch could not possibly perceive an internal study as a threat. Still, he recognized the truth of what he’d told Dhurapati. There was much that went on in the billions upon billions of circuits that composed the Colligatarch they did not understand.

More and more problems were handed to the machine every year. Expansion barely kept pace with demand. Had they finally fallen behind? Was it just possible that under the immense burden of all mankind’s problems the machine was capable of having a mental breakdown? Dhurapati could voice such a fear. As Chief of Operations he could not. It was a fear he would have to keep to himself, at least for the foreseeable future.

There was no reason for panic. He still had full confidence in his people and in the Colligatarch itself. If the problem was internal, it would be discovered and corrected. Like as not the machine would aid in the diagnosis. But if the trouble was inside the machine, it would certainly explain the enigmatic nature of the “threat.”

He couldn’t do it all himself. In the complex cell that was the Authority, he was no more than endoplasmic reticulum, a conduit between the nucleus that was the Colligatarch and the surging protoplasmic mass of mankind. It was a wonder he hadn’t cracked under the strain.

He wouldn’t, of course. It was why he was CPO. His co-workers knew that. He suspected the machine did also. He had no intention of disappointing anyone. Problems with the Colligatarch there might be, but the Chief Programmer would show none.

The lingering heat of Dhurapati’s hand still warmed his skin. He forced himself to think of other matters. There was plenty to occupy his thoughts.

Eric was feeling much better as he sat in the substreet bar. It was large enough to swallow a stranger, low enough to mask many of the sounds of the walkway above. The bartender served him indifferently. So had the clerk in the clothing department of the big discount store. There had been one bad moment when the register seemed to hesitate while processing his credit card, but it spit it out soon enough. It would take the authorities a little while to put a tracer on the newly altered card.

Now he sat in a suit of new clothes that fit in all the proper places, his tool packets secure in both inside breast pockets, cash from the intentional overcharge fattening his wallet. Much better.

The rest of his belongings might as well be back in Phoenix, since his Nueva York hotel was off-limits from now on. Certainly Tarragon’s people didn’t intend to sit quietly and wait for him to put in an appearance.

The laugh-opto blared loudly above the bar as larger-than-life figures stumbled over each other, accompanied by larger-than-life laughter. He didn’t know the series. Sitcoms were not among his favorite forms of entertainment. He preferred sporting events, docu-optos, or an occasional concertcast.

It was hard to gauge the opinions of his fellow drinkers. Some of them stared blankly at the screen. If they registered amusement at the antics being portrayed, it was all internalized. Now and then a faint, uncertain grin might appear on a tired face, as if some gag or pratfall had penetrated to the central node several minutes after the joke itself had passed into history.

Livelier couples inhabited the booths and tables. They chose conversation over the opto, words mixing with subtle looks and touches. Eric envied them their security, their acceptance of their place in the scheme of things. They knew where they’d come from and where they’d be in the morning.

Once he’d shared that security, that certainty. Now it seemed he was certain of very little. As the brandy warmed his belly, he tried to dissect the events of the past week. He had done a number of improbable things, then followed up by doing a number of impossible things. All he was sure of anymore was his love for Lisa Tambor.

Of his flight from her codo the previous night, he recalled surprisingly little. While all the action had been taking place, a shadow had been drawn between his eyes and his mind. Of one thing he had no doubt: by any reasonable extrapolation of events he ought to be dead or dying several times over.

He was not. Nor was he filled with panic anymore. He had passed beyond panic.

I am not insane, he told himself repeatedly. I can think and perceive quite sensibly. Nor am I Superman. But if I am sane and not Superman, then what I am I? Not a robot. Of that he was certain also.

Experimentally he tried to lift the table on which his drink rested. It was bolted to the floor and didn’t budge. It reaffirmed what he’d already proved with the water fountain. His peculiar abilities and exceptional strength only manifested themselves in moments of extreme stress. Something inside him sent his body into overdrive whenever he was threatened.

How he’d come by this remarkable talent was a total mystery to him. Since he’d never been one to waste time on an insoluble problem, he put it aside for future consideration.

One thing was certain: whatever this peculiar ability consisted of, he had it. He’d used it on three separate occasions in two different cities. Could he count on its aid if another crisis arose? He had no way of knowing. Each time was a new throw of the dice, with two lives at stake. He wondered what was responsible.

Also a question for future consideration. Right now he was full of the present, a present centered on Lisa, of the way she felt in his arms and the way his soul drained into her each time they met. That was sufficient motivation for the moment. Everything else would have to wait until he could be certain of her safety.

The opto near the bar blurred. A few disappointed groans rose from those who’d been sucked into watching the sitcom. A brief highlighting flash illuminated the face of a popular local newsawk. A second image was superimposed on the upper left-hand corner of the screen.

Eric recognized it and froze. It was an old picture, a company ID shot. He’d changed a lot since it had been taken, but there was no mistaking the portrait.