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the gorilla image. The first was called APNF, for Animation Predicted Next Frame.

It was possible to treat videotape as if it were movie film, a succession of stills.

She showed the computer several "stills" in succession, and then asked it to create the Predicted Next Frame. This PNF was then checked against the actual next frame.

She ran eight PNFs in a row, and they worked. If there was an error in the data handling, it was at least a consistent error.

Encouraged, she next ran a "fast and dirty threespace." Here the flat video image was assumed to have certain three-dimensional characteristics, based on gray-scale patterns. In essence, the computer decided that the shadow of a nose, or a mountain range, meant that the nose or mountain range protruded above the surrounding surface. Succeeding images could be checked against these assumptions. As the gorilla moved, the computer verified that the flat image was, indeed, three-dimensional and coherent.

This proved beyond a doubt that the image was real.

She went to see Travis.

"Let's say I buy this image," Travis said, frowning. "I still don't see why you should take the next expedition in."

Ross said, "What did the other team find?"

"The other team?" Travis asked innocently.

"You gave that tape to another salvage team to confirm my recovery," Ross said.

Travis glanced at his watch. "They haven't pulled anything out yet." And he added, "We all know you're fast with the database."

Ross smiled. "That's why you need me to take the expedition in," she said. "I know the database, because I generated the database. And if you intend to send another team in right away, before this gorilla thing is solved, the only hope you have is for the team leader to be fast onsite with the data. This time, you need a console hotdogger in the field. Or the next expedition will end up like the last one.

Because you still don't know what happened to the last expedition."

Travis sat behind his desk, and stared at her for a long time. She recognized his hesitation as a sign that he was weakening.

"And I want to go outside," Ross said.

"To an outside expert?"

"Yes. Somebody on our grant list."

"Risky," Travis said. "I hate to involve outside people at this point. You know the consortium is breathing down our necks. You up the leak averages." ``It's important,'' Ross insisted.

Travis sighed. "Okay, if you think it's important." He sighed again. "Just don't delay your'team."

Ross was already packing up her hard copy.

Alone, Travis frowned, turning over his decision in his mind. Even if they ran the next Congo expedition slambam, in and out in less than fifteen days, their fixed costs would still exceed three hundred thousand dollars. The Board was going to scream-sending an untried, twenty-four-year-old kid, a girl, into the field with this kind of responsibility. Especially on a project as important as this one, where the stakes were enormous, and where they had already fallen behind on every timeline and cost projection. And Ross was so cold, she was likely to prove a poor field leader, alienating the others in the team.

Yet Travis had a hunch about the Ross Glacier. His management philosophy, tempered in his rain-dancing days, was always to give the project to whoever had the most to gain from success-or the most to lose from failure.

He turned to face his console, mounted beside his desk. "Travis," he said, and the screen glowed.

"Psychograph file," he said.

The screen showed call prompts.

"Ross, Karen," Travis said.

The screen flashed THINKING A MOMENT. That was the programmed response which meant that information was being extracted. He waited.

Then the psychograph summary printed out across the screen. Every E RI S employee underwent three days of intensive psychological testing to determine not only skills but potential biases. The assessment of Ross would, he felt, be reassuring to the Board.
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