with its results. It was a fundamental conflict in all of the sciences, and no less so here; for that reason, they depended heavily on post-session debriefing and analysis to augment their evaluations.
At the moment, his intuition was that this scenario had outlived its usefulness. Kadin and Horton were dickering with two fictional entities, one apparently hostile, and one apparently friendly, but demanding; and Kadin, as leader, was pursuing a cautious course, but one that was leading neither to conflict nor to resolution. Jonders suspected that this scenario might be in need of redesign.
He nudged open a channel to Hoshi. A bank of darkness shifted in the sky over the control pyramid, and a pale gleam linked them. (What's your opinion?) he asked.
There was a pause, then Hoshi answered, (Stalemate. We've gotten all we're going to get.)
(I agree. Let's bring them home.) Jonders cued the termination sequence. In the observation window, he saw the images of the aliens withdraw.
The gridded plain and the spidery outline of the pyramid shrank, then darkened. Jonders experienced an instant of dizziness as he detached himself from the link—the inner images escaping in a gentle rush, and the control board floating back into focus.
For the next hour and a half, he was occupied with analysis and debriefing. Hoshi worked steadily at the next console, helmet over his head, hands folded above the keyboard. As Jonders got up to leave, he keyed the audio circuit. "Hoshi, finish that up for me and prep for the next session, will you?"
Hoshi's voice came back snappishly, "What do you think I'm doing? It'll be done when it's done."
Jonders nodded to himself, thinking, let it pass; if you push harder, you'll just get mistakes for your trouble.
Leaving the rest of his people to their work, he went to his office and closed the door behind him. He allowed himself two minutes of silence behind his desk, with his eyes closed. You're in the army now, he thought. For a civilian, and a scientist, why did he feel so much like a drill sergeant?
Sighing, he rocked forward and punched up Ken Fogelbee, the computer systems manager, on the phone. "Ken," he said, as his boss's image focused in the screen. He muttered a curse. The phone was distorting the image again; he'd just had the thing repaired for the third time.
"What's wrong, Bill?" Fogelbee said.
"Nothing. Sorry, it's just this damn phone."
"Why don't you get it fixed? Did you call to give me an update?"
"Right." Jonders's breath hissed out as he glanced at his summary sheets. "I can give you guarded optimism, with respect to the new schedule."
"Why 'guarded'?" his boss asked.
"Because," he said carefully, "while his performance is steady in the moderate-difficulty levels, we really don't have a baseline yet on high-level sophistication. Our results have been more uncertain at that level."
"That still gives you three weeks," Fogelbee said. "We're really talking about fine tuning, aren't we? That can be continued after the transmission."
"I still think it would make more sense to wait until we're sure."
Fogelbee's face distorted a little more as he scowled. "That decision's been made, Bill. Accept it."
"If you gave me a reason, I could accept it more easily," Jonders said.
Fogelbee shrugged noncommittally. "I'll pass your concerns on. But I don't think Marshall and Hathorne are likely to change their minds. In fact, Hathorne is leaning on us to bring it all together now."
Jonders saw that it was futile to argue. "I'd better get back to work, then."
After signing off, he switched on the computer screen and scanned the scheduling trees for items that could be streamlined or cut. There wasn't much left that could go; he'd already done his best to compress the schedule.
He was interrupted by Lusela Burns, at the door. "Bill? Got a minute?" He looked up. "It's Mozelle," his assistant explained.
"Mozelle? Isn't she scheduled for this afternoon?"
Lusela nodded. "Yes. But she came
At the moment, his intuition was that this scenario had outlived its usefulness. Kadin and Horton were dickering with two fictional entities, one apparently hostile, and one apparently friendly, but demanding; and Kadin, as leader, was pursuing a cautious course, but one that was leading neither to conflict nor to resolution. Jonders suspected that this scenario might be in need of redesign.
He nudged open a channel to Hoshi. A bank of darkness shifted in the sky over the control pyramid, and a pale gleam linked them. (What's your opinion?) he asked.
There was a pause, then Hoshi answered, (Stalemate. We've gotten all we're going to get.)
(I agree. Let's bring them home.) Jonders cued the termination sequence. In the observation window, he saw the images of the aliens withdraw.
The gridded plain and the spidery outline of the pyramid shrank, then darkened. Jonders experienced an instant of dizziness as he detached himself from the link—the inner images escaping in a gentle rush, and the control board floating back into focus.
For the next hour and a half, he was occupied with analysis and debriefing. Hoshi worked steadily at the next console, helmet over his head, hands folded above the keyboard. As Jonders got up to leave, he keyed the audio circuit. "Hoshi, finish that up for me and prep for the next session, will you?"
Hoshi's voice came back snappishly, "What do you think I'm doing? It'll be done when it's done."
Jonders nodded to himself, thinking, let it pass; if you push harder, you'll just get mistakes for your trouble.
Leaving the rest of his people to their work, he went to his office and closed the door behind him. He allowed himself two minutes of silence behind his desk, with his eyes closed. You're in the army now, he thought. For a civilian, and a scientist, why did he feel so much like a drill sergeant?
Sighing, he rocked forward and punched up Ken Fogelbee, the computer systems manager, on the phone. "Ken," he said, as his boss's image focused in the screen. He muttered a curse. The phone was distorting the image again; he'd just had the thing repaired for the third time.
"What's wrong, Bill?" Fogelbee said.
"Nothing. Sorry, it's just this damn phone."
"Why don't you get it fixed? Did you call to give me an update?"
"Right." Jonders's breath hissed out as he glanced at his summary sheets. "I can give you guarded optimism, with respect to the new schedule."
"Why 'guarded'?" his boss asked.
"Because," he said carefully, "while his performance is steady in the moderate-difficulty levels, we really don't have a baseline yet on high-level sophistication. Our results have been more uncertain at that level."
"That still gives you three weeks," Fogelbee said. "We're really talking about fine tuning, aren't we? That can be continued after the transmission."
"I still think it would make more sense to wait until we're sure."
Fogelbee's face distorted a little more as he scowled. "That decision's been made, Bill. Accept it."
"If you gave me a reason, I could accept it more easily," Jonders said.
Fogelbee shrugged noncommittally. "I'll pass your concerns on. But I don't think Marshall and Hathorne are likely to change their minds. In fact, Hathorne is leaning on us to bring it all together now."
Jonders saw that it was futile to argue. "I'd better get back to work, then."
After signing off, he switched on the computer screen and scanned the scheduling trees for items that could be streamlined or cut. There wasn't much left that could go; he'd already done his best to compress the schedule.
He was interrupted by Lusela Burns, at the door. "Bill? Got a minute?" He looked up. "It's Mozelle," his assistant explained.
"Mozelle? Isn't she scheduled for this afternoon?"
Lusela nodded. "Yes. But she came
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