“Ngaen Xong Hoa. That’s the guy who’s supposed to be delivered with the last load of supplies from dirtside,” Markel said before realizing that he probably wasn’t supposed to have read the memo detailing exactly how the Haven planned to collect their scientist … even if there was nothing particularly new about the plan. “So?” Markel went on hastily to distract Johnny from the fact he’d been hacking into Council memoranda again. “They’re all excited about getting somebody who tells you Zen proverbs about the sound of one butterfly wing clapping?”
“I think,” Johnny said cheerfully, “they’re excited about the chance that he’s solved the problem by now. And even if he hasn’t. .. take another look at that model. I bet you incorporated the code without reading it thoroughly. Want to bring it up on the screen in my quarters, take a second look?”
A few minutes later Markel was following lines of code as they scrawled across Johnny’s screen in the highly abbreviated rormat of upper-level languages. “I don’t see the point in untangling this code,” he grumbled under his breath, “it’s just what he says in the paper. Put the data into canonical form, apply a series of nonlinear equations, and … oh.” “Now you see it?”
Markel nodded. “If you don’t stop with the initial data set, but keep entering small changes as they’re monitored … but then you have too many variables. In fact, you could have an infinite series of variables. So you can’t define your nonlinear system until you know how many variables you’re dealing with, but you can’t tell how many variables you need until you’ve defined your nonlinear system, but … my head hurts,” he groaned. “But, okay, okay, I see what you mean. If you follow this path through the program, you don’t get a Zen proverb, anyway.”
“Good. What do you get?”
“Probably a system crash,” Markel said absently, studying the complex system of data structures and temporary processors that would have to be created, and then, “Johnny! You told me to implement a model that would’ve brought the Haven’s computer system down?”
“Actually,” Johnny confessed, “I didn’t think you’d get that far. I thought you’d get bored by the time you’d implemented even one model, and then you’d bring the results back, and then we could have looked at the discrepancies between the prediction and what was actually happening dirtside, and that -would be enough to convince you it wasn’t so simple.”
“And then,” Markel said, “you’d have implied that I screwed up by not following through all three models in rigorous detail, and I’d have been embarrassed and quit bugging you about this stuff. John Greene,” he said slowly, “you are one twisty, devious s.o.b.”
Johnny beamed. “Thank you, son. Does my heart good to have somebody recognize my true talents. And by the way … that last model wouldn’t have brought the whole system down. We do have fail-safes against infinitely expanding neural networks. Can’t ever tell what some kid might code in to run his sim games, you know,” he chuckled, referring to the time Markel had used up sixty percent of the system’s resources to simulate a series of space battles in real time for one of his war games.
Markel flushed. “That was a long time ago,” he muttered. “I was just a kid then … fifteen. …”
“Last year,” Johnny grinned. “Sixteen is, of course, ever so much older and wiser than fifteen.”
There was a tap on the door.
“Johnny?” called a soft voice that sent Markel’s heart rate into fifth gear.
Ximena Sengrat opened the door a crack. “I am sorry to disturb you,” she said, “but the corn unit to your quarters is malfunctioning again.”
Johnny snapped his fingers. “Damn wiring!” he said. “I really gotta get in there with some duct tape.”
As Markel, Ximena, and everybody else knew, Johnny had the highly unauthorized habit of disabling the com system in his personal quarters whenever he got tired of the continuous flow of scratchy, squeaky announcements from Central; so they gave this “explanation” all the attention it deserved.
“My father thought you would wish to know,” Ximena went on, “that Dr. Hoa is now on board, and he has brought with him the code for his new weather-modeling system. The Council feels it might be tactless to try to sell the results to Khang Kieaan.” She smiled and brushed her dark hair back, revealing more of the perfect oval of her face. One curling lock clung to her neck;