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    before her ear and said aloud, “No mystery and no taboo: I have an implanted transceiver.” She made the formal Siveyn gesture and said, “Alfvaen, may I introduce Lord Lynn Margaret—
    lord is a title, something like swift-
    , but its use is not obligatory in this case. Maggy, Tinling Alfvaen.”
    Maggy, as prim in Siveyn as she was in Hellspark, said, “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Tinling Alfvaen.”
    Her brow furrowed, Alfvaen half rose to survey the room. Puzzled, she said, “And I yours, Maggy—but where are you?”
    Maggy chuckled. “All around you,” she said.
    Tocohl sat down to the controls. Her fingers danced over the keyboard, then paused as she said,
    “I
    like that chuckle—where did you get that?”
    “It’s yours; I changed the pitch to match my voice range. Did I use it correctly?”
    “Perfectly,” said Tocohl. Her fingers danced a second time. “What made you decide to use it?”
    “You smiled,” said Maggy, once again.
    Alfvaen’s features went from total bewilderment to sudden comprehension. “You’re the ship’s computer?—But you sound human!”
    “I’m not,” said Maggy, “I’m only a top-class extrapolative computer with a larger memory bank than most.”
    “You needn’t say only
    ,” Tocohl commented, checking a bank of indicators. “It doesn’t seem applicable to you.”
    “All right,” said Maggy. “I’m a top-class extrapolative computer with a larger memory bank than most.”
    “That’s better.” Tocohl glanced over her shoulder to address Alfvaen: “If you find talking to a disembodied voice bothers you, Maggy can always activate a small mobile.”
    Alfvaen thought for a moment. “That’s not necessary; I’ll get used to it.”
    “Will you please correct me?” Maggy asked.
    Tocohl gave two final taps to the keyboard, straightened, and turned to face Alfvaen. “Her Siveyn consists of a basic grammar and an enormous vocabulary to plug into it. She’s had no practical experience in conversation and she wants you to correct her usage. She learns like a kid does, except that she only needs to be told once. Anything you tell her she stores for later use; her entire program undergoes constant revision.
    “—I think it helps to tell her when she does something right, too,” Tocohl grinned, “like that chuckle.”
    Alfvaen looked around her again. “I’ll be glad to help, Maggy.”
    Tocohl said, “Treat her as if she were a friend looking over your shoulder. Believe me, unless you tell her not to, she always looking over your shoulder!”
    is
    “I will not violate Siveyn taboos,” Maggy said. There was a moment’s pause—obviously supplied for esthetic reasons—then she added, “Alfvaen, I have a large selection of Siveyn literature. I can read or display it to you anywhere in the ship. All you need do is ask.”
    “How will I know if I’m interrupting your duties?”
    “That’s no problem. I can do several things at once.” As if to demonstrate the truth of that, Maggy pinged and announced, “Jump programmed, Tocohl. Ready when you are.”
    “Ready,” said Alfvaen. Tocohl turned back to her console and said, “Then let’s go, Maggy.”
    Ordinarily, Tocohl would have done the programming herself, using Maggy only as a double-check, but that was merely a matter of keeping her hand in. Since they were in something of a hurry, she let
    Maggy do it and set them on their way. Then she went through the programming herself for the practice.
    Interstellar flight was mostly a matter of long days of waiting, punctuated by an occasional flurry Page 28

    of programming the next hop. Flashfever, by Tocohl’s estimate, was a hop, three steps, a hop and a skip away. First hop accomplished, Tocohl worked out the first of the three steps, then, satisfied to find that
    Maggy had opted for the same route she would have, she swung her chair.
    Alfvaen, she saw, had temporarily chosen to address Maggy as if she were hidden in the