behavior. Ari didn’t say so, but the signs of that were increasingly there, in the weight loss, the slight rawness of nerves.
“I don’t see it,” she said, after scanning page after page, “Justin, I don’t see it.”
“Maybe a little sleep would be a good thing.”
“I sleep just fine.”
“Sure you do,” he said. “Ari, do me a personal favor. Have a little more of it.”
Now he got the frown, full-force and directed at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my sleep pattern. I’m just not seeing this problem, is all.”
“Well, possibly I’m wrong.” Not likely. He knew the psychset represented in that printout very well, and he knew the particular case in question, and the right answer was obvious to a much lesser operator. On the other hand, he was dealing with a mind that was capable of taking a new approach to a classic problem, and capable of not pinning the solution where every other operator thought it was. It was an interesting point, whether the obviousness of the answer would make her miss the question…or whether she had rejected the classic answer and was after something else which no other examiner had ever caught.
They weren’t going to find it out in five minutes.
“I want you to take this home,” he said. It was near the end of their regular session. “Don’t look at it again until tomorrow morning. And, young sera—”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Ari. Get some sleep. No study tonight. That’s your assignment.”
A quick flash of dark, sullen eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are. Take the evening off. Take the night off. Think about it.”
“Too damned much thinking,” she said. “I can get this, dammit.”
She had a real bent for macrosets, the big picture, a very, very rare skill; he was an expert at microsets, and he taught her what he knew. It was what he did, these days, regular one-on-one sessions, five days a week. He gave her cases, she figured them, they discussed the answers and sometimes argued them. They were working on actual integration work, putting psychsets together in a community, letting them run in the original generation and two or three more, and seeing how the interface worked.
But the one he’d given her, and also slipped into the latest mix, was an azi named Young AY-4, who wasn’t theoretical. AY-4 had blown up and attacked his teammates…lethally…during the War. Justin hadn’t told her that. He just pointed out something had gone wrong in the integration, and she’d correctly picked up on AY-4 as the problem. The real-life AY-4 had gotten the self-defense part down, all right, but it had gone bad, very bad, and he had taken himself out along with his teammates, for reasons still debated. The Defense Bureau had trained their own so-called Supervisors for a certain period during the War, over Reseune’s protests. They’d messed with azi psychsets, thinking they’d turn out a better, more obedient soldier, who could work with any officer, not just a Reseune trained Supervisor. That hadn’t worked outstandingly well—witness the AY-4 case. It was a famous case in his generation—an azi designation most anyone of his age would recognize.
One thing was certain: Ari hadn’t cheated and looked the case up in Library. She’d rather be stumped. She’d rather do it herself. That certainly had echoes of her predecessor. So did the temper. But do-it-herself was characteristic of young Ari, too: passion for knowledge was one of her better attributes, so long as she wasn’t sleep-deprived.
“I know you can get it,” he said. Then he added, because she looked so tired: “Do you want a hint?”
“No,” she snapped back, and then the frown mitigated into a worried expression. “I’m sorry, Justin.”
“Sleep’s good,” he chided her. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
The worried look staved. “It’s not study, it’s Yanni.”
Yanni Schwartz. That shed a different light on her week-long mood. “Oh, well, a lot of people
“I don’t see it,” she said, after scanning page after page, “Justin, I don’t see it.”
“Maybe a little sleep would be a good thing.”
“I sleep just fine.”
“Sure you do,” he said. “Ari, do me a personal favor. Have a little more of it.”
Now he got the frown, full-force and directed at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my sleep pattern. I’m just not seeing this problem, is all.”
“Well, possibly I’m wrong.” Not likely. He knew the psychset represented in that printout very well, and he knew the particular case in question, and the right answer was obvious to a much lesser operator. On the other hand, he was dealing with a mind that was capable of taking a new approach to a classic problem, and capable of not pinning the solution where every other operator thought it was. It was an interesting point, whether the obviousness of the answer would make her miss the question…or whether she had rejected the classic answer and was after something else which no other examiner had ever caught.
They weren’t going to find it out in five minutes.
“I want you to take this home,” he said. It was near the end of their regular session. “Don’t look at it again until tomorrow morning. And, young sera—”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Ari. Get some sleep. No study tonight. That’s your assignment.”
A quick flash of dark, sullen eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are. Take the evening off. Take the night off. Think about it.”
“Too damned much thinking,” she said. “I can get this, dammit.”
She had a real bent for macrosets, the big picture, a very, very rare skill; he was an expert at microsets, and he taught her what he knew. It was what he did, these days, regular one-on-one sessions, five days a week. He gave her cases, she figured them, they discussed the answers and sometimes argued them. They were working on actual integration work, putting psychsets together in a community, letting them run in the original generation and two or three more, and seeing how the interface worked.
But the one he’d given her, and also slipped into the latest mix, was an azi named Young AY-4, who wasn’t theoretical. AY-4 had blown up and attacked his teammates…lethally…during the War. Justin hadn’t told her that. He just pointed out something had gone wrong in the integration, and she’d correctly picked up on AY-4 as the problem. The real-life AY-4 had gotten the self-defense part down, all right, but it had gone bad, very bad, and he had taken himself out along with his teammates, for reasons still debated. The Defense Bureau had trained their own so-called Supervisors for a certain period during the War, over Reseune’s protests. They’d messed with azi psychsets, thinking they’d turn out a better, more obedient soldier, who could work with any officer, not just a Reseune trained Supervisor. That hadn’t worked outstandingly well—witness the AY-4 case. It was a famous case in his generation—an azi designation most anyone of his age would recognize.
One thing was certain: Ari hadn’t cheated and looked the case up in Library. She’d rather be stumped. She’d rather do it herself. That certainly had echoes of her predecessor. So did the temper. But do-it-herself was characteristic of young Ari, too: passion for knowledge was one of her better attributes, so long as she wasn’t sleep-deprived.
“I know you can get it,” he said. Then he added, because she looked so tired: “Do you want a hint?”
“No,” she snapped back, and then the frown mitigated into a worried expression. “I’m sorry, Justin.”
“Sleep’s good,” he chided her. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
The worried look staved. “It’s not study, it’s Yanni.”
Yanni Schwartz. That shed a different light on her week-long mood. “Oh, well, a lot of people
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