STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS by David Bischoff, Saul Garnell Page B

tossing back a finger of contraband Xorfrost brandy. “Spare me, please.”
    The CompComp glimmered softly. “You are still troubled, Chivon Lasster. The readings are plain enough. I thought we had discussed this matter fully, utilizing the specific focusing processes that usually work so well for an individual of your temperament.”
    She poured another, larger, portion of brandy.
    “The other aspects of this business,” Andrew continued, sitting down and folding his long fingers together in a professorial manner. “Zarpfrin … Zarpfrin’s machinations. The implant. The suicidal mission. The Jaxdron. Laura Shemzak. All this would not truly trouble you except for certain associations, would it?”
    She let the sting of the brandy nip her tongue, slide down her throat, warm her stomach. “Say it. Go ahead and say it, then,” she sighed. “I’ve not been stingy with the use of the name. I freely admit that I am still deeply troubled by Tars Northern, that our partnership in the days of the project and his … his traitorous behavior, his abandonment of loyalty … ” Her words trailed off as she realized how much emotion she was giving them. “Tars Northern, Andrew, as you will no doubt find if you care to take the effort to check your data banks, was and no doubt still is a larcenous, unprincipled thief, scoundrel, and … well, I haven’t a thesaurus on hand, but all the rest of the synonyms apply. He goes against everything that we stand for in this state … all the principles of behavior and value that for once have united humanity in a coherent program for progress and advancement within a free and just framework!” She took another sip of her drink. The words came so easily … too easily. Mere recitation.
    “Tars Northern was also your copilot. You and he cohabited for a time. You created a few zygotes together for the state, did you not?” Andrew said, and there was a touch of the sardonic in his voice: unusual for a machine, or a projection of a machine, or whatever the hell he was, Chivon thought. “An expert manipulator of your sensory capabilities, Tars Northern. A tireless and kind and virile—”
    “Manipulator!” Chivon interrupted loudly. “That’s the word. Captain Tars Northern definitely knew his way around machinery, software or hardware. He knew so much more about the
Starbow
than I could have ever dreamed of knowing … and he learned it so quickly. Dr. Mish would say something that … that was like an alien nonsense language, and Tars had but to ask a few questions and he could assimilate it. Even,” she said, pouring more brandy, “even when he was drinking.” She looked at the amber liquid in the glass. “He was manipulating me when he promised that we were a team, always, as long as there was a
Starbow
to copilot.”
    “But surely that agreement terminated with the somewhat spectacular cessation of the project, when he began seeing what was happening to the other Al ships. And you were so involved at the time with your work with the Friends, your political connections through Zarpfrin, the project administrator. When Northern made his decision, is it not true that you were on the other side of Earth?”
    “I never thought he would betray the Federation. Why was I so blind, Andrew, why did I not take precautions? Zarpfrin specifically requested such, and his wisdom fell upon deaf ears. Why?”
    “Because,” said the holo-projection in a soft voice, “you were in love then with Tars Northern, as you are now.”
    “No!” Chivon shrieked. She hurled the glass at the specter, spilling liquid over the carpet. The glass went through the holo-projection and bounced off the seat’s padding. Her face contorted. “No!” And then she caught herself. She straightened and looked at Andrew. “Such a word is not used by CompComps, Andrew. At least not in such a context. And if you see vestiges of such an illusory and decadent emotion in your fleshly charge, is it not your duty to