Reinhart handed the plate back to Kaplan. "Interesting. A man from the
past--hauled into the middle of the biggest war the universe has
seen."
"Strange things happen. I wonder what the machines will think."
"Hard to say. Probably nothing." Reinhart left the room and hurried
along the corridor to his own office.
As soon as he was inside he called Sherikov on the vidscreen, using
the confidential line.
The Pole's heavy features appeared. "Good day, Commissioner. How's the
war effort?"
"Fine. How's the turret wiring proceeding?"
A faint frown flickered across Sherikov's face. "As a matter of fact,
Commissioner--"
"What's the matter?" Reinhart said sharply.
Sherikov floundered. "You know how these things are. I've taken my
crew off it and tried robot workers. They have greater dexterity, but
they can't make decisions. This calls for more than mere dexterity.
This calls for--" He searched for the word. "--for an _artist_."
Reinhart's face hardened. "Listen, Sherikov. You have eight days left
to complete the bomb. The data given to the SRB machines contained
that information. The 7-6 ratio is based on that estimate. If you
don't come through--"
Sherikov twisted in embarrassment. "Don't get excited, Commissioner.
We'll complete it."
"I hope so. Call me as soon as it's done." Reinhart snapped off the
connection. If Sherikov let them down he'd have him taken out and
shot. The whole war depended on the ftl bomb.
The vidscreen glowed again. Reinhart snapped it on. Kaplan's face
formed on it. The lab organizer's face was pale and frozen.
"Commissioner, you better come up to the SRB office. Something's
happened."
"What is it?"
"I'll show you."
Alarmed, Reinhart hurried out of his office and down the corridor. He
found Kaplan standing in front of the SRB machines. "What's the
story?" Reinhart demanded. He glanced down at the reading. It was
unchanged.
Kaplan held up a message plate nervously. "A moment ago I fed this
into the machines. After I saw the results I quickly removed it. It's
that item I showed you. From histo-research. About the man from the
past."
"What happened when you fed it?"
Kaplan swallowed unhappily. "I'll show you. I'll do it again. Exactly
as before." He fed the plate into a moving intake belt. "Watch the
visible figures," Kaplan muttered.
Reinhart watched, tense and rigid. For a moment nothing happened. 7-6
continued to show. Then--
The figures disappeared. The machines faltered. New figures showed
briefly. 4-24 for Centaurus. Reinhart gasped, suddenly sick with
apprehension. But the figures vanished. New figures appeared. 16-38
for Centaurus. Then 48-86. 79-15 in Terra's favor. Then nothing. The
machines whirred, but nothing happened.
Nothing at all. No figures. Only a blank.
"What's it mean?" Reinhart muttered, dazed.
"It's fantastic. We didn't think this could--"
"_What's happened?_"
"The machines aren't able to handle the item. No reading can come.
It's data they can't integrate. They can't use it for prediction
material, and it throws off all their other figures."
"Why?"
"It's--it's a variable." Kaplan was shaking, white-lipped and pale.
"Something from which no inference can be made. The man from the past.
The machines can't deal with him. The variable man!"