The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [42]
Part laboratory, part machine shop, part techrap, the workroom where Gator performed his unlicensed magic took up most of the back part of the house. Windows offered a view of one of the slithering Savannah River’s glistening moonlit tributaries. Something whose ancestors had migrated north from the Orinoco to settle happily among the cypress screamed softly from the trees. Whispr had no time to appreciate the real estate. He had to keep an eye on Gator. Despite the identification provided by the thread’s distinctive visual qualities Whispr had no intention of becoming a victim of an amiable switch on the part of his far more knowledgeable host. If at all possible he was not going to let the thread out of his sight.
A long workbench ran beneath the windows that overlooked the river. Here the lugubrious tributary of the Savannah flowed slow as black Jell-O. Hundreds of years ago the space between bench and windows might have been filled with hammers and saws, drills and awls, boxes of nails and spools of wire. In contrast, the skills of contemporary advanced technology demanded more mettle than metal.
Holding the thread steady in a portal beam Gator examined it closely while the projector ran a preludial analysis. “There’s a connector on one end. Reckon you noticed that already.” Whispr nodded. “Nonstandard contact, but my gear can adjust for that. The thread itself is interesting. Not a carbon derivative. Definitely metal. Lightweight even for something that’s just a bit of thread. That said, the actual composite could be any one of a thousand functional storage alloys. I don’t suppose you have a clue as to its chemical configuration?”
Whispr shook his head. His redone hair itched and his eyes still felt a little tight in their recently maniped orbits. “Uh, something-oxide?”
“Nothing like a little specificity to help a man out.” Gator sighed. “I suppose what it’s made of isn’t nearly as important as what’s on it. You need to know and I’m curious.”
Leaving the projector’s analyzer to finish its work Gator moved to another station farther down the workbench. As Whispr looked on, his host carefully slipped the thread into a tension capsule. Once it had been drawn taut with the connector end left free, Gator then gently inserted the capsule into one of several receptacles on the top of a gray box. On the instrument’s front panel a trio of green telltales immediately winked to life. Almost as rapidly they began to turn red, one at a time. In spite of his radically melded face Gator still managed a frown.
“That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?” Looking from host to box and back again while seeking enlightenment, Whispr found none in either location.
Without replying Gator removed the capsule from the gray box. Continuing down the long workbench he flipped open the transparent cover of a much smaller device and placed the capsule on the pad within. Once the cover was softly snapped shut he adjusted the controls that speckled a protruding panel on the instrument’s front. A pale blue glow filled the chamber and enveloped the capsule. Moments later a multidimensional, much enlarged image of the small cylindrical container and its inscrutable contents were projected into the room.
“Resolve subject matter.” Unlike his body there was nothing reptilian about Gator’s voice. It was full and mellow and occasionally bordered on the operatic. He glanced at his visitor. “This is how you read storage media while bypassing the connector. You go straight in and pull the information straight out. No messy intervening physical security to deal with.”
The capsule image vanished, leaving behind only the enlarged likeness of Whispr’s prized thread hovering before the two men. Drawn taut, it pulsed beneath the probing azure aura of the analytical beam that had been focused on it.
“Content resolution unsuccessful,” a synthesized voice declared.
For a second time Gator frowned. “Repeat procedure.” The same number of moments passed as previously, and generated the same disheartening response. “Explain failure,” he demanded curtly of the