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permanently. And there we were with three dead brains and no spares.”
    The callous way Bickel put it sent a shudder through Timberlake, and he could not explain it. He had never been deeply attached to the OMCs. There had always been something faintly accusing about the “ship creatures.” Raja Lon Flattery had assured him this was strictly subjective, something from his own attitudes. Raj had always been so positive that the OMC-ship-computer entities were perfectly reconciled to their way of life, happy with their own compensations.
    What compensations? Timberlake wondered. Expec-tancy of long life? But what is three or four thousand years of living if each year is hell?
    Timberlake realized then that none of the pat answers from his training classes really touched the basic issue of OMC happiness.
    What if it really is a hellish way to live? he wondered. It must be. They are harnessed like engines to all this metal and glass and plastic and time stretches out ahead of them … forever. Maybe death was preferable.

Chapter 6
    Every symbol has hidden premises behind it. Every word carries unspoken assumptions buried in the his-tory of the language and the conditioning experiences of the speakers. If you snatch those buried meanings out of your words, you spill a whole stream of new under-standing into your awareness.
    —Raja Lon Flattery, The Book of Ship
    Almost half of Prudence Weygand’s recuperation time had passed and it had been marked by recurrent uncom-fortable silences in Com-central.
    Flattery did not like those silences. He felt that every one of them carried his companions farther away—perhaps beyond control. And he had to maintain that delicate contact, that means of control.
    One of those silences gripped them now. It seemed to reach into them from the space beyond the ship’s hull. Flatery knew he had to say something but he felt oppressed by the silence. He cleared his throat before speaking.
    “I wish to say something about anger. I’ve seen several shows of anger since our emergency—my own anger included.”
    The formal tone, the set of his face—all signaled that Flattery was speaking officially as their chaplain. “Anger could destroy us,” he said. “The Proverbs warn us: ‘He that is soon angry dealeth foolishly: and a man of wicked devices is hated. He that is slow to wrath is of great understanding: but he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly.’ Let us practice the soft answer and not stir up wrath.”
    Bickel took a deep breath. Flattery was right, he knew, but Bickel resented the way the man retreated into religion to make his point. How much simpler just to say they were clouding their reason with excess emotion. That was the thing he resented about religion, Bickel thought—the way it appealed to emotion rather than intelligence.
    “We’ve been floundering around, trying to do too much,” Bickel said. “That master board is a jury-rigged monstrosity. We need a consistent, organized plan to meet our problems. When Moonbase answers, I want to be able to say we have—”
    Sharp, heavy X3 force pressed him against the side of his couch cocoon. It struck without klaxon warning or alarm light. Cocoon safety locks sealed home. Now, red alarm lights flashed with the yellow in long webs across the master board.
    Flattery slammed the gravity disconnect with the heel of his left hand. G force ebbed. Yellow alarm lights winked off as their pressure switches released. A line of red alarm lights remained.
    “Damage to hull three, section six/fourteen,” Flattery said. He began activating remote sensors to inspect the area.
    Without conscious thought or discussion, Bickel took over ship command: “Tim, take the G repeaters. Leave gravity disconnected while you trace the relays and get the system back in balance.”
    Timberlake pulled his board close to obey.
    Bickel swung the AAT board to his side, keyed for ship systems/computer control, began feeding coded demands into the core