Unexpected Magic Read Online Free Page A

lecture. “This voice is not correct,” it pronounced, putting paid to that theory. “It is the voice of a male. Males are forbidden access to any of my functions beyond basic navigational aids. Candida One, unless you reply confirming that you are present and conscious, I shall flood this ship with sedative gas ten seconds from now.”
    Then perhaps Danny has put a cassette in the radio as a joke, thought F. C. Stone. She turned off the radio and, for good measure, shook it. No, no cassette in there.
    And the childish voice was at its counting again: “ … six, five, four … ”
    Finding that her mouth was hanging open, F. C. Stone used it. “I know this is a practical joke,” she said. “I don’t know what it is you’ve done, Danny, but my God, I’ll skin you when I get my hands on you!”
    The countdown stopped. “Voice patterns are beginning to match,” came the pronouncement, “though I do not understand your statement. Are you quite well, Candy?”
    Fortified by the knowledge that this had to be a joke of Danny’s, F. C. Stone snapped, “Yes, of course I am!” Very few people knew that the C in F. C. Stone stood for Candida, and even fewer knew that she had, in her childhood, most shamingly been known as Candy. But Danny of course knew both these facts. “Stop this silly joke, Danny, and let me get back to work.”
    â€œApologies,” spoke the childish voice, “but who is Danny? There are only two humans on this ship. Is that statement addressed to the male servant beside you? He asks me to remind you that his name is Adny.”
    The joke was getting worse. Danny was having fun with her typos now. F. C. Stone was not sure she would ever forgive him for that. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me we’ve just emerged in the Dna System and will be coming in to ladn at Nad,” she said bitterly.
    â€œOf course,” said the voice.
    F. C. Stone spent a moment in angry thought. Danny had to be using a program of some kind. She ought first to test this theory and then, if it was correct, find some way to disrupt the program and get some peace. “Give me your name,” she said, “with visual confirmation.”
    â€œIf you like,” the voice responded. Had it sounded puzzled? Then Danny had thought of this. “I am Candida Two. I am your conscious-class computer modeled on your own brain.” It sounded quite prideful, saying this. But, thought F. C. Stone, a small boy co-opted by a grand fifteen-year-old like Danny would sound prideful. “We are aboard the astroship Partlett M32/A401.”
    Motorways, thought F. C. Stone, but where did he get the name?
    â€œVisual,” said the voice. Blocks of words jumped onto the screen. They seemed to be in—Russian? Greek?—capitals.
    It had to be a computer game of some kind, F. C. Stone thought. Now what would Danny least expect her to do? Easy. She plunged to the wall and turned the electricity off. Danny would not believe she would do that. He would think she was too much afraid of losing this morning’s work, and maybe she would, but she could do it over again. As the blocks of print faded from the screen, she stumped off to the kitchen and made herself a cup of xfy —no, coffee !—and prowled around in there amid the smell of cauterized ginger while she drank it, with some idea of letting the system cool off thoroughly. She had a vague notion that this rendered a lost program even more lost. As far as she was concerned, this joke of Danny’s couldn’t be lost enough.
    The trouble was that she was accustomed so to prowl whenever she was stuck in a sentence. As her annoyance faded, habit simply took over. Halfway through the mug of quaffy , she was already wondering whether to call the taste in the Captain’s mouth merely foul or to use something more specific, like chicken shit. Five minutes later F. C.