here," said a small voice behind them. They moved apart and half turned to let her in on the proceedings,
"Sorry," Hunt said. "Getting carried away." He shook his head and regarded her with an expression of disbelief.
"What on Earth made you say a calendar?"
She shrugged and pouted her lips. "Don't know, really. The book over there looks like a diary. Every diary I ever saw had calendars in it. So, it had to be a calendar."
Hunt sighed. "So much for scientific method. Anyway, let's run a shot of it. I'd like to do some sums on it later." He looked back at Lyn. "No—on second thought, you run it. This is your discovery."
She frowned at him suspiciously. "What d'you want me to do?"
"Sit down there at the master console. That's right. Now activate the control keyboard . . . Press the red button—that one."
"What do I do now?"
"Type this: FC comma DACCO seven slash PCH dot P sixty-seven slash HCU dot one. That means 'functional control mode, data access program subsystem number seven selected, access data file reference "Project Charlie, Book one," page sixty-seven, optical format, output on hard copy unit, one copy.'"
"It does? Really? Great!"
She keyed in the commands as Hunt repeated them more slowly. At once a hum started up in the hard copier, which stood next to the scanner. A few seconds later a sheet of glossy paper flopped into the tray attached to the copier's side. Gray walked over to collect it.
"Perfect," he announced.
"This makes me a scope expert, too," Lyn informed them brightly.
Hunt studied the sheet briefly, nodded, and slipped it into a folder lying on top of the console.
"Doing some homework?" she asked.
"I don't like the wallpaper in my hotel room."
"He's got the theory of relativity all around the bedroom in his flat in Wokingham," Gray confided, ". . . and wave mechanics in the kitchen."
She looked from one to the other curiously. "Do you know, you're crazy. Both of you—you're both crazy. I was always too polite to mention it before, but somebody has to say it."
Hunt gave her a solemn look. "You didn't come all the way over here to tell us we're crazy,"
"Sorry," Hunt said. "Getting carried away." He shook his head and regarded her with an expression of disbelief.
"What on Earth made you say a calendar?"
She shrugged and pouted her lips. "Don't know, really. The book over there looks like a diary. Every diary I ever saw had calendars in it. So, it had to be a calendar."
Hunt sighed. "So much for scientific method. Anyway, let's run a shot of it. I'd like to do some sums on it later." He looked back at Lyn. "No—on second thought, you run it. This is your discovery."
She frowned at him suspiciously. "What d'you want me to do?"
"Sit down there at the master console. That's right. Now activate the control keyboard . . . Press the red button—that one."
"What do I do now?"
"Type this: FC comma DACCO seven slash PCH dot P sixty-seven slash HCU dot one. That means 'functional control mode, data access program subsystem number seven selected, access data file reference "Project Charlie, Book one," page sixty-seven, optical format, output on hard copy unit, one copy.'"
"It does? Really? Great!"
She keyed in the commands as Hunt repeated them more slowly. At once a hum started up in the hard copier, which stood next to the scanner. A few seconds later a sheet of glossy paper flopped into the tray attached to the copier's side. Gray walked over to collect it.
"Perfect," he announced.
"This makes me a scope expert, too," Lyn informed them brightly.
Hunt studied the sheet briefly, nodded, and slipped it into a folder lying on top of the console.
"Doing some homework?" she asked.
"I don't like the wallpaper in my hotel room."
"He's got the theory of relativity all around the bedroom in his flat in Wokingham," Gray confided, ". . . and wave mechanics in the kitchen."
She looked from one to the other curiously. "Do you know, you're crazy. Both of you—you're both crazy. I was always too polite to mention it before, but somebody has to say it."
Hunt gave her a solemn look. "You didn't come all the way over here to tell us we're crazy,"