*   *   *

Numbers scrolled across the screen, and Soloman lost himself among them. As was always the case when he worked with code like this, a part of him felt free, able to soar again—no more restriction to words or emotions, just pure logic and computation. But another part of him wept, because the numbers were trapped behind the monitor’s glass while he was trapped within his own body. If he were standing at the actual computer access port on the Dancing Star, he could have switched on his belt unit and simply spoken directly to the computer, the code flowing between them with no barrier. And, when 111 had been alive, the three of them would have formed a perfect trinity, the numbers dancing back and forth in a rhythm he still ached to recapture.

But Commander Gomez had ordered him and Fabian and Pattie to go through their old files first, which meant he only had the data he and 111 had downloaded that first time.

While doing so, he noticed a line of code—he and 111 had found it before, obviously, or it wouldn’t be in the recording now. But they hadn’t paid much attention to it—it had not been relevant at the time. The commands embedded in it were so simple, so direct, and so restricted in their conditional trigger that it had been easy to dismiss them as unimportant. But conditions had changed, and they were all too applicable now.

Soloman’s face burned, and his fingers almost twitched, which could have been disastrous—a single wrong keystroke and the entire recording might have been altered, or even purged. He had to pause to collect himself, which had the unfortunate result of leaving those particular lines of code sitting on the screen, staring back at him accusingly. He’d been so worried that he would not be able to perform as well now, as Soloman, as he and 111 had done before as a pair. He’d asked Pattie what would happen if he missed something now, or couldn’t decipher something again, because of that lack. But it had never occurred to him that the opposite might be the case. That he might find something he and 111 had missed.

It scared him, making him wonder what else they might have missed, here and on other missions. Now that he knew that they had not been infallible, he found himself questioning all of the decisions they had made together, all of the data they thought they’d decoded. But another part of him, a part he was frightened to admit existed, was thrilled by the prospect. Ever since 111’s death he had tormented himself with the conviction that they had been perfect together in every way, and thus by himself he could never hope to match that perfection. But they hadn’t been perfect. And, while it might diminish his pride in what they’d had, it offered him hope that he could perform just as well by himself as they had together. Perhaps better—he had sacrificed speed, and the ability to have his computations double-checked instantly, but perhaps he had gained a bit more insight, and a bit more care in his work.

Pushing these notions away for later examination, Soloman rose from his chair. Time enough to consider such things later. For now, he had to bring this data to the commander.