"What jargonistic rot!" Landis gestured at Elin's stoneware mug. "Drink up. The Star Maker is a piece of experimental theology that IGF dreamed up. As Tory said, it's basic research into the nature of the mind. The Vatican Synod is providing funding so we can keep an eye on it."
"Nipping heresy in the bud," Tory said sourly.
"That's a good part of it. This set of wetware will supposedly reshape a human mind into God. Bad theology, but there it is. They want to computer-model the infinite. Anyway, the specs were drawn up, and it was tried out on-what was the name of the test subject?"
"Doesn't matter," Tory said quickly.
"Coral something-or-other."
Only half-listening by now, Elin unobtrusively studied Tory. He sat, legs wide, staring into his mug of Chanty. There were hard lines on his face, etched by who knew what experiences. / don't believe in love at first sight, Elin thought. Then again, who knew what she might believe in anymore? It was a chilling thought, and she retreated from it.
"So did this Coral become God?"
"Patience. Anyway, the volunteer was plugged in, wiped, reprogrammed, and interviewed. Nothing useful."
"In one hour," Tory said, "we learned more about the structure and composition of the universe than in all of history to date."
"It was deranged gibberish." Landis tapped Elin's knee. "We interviewed her and then canceled the wetware. And what do you think happened?"
"I've never been big on rhetorical questions." Elin didn't take her eyes off Tory.
"She didn't come down. She was stuck."
"Stuck?"
Tory plucked a blade of grass, let it fall. "What happened was that we had rewired her to absolute consciousness. She was not only aware of all her mental functions but in control of them-right down to the involuntary reflexes, which also put her in charge of her own metaprogrammer."