THE COSMIC COMPUTER

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almost thirty tons.

When they had battered a hole in the vitrified rock underneath, guards
brought up General Shanlee. Somebody almost up to professional standards
had given him a haircut; the beard was gone, too. A Federation Army
officer's uniform had been found reasonably close to his size, and
somebody had even provided him with the four stars of his retirement
rank. He was, again, the man Conn had seen in the dome-house on Luna.

"Well, you got it open," he said, climbing down from the airjeep that
had brought him. "Now, what are you going to do with it?"

"We can't make up our minds," Conn said. "We're going to let the
computer tell us what to do with it."

Shanlee looked at him, startled. "You mean, you're going to have Merlin
judge itself and decide its own fate?" he asked. "You'll get the same