plate under the
floor. Your scanners simply couldn't detect anything from below."

Confident that Merlin would decree its own destruction, Shanlee gave
his parole; the others accepted it. The newsmen were admitted to the
circular operating room and encouraged to send out views and
descriptions of everything. Then the lift controls were reinstalled,
the lid was put back on top, and the only access to the room was
through the office below. The entrance to this was always guarded by
Zarel's soldiers or Brangwyn's police.

There were only a score of them who could be let in on the actual
facts. For the most part, they were the same men who had been in
Fawzi's office on the afternoon of Conn's return, a year and a half
ago. A few others--Anse Dawes, Jerry Rivas, and five computermen Conn
had trained on Koshchei--had to be trusted. Conn insisted on letting
Sylvie Jacquemont in on the revised Awful Truth About Merlin. They
spent a lot of their time together, in Travis's office, for the most
part sunk in dejection.

They had finally found Merlin; now they must lose it. They were trying
to reconcile themselves and take comfort from the achievement, empty
as it was. They could see no way out. If Merlin said that Merlin had
to be destroyed, that was it. Merlin was infallible. Conn hated the
thought of destroying that machine with his whole being, not because
it was an infallible oracle, but because it was the climactic
masterpiece of the science he had spent years studying. To destroy it
was an even worse sacrilege to him than it was to the Merlinolators.
And Rodney Maxwell was thinking of the public effects. What the Travis
statement had started would be nothing by comparison.

"You know, we can keep the destruction of Merlin a secret," Conn said.
"It'll take some work down at the power plant, but we can overload all
the circuits and burn everything out at once." He turned to Shanlee.
"I don't know why you people didn't think of that."

Shanlee looked at him in surprise. "Why, now that you mention it,
neither do I," he admitted. "We just didn't."

"Then," Conn continued, "we can tinker up something in the operating
room that'll turn out what will look like computation results. As far
as anybody outside ourselves will know, Merlin will still be solving
everybody's problems. We'll do like any fortuneteller; tell the
customer what he wants to believe and keep him happy."

More lies; lies without end. And now he'd have a mach