My fingers were trembling slightly as I slipped the optical chip into the reader slot of the doss's ancient telecom. Trying not to let myself hope too hard, I ran a directory of the chip's contents. A single file—BARNARD.TXT. Pretty fragging self-descriptive, neh! I rattled in the command to copy the file under another name—in case there was some kind of protective virus that would delete the original if someone jacked with it—then tried to open the copy, not the original.