"That doesn't make much sense," I said.
"No. It doesn't. It isn't sensible. Those ships' brains shouldn't have behaved that way. Robot brains don't go mad unless they're given instructions to do so—conflicting orders, erroneous information, that sort of thing. Or, unless they have actual physical defects in the brains themselves."
"The brains can handle the job of flying a ship all right, though?" I asked. "I mean, they have the capacity for it?"
"Certainly. They're the same type that's used to control the automobile traffic on the Eastern Seaboard Highway Network of North America. If they can control the movement of millions of cars, there's no reason why they can't control a spaceship."
"No," I said, "I suppose not." I thought it over for a second, then asked, "But what do your robotics men say is causing the malfunctions?"
"That's where the problem comes in, Mr. Oak." He pursed his pudgy lips, and his eyes narrowed. "The opinions are divided. Some of the men say it's simply a case of engineering failure—that the bugs haven't been worked out of this new combination, but that as soon as they are, everything will work as smoothly as butter. Others say that only deliberate tampering could cause those failures. And still others say that there's not enough evidence to prove either of those theories is correct."
"But your opinion is that it's sabotage?"
"Exactly," said Ravenhurst, "and I know who is doing it and why."
I didn't try to conceal the little bit of surprise that gave me. "You know the man who's responsible?"
He shook his head rapidly, making his jowls wobble. "I didn't mean that. It's not a single man; it's a group."