After some deliberation the judge decides: "They have to count that ballot. As to whether or not the candidate is entitled to an electronic or manual recount — she's entitled to make that choice. If there's a discrepancy, well, it will probably have to be decided by another court."

The recount (by machine) is scheduled for Tuesday, December 23, at 9:00 a.m. I arrive at the Whatcom County Courthouse at the appointed time and am ceremoniously signed into the room. No one, as far as I can tell, has ever heard of Wired magazine. The Bellingham Herald, a few blocks away, hasn't bothered to send a reporter but is awaiting the results by phone. The card reader sits facing the end of a long boardroom table, with various officials arrayed on either side. The reader is hooked up to an IBM 300GL PC, with the "separate and distinct programming" occupying an external Iomega Zip Drive. The software, produced by Computer Elections of Benicia, CA, is up and running under Windows 95.

Pete Griffin, elections supervisor, is fiddling with the card reader. He's proud of how much the machine cost and that it's recently been factory rebuilt. A number of minor dignitaries are present, as well as representatives for the two candidates and two official scrutineers. Lots of sealing and unsealing of metal boxes containing the ballots, with forms signed and witnessed in triplicate every time a deck of punched cards makes a move. The card reader is fired up. It runs through a series of "Logic and Accuracy" test decks from the Secretary of State. The results are compared with the results from election night, when the Logic and Accuracy decks were placed under the seals we just removed. It's a cryptic process, and we all just take the word of Peter Griffin that the string of characters generated on the monitor means everything's OK. The reader flutters smoothly through the piles of cards without missing a single beat — far smoother than the readers I saw at Cardamation, being tested against cards that had been stored for many years.