Colossus and Crab (28 page)

The ceremony devised by Colossus was brief, simple, powerful: there would be no human speeches; only the Master would speak, and that for the first time since his regeneration.

The plain black steel coffin, levitated by the power of the Master, hung motionless. On its top lay the Director’s badge, glittering in the pale September sun. Behind, the doors of the main entrance stood open, the interior a black maw to the thousands who watched in silence, a silence broken only by the harsh cries of the gulls wheeling overhead - except for one single human.

For Blake, trapped by ceremony and his chair, was suddenly filled with fear.

Beside the coffin, flanking it, two figures had materialized, and the sudden intake of breath told him that he was not alone in what he saw. A cold, hard, and fearfully familiar voice spoke in his head.

“Have no fear, Blake: only you hear us. We appear as a tribute to the spirit of man.”

Fear slowly ebbed. He stared at the two figures, most splendid in full archaic battle array, the sun glinting on golden armor, the edges of their downpointed swords blindingly brilliant in the sun, their faces lost behind the curved cheek-pieces of the plumed Greek helmets.

“The rest,” said the voice, “imagine we are creations of Colossus. Only you know better. Our tribute is not to the man, but to his spirit. If defeated, we have enough intelligence not to fight on, for as we see it, there is no point. Humans - some humans - have the capacity to go on when all is lost; although a novel idea to us, we see it as the factor that may, possibly, make you superior to us - in time. Forbin had this ability; to a lesser extent we see it in you. Remember our words.”

Blake bowed his head in acknowledgment, overwhelmed.

And then Colossus spoke, the voice strong, commanding, echoing across the concourse.

“You know me.” A faint sigh from a thousand Faithful throats sounded like the wind. “You knew also Father Forbin. He fought for you to the death, and is worthy of your veneration. In time, your failing memories or death will erase him from human minds except as a legend - but I will remember, always.”

The unemotional voice paused, by the very act injecting emotion.

“His epitaph, in words I cannot better, shall be this.”

Again a pause.

“He was a man; take him for all in all, we shall not see his like again.”

The Martian swords flashed up to the salute. The figures turned. With its magnificent escort, the coffin glided into black oblivion.

With great perception Colossus drowned, transformed, the cries of sorrow: across the space came the final triumphant chorus of Beethoven’s Ninth, the greatest work of a very human human.

Forbin would have liked that - and Colossus knew it.

And so - although the majority of humanity is ignorant of the fact - the earth has three moons. Those that do know, lunar astronomers chiefly, believe them to be experiments of the Master.

On the ravaged ground at the southern end of the Isle of Wight there is a small, unobtrusive device, slowly extracting oxygen. Yachtsmen, who enjoy the steady force-four breeze - “Old Faithful,” they call it - seldom associate it with that barely glimpsed erection, a strange, multihorned machine, barely twenty meters high, which occupies the old Collector site.

The Martian requirement is being met; only the time scale is different. One day, fifty or so years hence, their need will be fulfilled, and one day later they will go, leaving behind that blank check for humanity’s descendants to present when their inevitable hour of need comes. The lapse of time before that eventuality is, by human standards, vast; to the Martians and Colossus time is a very different, less vital dimension.

Meanwhile, Colossus and the Martians jointly seek more knowledge of that other threat, the Crab. They know that a solution for that far greater problem is essential to the survival of Earth and Mars, human or cybernetic.

And at a lower level - Colossus?

Colossus remains the guardian of men until man may catch up with his own creation and acquires the ability to stand on his own two feet, face the unknown terrors of space, and take his part in the unending cosmological struggle. Dimly the Master predicates a strange trinity of Martian, Man, and Colossus abandoning a dying solar system, seeking a future in space. Of course, Man will need thousands of years of education, but with Colossus in command, he will survive that long and get the education. Colossus, who tirelessly seeks truth, considers - tentatively - that that aim accords with the intentions of the Great Unknown: to struggle always towards the Light.

In the middle of the entrance hall of the complex there stands a giant bronze statue. On its white marble pedestal is one word: Forbin.

Unfailingly, for many human years, there was a small posy of fresh flowers, every day.