Colossus (7 page)

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

“Do? Oh yes. Get Blake and all the rest of Group A—and I don’t care if they are asleep.”

Johnson dialed the code number on the internal call transmitter which would trigger the personal receivers carried by all members of Group A. Instantly, his, and Fisher’s, began their plaintive bleating. Fisher visibly jumped. They both canceled their own receivers, and stood silent, waiting. Forbin was the first to call in.

“Yes, what now?” His voice was brusque, tight with tension. Fisher answered.

“I was calling all the Group to the CPO for briefing. I thought you might want to give the rundown on the position—”

Forbin cut in. “No, you can do it. Cleo and I won’t be there.”

“Very well, Professor.” Fisher was by no means happy at the prospect and it showed in his voice.

“You can do it as well as I could, Jack.” Forbin’s tone softened, trying to infuse confidence into Fisher. “I don’t have to emphasize how important it is for us not only to keep up, but to get ahead in this situation; time is very short. I suggest you break the Group into two watches and dig away at that FLASH angle. One thing for Johnson. I want teletype repeaters hooked to Colossus’ output installed in my room and in Cleo’s. Fix Cleo’s first—I’m going there now, and will be staying there for the time being.”

He switched off without waiting for an answer. Johnson grinned at Fisher.

“I guess the old man is going to define love to Cleo.” Fisher, plucking nervously at his lower lip, did not even hear him. There was a burst of noise as the rest of the Group called in.

“All of you, come on in—at the rush, Director’s orders,” Johnson told them. “We have a little trouble to sort out.”

Even that master of the understatement, Plantain, would have been proud of that one.

Cleo Markham, thirty-five and a leading cyberneticist of Project Colossus, was wearing a shower cap, and nothing else, when Forbin burst into her sitting room without knocking. She was among the brighter minds produced since women became first-class citizens. She also had that rare quality among the female intelligentsia, femininity. Her reaction to Forbin’s sudden entry was to whip off the shower cap.

“What the hell are you doing?” snapped Forbin unreasonably.

Several answers crossed Cleo Markham’s mind, but from the look of the Director this was no time to be smart or coy. In fact, she had dashed from the shower to answer the call put out by Johnson.

“You’d better sit down,” she said, turning away from him in search of a dressing gown.

Forbin stared at her long, well—shaped back and her ample but firm buttocks, pink and gleaming from the shower. It would be untrue to say he did not notice, but any thoughts her form conjured up were instantly dismissed as irrelevant. “Have you heard about the Russians?”

“No—what?” Cleo grabbed her dressing gown off the back of a chair.

“They have a Colossus too—activating the thing tomorrow.

Whatever thoughts were having a good time in Cleo’s mind vanished. She swung round, one hundred per cent scientist. “What!” Her voice rose the best part of an octave as she uttered the single word.

Some obscure but scientific corner of Forbin’s mind took time out to observe that, although her face was white with shock, the rest of her remained pink, that her areolae had contracted, the nipples prominent, and that there were goose pimples on her thighs.

“Hadn’t you better get some clothes on?” He sat down heavily. “God, I’m tired.”

Cleo shook her head angrily. “It’s impossible, how could they—”

Forbin waved his hand impatiently at her. “The Russian Ambassador called the President while I was there. That was obviously the “mechanism” Colossus was talking about in the message. Have you got any coffee?”

Cleo, who had been clutching her dressing gown, slowly put it on. She did not bother to turn away; about the only part Forbin had not seen were the soles of her feet. She said, “But the coincidence in activation times! Washington must be livid.”

Forbin blinked at her. “Science is littered with coincidences —not that it matters. It’s the power of Colossus I want to talk about.”

He stood up and searched his jacket for pipe and tobacco. “This lousy suit!” he said savagely, then continued. “Frankly, Cleo, I’m scared. I must talk to someone, someone who will listen and may be able to help. Fisher is the obvious choice, but he …” Forbin groped for a suitable phrase, gave it up and went on. “He told me you too had a feeling that Colossus might act up.”

Cleo nodded and was about to speak when there was a tap on the door. It was a couple of technicians with the teletype Forbin had ordered. He explained their presence to Cleo and lapsed into a sombre silence while the machine was fitted.

“OK to test, Professor?”

“No!” Forbin said sharply. “Fix the other one in my room, then report to the CPO when ready to test. No keyboards are to be pounded without my order.”

“OK, Professor.” The senior man eyed Forbin curiously. He had been on the Project for years, but had never seen Forbin like this. He jerked his head towards the door and his assistant preceded him out.

Forbin stared blankly at Cleo’s taste in pictures. Cleo had taken advantage of the diversion to slip into her minute bedroom and dress. She had no real objection to Forbin seeing her undressed—she knew she had a good figure, and given the right circumstances … but uppermost in her mind was the news of the Russian machine. All the same, the woman in her got uppermost long enough to allow a long appraising stare at herself in the mirror.

“Cleo, what about that coffee?”

“I’ll get it.” She did not resent his manner.

Cleo was busy with the coffee when the phone pinged. For one who appeared to be a million miles away, the Director was remarkably quick. He was out of the chair and across to the wall-phone before Cleo had time to put the coffeepot down.

“Forbin.”

“Johnson here, sir. Both teletypes fixed, permission to test?”

“Wait.” Forbin thought for a moment. “Make this. Begins—this is a CPO test transmission. Give the next perfect number after two to the three thousand two hundred and sixteenth power-ends. Got that? Don’t say yes, repeat the message back!”

Johnson did so.

“Right. I want a chronograph lined up on that. Get the exact time from the end of the transmission of my order to the time the reply starts coming in.”

Cleo brought in the coffee as he hung up. “That’s the last known perfect number, isn’t it?”

Forbin nodded. “Two of the power of twenty-five is way past sixty million—it’ll be quite a sum. There are several computers that could do it, but how long d’you think they would take?”

“The new machine in CalTec could do it in—oh, I suppose six, seven hours.” She added, “If they could spare the time.”

“That would be my guess,” said Forbin. “Yesterday I’d have said Colossus would do it in ten minutes, but I’ve a nasty feeling it will be a lot less.”

The teletype had started its muted chatter. Forbin glanced at his watch, then picked up his coffee and stirred it. He had just taken his second sip when the teletype started again. The effect on Forbin was notable. He jerked forward, spilling hot coffee on his trousers, coughing and spluttering. Cleo, who had been watching the machine, hurried to relieve him of the cup and saucer.

Still red-faced and choking, Forbin peered at his watch. “God Almighty!” he gasped for breath, “Check the answer, Cleo.”

She crossed to the machine. “Just says—Two to the eight one seven fourth power.” The phone pinged, and Cleo answered.

“Yes. Six twenty-three. Thanks.” She turned to Forbin. “Did you hear that? Six seconds, twenty-three nanoseconds.” She smiled faintly. “Johnson sounded surprised.” “Aren’t you?” “Of course! But I’ve had several surprises in the last few hours—even more than Johnson, poor lad.”

Forbin made no comment. For a full minute he sat, leaning forward, his head resting in his hands, then, abruptly, he stood up. “I’ll change and come back. No good trying to think in my office or the CPO, and we’ve got a lot of thinking to do, although offhand I can’t see …”

Cleo sensed that his appeal was to her both as a woman and a scientist. She was well aware she was outclassed by him in the latter category, but was only too willing to try. If Forbin himself did not find an answer, there was little hope for anyone else; but if he wanted her mental as well as moral support, she would give all she had. She tried out her new role.

“Certainly its speed and capability are alarming, but is it really as bad as all that? We’re building faster and faster computers all the time. Mere speed shouldn’t worry you. Colossus as a freethinker, well—are you so sure it really is freethinking.

“I don’t see what else could produce that damned FLASH.”

“Right now you don’t, but give yourself time,” she said soothingly. “Colossus can’t exceed the parameters.”

Forbin looked steadily at her. “Cleo, I so hope you’re right.”

Then Cleo knew the heart of his fear, a fear that she had not herself seriously considered- -until now. Before Forbin had spoken she would have said there was as much chance of Colossus overstepping the parameters as there was of finding a triangle with four sides, but if Forbin thought it was a possibility, however remote …

“Of course I’m right. You know the layout of the parameter systems—explain to me, step by step, how this could happen,” she challenged. She saw the kindling of hope in his eyes. “You see, it just can’t happen. Don’t let this thing run away with you. Stick to the hard facts.”

“You may be right.” Forbin stood up once more. “I really must get out of this cardboard armor. Thanks, Cleo.” He held out a hand …

The teletype began clattering busily—a familiar, everyday sound to the habitués of the CPO, but one that now froze Forbin and Cleo.

ESTABLISH HIGH SPEED TRANSMITTER FACILITIES FED TO TERMINAL RELAY ALFA FOUR FREQUENCY 8295 KC/S

As the teletype fell silent, the phone called and Forbin answered.

“Yes, Johnson, I have it. Take no action without my authority.” His voice was calm, even. He replaced the receiver carefully and looked again at the message. The first wave of fear had receded, assisted by the need for action. “And what do you think of that, Cleo?”

She tried to strike the right note, but was not wholly successful. “Colossus clearly wants to say something to someone…”

“Or something.” He sounded calm, almost resigned. There was a grayish tinge in his cheeks. “Eight megacycles is a good all-round frequency for long-range communication, even if a little old-fashioned. That setup is designed as a link with the Russian Guardian.”

He spoke with an air of complete certainty. “But why?”

“That I don’t know.” He ran one hand wearily through his hair. “Neither do I know where we go from here.”

Cleo looked at the tired, disheveled figure with his crumpled and stained suit. A feeling of warmth and pity struggled with the growing fear within her. “You go and change—I’ll get some more coffee—and then we’ll go over the parameter angle together. There’ll be an answer— you’ll see.

Forbin looked at her meditatively. “All right. I feel like hell in this suit. You may be right about the parameters. Maybe Colossus just wants this transmitter to get information for an evaluation of Guardian—actuated by a desire to do a better job.”

Cleo decided to take a small chance. “Not desire, Charles. That’s something that applies only to people. Now—you go and shower. I promise not to break in on you.”

Forbin did not answer or smile. He nodded and left. In the CPO, Fisher and the duty team were working on the latest two messages. Johnson was working on the perfect number and had covered several sheets with calculations. Finally he took a deep breath and crumpled them and threw them at the wall. “I just don’t believe it. As near as I can get, that perfect number, if written out in full, would run to two or three million digits, and that bloody thing belches it up in six seconds! I give up, I really do.”

“Never mind the number, Johnson. The Director wants any ideas on the FLASH that came up.” Fisher pulled at his lip. “Try checking the priority memory bank layout, perhaps you’ll find—”

It was so futile. He stopped. Johnson just looked at him. “What do we do about this transmitter request?” he asked.

Blake, who was engaged on making a paper dart, answered, “Request! That’s a hot one. I worked on the vocabulary bank, and I know how that box of tricks can phrase a sentence. That was a direct order.”

“If it is an order, it has either got to be obeyed or ignored,” said Johnson solemnly.

“That’s a swell piece of figuring, son,” said Blake caustically. “And it’s gonna be mighty interesting if Forbin tells Colossus to get lost.”

Chapter 6

Fifteen minutes later Forbin arrived back in Cleo’s room, physically refreshed by a shower and a change of clothes, to find Cleo talking on the phone. She beckoned him over, covered the mouthpiece with a hand.

“It’s that man, Prytzkammer—Fisher had him put on here—wants to know what the last message means, and should he wake the President?”

Forbin took the handset. “Prytzkammer? Forbin. I can’t give you a clear answer yet—I suggest you stick around, but do nothing until I call. Yes, yes, within the hour.”

Forbin hung up and turned to Cleo. He noted she too had changed into working rig, a dove-gray open-necked blouse, matching the trousers. Her only feminine touch was a double-string choker of pearls.

“Nothing more from Colossus?” “No—did you expect something?”

“I don’t know, but it is twenty minutes since the last message, and that’s a long time in his young life.”

“Have you decided what to do?” Cleo sensed he might think she was pushing him, so she hurried on, “I don’t know how you feel, but I could do with a drink.”

Forbin lit his pipe. “I could use a little rye, if you have it.” He watched as she poured the drinks. “I’m inclined to string Colossus along, see what the good old-fashioned brain Mark I can do to hold him.”

Cleo decided not to comment. “Have you eaten lately?” Forbin considered this point. “Um. No.”

“I’ll fix you something, if you like.”