Colossus (8 page)

“Fine—I could do with a snack.”

Cleo was puzzled by the change in Forbin’s mood. He was confident, almost buoyant, a very different man to what he had been less than half an hour ago.

“That shower did you good.”

“Yep—though it’s really the thinking I did in the shower. It seems more probable to me now that Colossus is just keen. After all, you and Fisher and I all expected Colossus to act up, and it has. But both messages can be regarded as within his—its—line of duty.” Forbin rubbed the side of his nose with his pipe. “Put yourself in his position—he discovers that there is another like himself, realizes we don’t know, and tells us. All right, now we all know, but Colossus must be anxious to know more. Hell, it makes a big difference to the defense picture. So it wants to know more, and the shortest way it can think of is to damn well ask.”

Cleo jumped as the teletype started. Forbin, who was reclining in an easy chair, did not move.

“I guess that will be a repetition of the same message,” he said.

Cleo looked at the machine and nodded, then called the CPO. “OK, Professor Forbin has got that one.”

“Hold on,” called Forbin. “Tell Johnson to make ‘message acknowledged.”’

Cleo passed the order.

“As I expected.” There was a trace of complacency in his voice. “Is it half an hour since the first run?”

“Yes, exactly thirty minutes between the two.” Cleo was glad to see her boss confident, though it was a confidence she did not entirely share.

“I expect we’ll get another repeat in another half-hour—time for that snack, Cleo.”

She disappeared into the kitchenette and quickly returned with a plateful of food which Forbin attacked with gusto. Watching him eat, Cleo said, “I hope you’re right about Colossus’ intentions—”

Forbin stopped eating and gave her a long stare. “I hope I am too; my faith is pinned to those parameters. Colossus is a cleverer bastard than we had intended, but he is behind bars—he’s got to be!”

Cleo thought she detected a glint of fear in his eyes. Slight, but enough to convince her that he had pulled himself together and was doing his best to present a calm, confident front to the world, at the same time probably clinging desperately to the idea that there was nothing to worry about because the alternative was too impossible to contemplate.

“What are you going to do about Washington?” she asked in a conversational tone.

“If my guess is right, we get another repetition in—” he glanced at his watch—”precisely nineteen minutes. Still leaves me time to call within the hour.”

He had still not indicated what he intended doing, and Cleo was not going to press the point, especially as she had been quite unable to think of anything constructive. She watched him finish his meal, then got up to make coffee.

Forbin was halfway through his second cup when the phone rang. It was Fisher, reporting that thus far they had been unable to account for the FLASH, that they were still working on it, and what did Forbin intend doing about this demand for transmitter facilities?

Forbin replied, “Keep the duty watch going on the FLASH, that’s the key to the whole thing. Leave the message to me. I expect it to be repeated in ten minutes—I’ll call you then.”

It was precisely one hour after the first transmission when the teletype clattered into action once more. Forbin nodded, and flashed a triumphant grin at Cleo.

“Even if I don’t know why or how, at least I’m beginning to know the way its mind works—check the message, Cleo.” She looked at the latest message carefully. “Identical with the other two.”

“Good.” Forbin nodded again. “Call CPO and tell them to acknowledge it.”

Cleo did as she was told, then her anxiety and curiosity overcame her caution. “What now, Charles? You can’t keep this up forever.”

“I don’t intend to,” replied Forbin. “I’m waiting to see if there is any reaction, and if nothing happens in the next five minutes, I’ll make a move.”

They waited in silence. Cleo sat bolt upright on her sofa, trying hard to keep her hands still in her lap. Forbin appeared outwardly calm, filling his pipe, but spoiled the illusion when he tapped the tobacco out into an ashtray without first smoking or even attempting to light the pipe. At four and a half minutes he got up and went over to the phone.

“CPO? Make this now, begins—NO FACILITIES AS REQUESTED AVAILABLE TONIGHT SERVICE CREW ASLEEP ACTION WILL BE TAKEN TEN THIRTY LOCAL TIME TOMORROW DO NOT REPEAT REQUEST—ends. Got it? Right.”

Cleo looked anxiously at Forbin. “You’re sticking your neck out.”

They both remained silent as the message he had ordered was swiftly sent on the teletype. Then Forbin answered.

“I know it is something of a confrontation, but it is a test. If Colossus ignores it—” he shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness—”if not, we’re still in front, although the lead is mighty slim.”

“I feel so useless.”

Forbin crossed over and sat beside her, taking her hand. “Cleo my dear, you are more help than you know, just being around.” He leaned back, still holding her hand. “I’d explode if I were back in the CPO—with Fisher pecking away like a constipated hen at what data we have, and the rest watching me out of the corners of their eyes, expecting miracles.”

She squeezed his hand without speaking. Forbin looked at her covertly. In their years together, working closely, he had thought about her more than once, but always there was so much work. Now, with little work and a growing burden of worry and responsibility, circumstances were different … Her profile was attractive—even the slightly upturned nose did not, in his eyes, detract from her beauty. He remembered her figure, as he had seen it … Above all, she had a reasonable brain, a large amount of common sense, was capable and self-reliant, someone he could talk to. He sighed and released her hand as he stood up.

“Business again. If there is nothing down the line in the next half-hour I’ll put Prytzkammer out of his misery, then go to bed.”

Cleo, aware of his scrutiny and busy with some very private thoughts, looked up. “More coffee?”

“No, thanks.” He glanced at the clock, “Not long to go—may I have some more rye?”

They both had some more. Cleo could not help noticing his frequent time checks, though she made a point of not noticing when his gaze sidled up to the clock or down to his watch. As time passed, Forbin became more talkative and animated.

“You know, Cleo, I don’t think I’ve been here more than a half-dozen times in—how long? Seven years, isn’t it?” He looked belatedly round the room with an excessive air of appreciation.

“Should have done this more often.” He fumbled nervously with his pipe. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

He had practically fumigated the room already, but Cleo played ball.

“Of course not.”

While he filled his pipe once again, chattering about the Spartan quality of his quarters, Cleo, who had also kept a close watch on the time, saw that they were up to the probable repetition time. Forbin rambled on with some endless anecdote about faulty plumbing. Cleo waited a moment, then interrupted him. “It’s one minute past the time, Charles.”

Forbin breathed deeply, closed his eyes. When he spoke his voice was back to normal.

“Thanks, Cleo.” He put his glass down and grasped her shoulders. “So we’ve taken a trick. Colossus would never be late—working in nanoseconds, a minute to him must be like a year to us. May I kiss you?”

Cleo tried, and to some extent succeeded, to assume a surprised expression. She did not speak, but smiled softly at him. Forbin kissed her gently. Cleo saw that he shut his eyes as he did so, and chaste as the kiss was, she felt a surge of affection well up in her.

He released his grip on her shoulders, turned and made for the door. Without looking around he said,

“Get some sleep, Cleo. We need all we can get—tomorrow will be, as the old expression has it, a humdinger.”

Cleo stared at the door long after he had gone. What a child he is, she thought. Most men would have exploited the situation right then. But he was not most men, and she was glad.

Chapter 7

The next morning, at ten o’clock exactly, Forbin, with Fisher trailing unhappily behind him, strode into the sanctum for the Defense Staff meeting. He bowed fractionally to the President.

“Morning, Mr. President.”

“Morning.” The President did not sound as if he was prepared to make anything of their parting the night before; on the other hand, a certain ebullience was lacking in his manner.

There was a general bustle and nodding of heads, one to another, as the members of the staff took their places. As usual, the President was seated first. This enabled him to give the impression, without actually saying so, that the rest of them were late, and keeping him waiting.

“Gentlemen, I have called this meeting primarily to consider the news of the Russian machine.” He looked around at his advisers, as if expecting some argument he would be only too happy to squash. No one argued, so he went on. “As secondary subjects we will consider the failure of CIA to give the smallest warning of this development.” The Head of CIA got a very stony look. “And we will also take a look at Colossus—or, more particularly, at why Professor Forbin is so het up about the machine. I don’t want to discuss anything else unless very urgent, and will not take kindly to any subject I don’t rate that high. OK?”

There was a general nodding of heads, and a snapping sound was heard. The Head of CIA, under some internal tension, had broken his pencil in half. The expression on the President’s face, as he stared at the CIA man, was clear to all; CIA would snap a good many more pencils before he, the President, had finished with them.

“Right, the Russian Guardian. Due to be activated later this day, according to the Ambassador, and Colossus’ collateral—I for one will not argue about the truth of that statement, and I suggest, gentlemen, you don’t. Now, your views. Space, you first.”

The Undersecretary of State for Space suggested, and all the rest quickly agreed, that a USNA/USSR deal on parameters might be examined. If the two big blocs knew how far each could go, but kept the secret from the rest of the world, it would enable them to hold the rest more easily. Briskly the President summarized.

“Prytzkammer, get this down. Unanimously agreed to raise the question of a mutual exchange of parameter information with the USSR. And fix me a hotline call to the Soviet Premier as soon as—make it after eleven o’clock this day. Next, CIA’s failure. Grauber, as Head of CIA, what have you to say?”

Forbin cut in. “May I speak first, Mr. President?”

The President, who had been working up to grind Grauber in the dust, raised one eyebrow. “Any objection, Grauber?”

“No sir.” So far from objecting, Grauber was highly relieved.

“Sir, we see it this way,” and Forbin recounted the theory he had discussed with Fisher.

“Maybe you have something there, Professor,” said the President, grudgingly. “Do you want to add anything, Grauber?”

“There isn’t much I can say,” replied Grauber with unwonted frankness. “There hasn’t been much time to rework the material input of the past six or seven years. We know that there has been a lot of electronic effort in the Krasni Sigorsk area in Siberia. We have no idea of its purpose, but the evidence points to a computer center of some size. What Forbin said could be the answer.”

The President grunted; he felt a little thwarted. “OK, we’ll let it rest—for now. Get moving fast on the Guardian assignment, and Forbin with his Colossus background may be able to help you—OK, Forbin?”

“Yes sir. More than that, I’m sure Colossus could give you a good deal right now.”

“Yeah?” The President sounded more than somewhat skeptical.

Forbin bristled. “If you care to wait about thirty seconds, I’ll prove it.”

The President did not reply, so Forbin got up and walked over to the teletype. “Tell CPO I am on the T/P, Fisher.” Forbin picked out his message.

WHERE IS THE OTHER MECHANISM

There was no pause that was perceptible. In less than a second the answer was clacking back:

BOLSHOI OLYANIA

Forbin tore off the exchange of messages, handed the copy to the President, and sat down, favoring the ceiling with a long stare.

“Well, I’ll—” The President tossed the paper down the table to Grauber. “Someone is going to be out of a job any time now.” He barked a short humorless laugh. “So much for your Krasni whatever.”

It was Grauber’s turn to look at the ceiling. “Yes, indeed, Mr. President. Bolshoi Olyania is nearly five miles from Krasni Sigorsk.”

The President glowered at him. “OK, so now we have had the funnies. Third subject, Colossus. Forbin?”

“While I don’t feel one hundred per cent happy, I am now inclined to the view that Colossus has not exceeded its directive. On the other hand, I am certain that the machine has developed a sense of initiative—and I can’t account for it. This is potentially alarming, but if that initiative is directed solely to the more efficient execution of its task, and I think it is, we have no complaint.”

“All this is supposition,” said the President with some asperity. “I don’t deal in that stuff; facts are what I want in this chair. Colossus has already turned up some mighty interesting dope; right now I’m damn glad we have it, and that we got in first. Now, Forbin—what about this message about transmitter facilities?”

“I’m certain,” Forbin replied, “that Colossus wants to communicate with Guardian. I am not certain, but believe, that the object is for Colossus to fill in all the data it can on Guardian— which is reasonable enough.”

“How do you get information if you do all the talking?” “I don’t know. But Colossus knows.” Forbin looked round the table and smiled grimly. “It could be his intention to inject an idea or two into the Russian equivalent of CIA—you may note that the frequency chosen is a spare one allocated to our Space Weapons, and the Russians are bound to listen to that one at all times.”

“Suppose Colossus gives away too much? After all, there isn’t much about our defenses it doesn’t know,” objected the Field General.

“We can listen too, and break the circuit if the stuff gets too chatty,” replied Forbin. “I propose we feed in an additional parameter, namely—’Guardian is potentially hostile and must not receive classified intelligence.”’