Fall of Colossus (14 page)

Forbin pulled himself free, irritably. “Dreams, silly futile dreams.”

“Oh, no, Charles. I don’t say we will succeed; until recently I agree there didn’t seem much hope. Still, we were prepared to go on, if only for our own self-respect. Right; it’s dangerous, you may say pointless, but because we existed when the offer of help came we were there to take it.”

“Help—what help?”

“And this,” said Blake, not without a faint touch of humor, “is going to be difficult. Charles, I’m fully aware you’ve had some pretty nasty shocks lately. I don’t say this one is nasty, but it rates as a shock, all right.”

Forbin looked as if he was going to say something, but Blake stopped him. “No! Let me go on. The best introduction I can give you is this: Cleo and I both are sure of its authenticity—which is why she is where she is.”

“Authenticity—what in hell are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you from the beginning. It started with Cleo, not me.” So he told Forbin, leaving out nothing. Forbin, who might have been more incredulous had Cleo not been involved, listened, disbelief battling with growing interest.

“And that is the situation as of this moment. Now you see a further reason, apart from Cleo, why I’m in such an all-fired hurry!”

Forbin sat still and said nothing for a long time.

“Well, come on Charles, say something, if it’s only good-bye!”

“Frankly, Blake, I was wondering if you had gone mad, or if this was another of your dreams.”

“This is no dream and I’m not crazy! I’m sure we can have extraterrestrial help if we want it!” Forbin’s expression infuriated Blake. “Aw, what’s the use! Why don’t you wake up—this could be our one and only chance! You said yourself you never thought Colossus would do a thing like this to you. Think of Cleo! She’s one of us—the old gang; think how she’ll feel when she gets back and finds out that you, knowing she was being raped three or four times a day, refused to help.”

Forbin screamed at him. “Stop it, damn you—stop it!”

But Blake was merciless. “Yeah. Reckon it must do something to a woman’s mind, being mounted by a half-crazy stallion.” Forbin tried to launch himself at Blake, but he was no match for the younger man, who effortlessly pushed him back into his chair. “That’s right—go for the only guy who can possibly help your wife! Okay, if you want to go on living in the clouds, go back to your tin buddy for another cozy chat! Maybe you could have a nice, scientific discussion on the correlation of distress levels in females and the frequency of their violation! It might be interesting to go over the Sabine project results so far. Could be that women do come to like it that way. You could have severe problems when Cleo comes back—if she chooses to come back!”

For a brief moment there was a wild, mad look in Forbin’s eyes, then he averted his gaze. When he spoke, Blake knew he had won.

“What do you want me to do?”

“First, have another drink!” Blake spoke lightly, as if ignorant of Forbin’s humiliation. He refilled their glasses; in spite of his assured manner, his hand shook.

“There, Charles. You know, no one, least of all me, will deny the good Colossus has done. Perhaps the greatest service has been in giving us the biggest lesson in human history.” He drank. “I think we’ve learned that lesson, and that now we need not go on paying this terrible price. D’you realize, Charles, that in the past five years not one single book, painting, or any sort of work of art has been produced that is worth one single damn credit?”

Forbin thought dimly of Blake and the poet, but could not be bothered to mention the subject.

“Neither you nor I is likely to lose much sleep over that, but you just consider it: man’s creative impulse has been squashed flat! We must be free, we must! Humanity is sinking; the lights are going out for all of us, and we don’t have much time.”

“Fine words.”

Fractionally, the lights flickered, dimmed almost to extinction, then climbed back to full brilliance.

“And how about that!” Blake exclaimed. “Right on cue! These transient bursts puzzle you, don’t they? For once, I think I’m deeper into Colossus than you are. I don’t know, but I’ve a mighty good idea what’s going on. If I’m right, it also scares the hell out of our solar system—never mind us!”

“Wild talk, unsupported by any evidence. Colossus frightening the Martians! You ask a lot of my credulity! Even if you were right, what could we possibly do about it?”

“No! Not what could be done: what can be done. You join us, and we’ll do it!”

“You really believe all—all this… .” Forbin was weary, he hesitated over the word “nonsense.” Perhaps it didn’t fit; again, Cleo… . “all this affair.”

“Yes, I really believe it. Beyond question, that transmission I heard did not come from this planet. I honestly believe it came from Mars, and that whoever made it is scared of Colossus!”

Forbin’s mind seemed to have wandered off, and Blake jerked him cruelly back.

“What are you staring at—Tahiti?”

“Yes, you bastard—yes!”

Blake banged his glass down. “Look; if it hadn’t been for some smart guesswork by Colossus, aided by his Sect buddies, we—Cleo and I—wouldn’t need your help! We were so close to victory—so very close! Okay, if you don’t want to know, we’ll go on without you, somehow.” Contempt was strong in his voice. “If I’m alive when Cleo gets out, don’t be surprised if she turns my way, not yours! And good night to you.” He headed for the door.

“No. Wait!” Forbin was stung by Blake’s bitter words. “I can’t promise to join you, but I promise not to betray or stand in your way.”

“That, I’m afraid, won’t do; not any more. As you’ve said yourself, outside this house I can’t breathe without it being checked. In time, maybe we can reestablish contact, but if it is going to be any use to Cleo, it has to be now. Leaving her out of it, could be that in, say, a year’s time, we’ll then be too late; the Sect is growing very fast, and once they can fill in all the emotional gaps in Colossus’ control network, we will have had it in a big way

“Yes.” Forbin was thinking. “What convinces you that this call is genuine?”

Blake saw Forbin’s awakening interest. He spoke quickly, putting all the conviction he had into it. “Beyond question, the transmission itself. I know the idea of life on Mars has gone in and out like the tide for the past three hundred-odd years; I agree that there has been little supporting evidence, but the transmission is another matter. I checked it, Charles. I’ve no doubt at all that our technology couldn’t touch it! It was a beam with a radius you could measure in meters! Laser beams from moon stations are wider than that one was—and they’re less than three hundred thousand miles off. This must have traveled over thirty-four million miles!”

“If it came from Mars.”

“Sure, if it came from Mars. But look at it this way. If it didn’t come from Mars—where did it come from? For sure it wasn’t the moon or a satellite. I checked. So where? The time delay was about right. Six minutes for the round trip.”

“Yes, but that, as you must agree, might be a trick. Could not the whole thing be a trap?”

“D’you really think Colossus acts that way? And what about the technology? No. I’ve gone over and over it; it must be Martian.”

“Incredible! Quite incredible.”

“Not to me. Or Cleo.”

The reference, yet again, to his wife tipped the balance in his vacillating brain. “You’ll have to forgive me if I seem less than wildly excited. I can’t say what I believe, I’m punch-drunk, but yes, I’ll go along with you, for Cleo’s sake.”

“It’s dangerous—even for you.”

Forbin’s eyes blazed briefly. “Stop being such a bastard! I’m no hero, but that’s not my first problem. Loyalties are involved—Cleo and Colossus. You may think my relationship with Colossus weird; you could be right, but that is my personal affair. For her, I’ll do what you want—even… .” He broke off.

“Sorry, Charles.” Blake was awkward; apologies were not in his line. “Well, what you’ve got to do is to get the same data—that’s easy for you—get it out and display it. It would be a waste of time for me to even try. On top of the usual surveillance, the Sect have been around my quarters, office, boat. Next week’s suits arrived just before I left this morning, and while I daren’t be seen looking, I felt that tiny pinhead in the lapel From tomorrow on, I’m a walking electronic jazz band! Mikes, beacons, heart sensors, the lot. It has to be you, all the way, alone.”

Forbin nodded, thinking of his wife, trying not to think of Colossus. “Okay; me—alone.”

Chapter Eleven

Unusual for him, Colossus spoke first when Forbin entered the Sanctum, a trifle unsteadily, the next morning.

“How are you, Father Forbin?”

Forbin jumped visibly and clutched his head. “God—I wish you wouldn’t do that! No need to shout! If you must know, I feel terrible.”

This was very largely true. After Blake had gone over the Martian instructions, the locations, and times, they had got down to serious drinking, partly because that had been Forbin’s avowed intent, partly because they wanted to. For one of them it was to get some relief for his mind; for the other, sheer relief. Blake had left in a fairly shattered condition—but not so shattered that he did not know what he was doing. Back in his quarters, he had stared glassily at himself in a mirror.

“Blake, my boy, you’re drunk. Very drunk,” he had told his swaying reflection, “but you’re not as drunk as poor old For—Forbin! Boy! Is he—is he… .” At this point he had swayed a fraction further and collapsed conveniently on his bed and remained that way for the rest of the night.

If Colossus wanted collateral intelligence at his meeting with Forbin, he had done his best to provide it. So Forbin just sat, feeling terrible, but not all of his mental state was attributable to drink.

“Would it not be better if you went to bed, taking neutralizers?”

“I’ve just bloody well got up! And keep your damned advice!” Forbin lapsed into brooding silence.

“You cannot go on like this. Your health will be impaired.”

“So I impair my health! God!” He rubbed his face wearily. “Yes. You’re right. I can’t go on like this.” He tried to look up, but couldn’t do it. No matter what, there are some things very difficult to do. “Maybe I should take a vacation.”

“It might be advisable. If you like, I will clear a suitable residence for you. The meteorological conditions are very favorable for the next ten days on the western side of the Black Sea.”

“Goddamnit, no!” Forbin shouted, then winced. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “I want to get away on my own. I want to think, away from all—all this.”

“As you wish. What would be the duration of your vacation?”

“I’m not one of your damned predictable circuits! I don’t know. A week—ten days.” He wanted to shout “forever,” but that would not do. He was embattled with a brain that, but for its lack of emotional understanding, would be unbeatable.

“Whatever you wish. Say what you desire, and it is yours.”

Forbin, an honest man, felt shame. Colossus, being Colossus, meant exactly what he said. Forbin wondered, not for the first time, if it was possible that Colossus had developed some rudimentary emotions; was the machine, in some fantastic way, fond of him? Ridiculous! Anything he desired—except that one, unmentioned, and unmentionable: Cleo. Blake had been right when he pointed out the staggering ability to bend the unbendable: the machine’s own laws. Forbin saw that it was not a question of Colossus wanting Cleo to be punished; Colossus had no other option. And that, thought Forbin philosophically, made Colossus even nearer human; it, too, was trapped by its own nature.

“No,” said Forbin, calmer. “Nothing except a little peace and quiet.”

“When will you leave?”

“Oh, sometime tomorrow.” He turned once more towards the window. “There are things I must do first.”

The fact that the abstraction of the wanted material was, for him, a simple matter, did nothing to salve Forbin’s uneasy conscience. Again and again he had to remind himself that Colossus was responsible for Cleo’s appalling situation. To him, the idea that the Colossus he knew, talked to, could be the same inhuman monster who had done this thing, was still almost unbelievable. He felt as if there were two machines, one good, one bad. The latter he would destroy without a second’s hesitation, but what he had to do might destroy them both. “Might” was, in some ways, Forbin’s way out. He could not believe that the Martians —if they existed—or anyone else could attack Colossus. What he was about to do was, he felt, a gesture of help towards Cleo. He had to do something; this was the only acceptable something.

For, what could easily cost another person their head, and had taken Cleo’s freedom and so much else, was no more to Forbin than opening his private safe and taking the relevant diagram. The piece of tape was equally simple; his personal print-out provided that, and expressing its mathematical content presented no difficulty to Forbin. The whole operation took no more than five minutes, but it was a five minutes that gave no pleasure. As he slipped the envelope into an inner pocket, Forbin could only repeat silently, “This is for you, Cleo.” The flattening hangover he endured added to the unreality of his actions.

He left for his residence without the slightest qualm for his own safety. The ever-present Guides, bowing, aroused no feelings of anxiety. Asked, at that moment, which character in history he felt like, Forbin, a religious man at heart, would have said unhesitatingly, Judas Iscariot.

The Barchek residence was a small three-room hut, standing alone near the beach in a palm grove. At first sight, the setting was idyllic: the sparkling blue sea, white coral sand, waving coconut trees affording shelter from the blazing sun; bright, gaudy flowers before the house, and behind it a small vegetable garden.

Any city complex dweller—and that meant most people—would have called it heaven. Their delight would, however, soon have toned down on noting the high wire fence that enclosed the compound. There was only one gate, between the front of the dwelling and the sea, and that was locked.

Cleo, seated on a low stool outside the front door, had scarcely noticed her surroundings. A medical man might have described her as “in deep shock,” and would have been partly right. In fact, her condition was worse than that; the shock was wearing off and with it the protective numbing of her brain. She could have absorbed her surroundings, but at this moment her world had shrunk to no more than herself and her aching misery.