Colossus and Crab (8 page)

He swallowed, grinned, “That?” He gave a short bark of a laugh. “I won’t say it’s the least of my worries, but it’s mighty low in the pile.”

“Can’t you tell me? It might help.”

“Okay, you tell me,” he said, his mouth full. “What d’you reckon has happened?”

“Me tell you ?” His expression made her go on hastily, “Well, a bunch called the Fellowship, largely scientists, many of them here - Blake’s obviously a big wheel - attacked the Sect. Galin and a lot more got killed.” She shivered. “Blake’s mob controlled many of the War Fleets. The rest is as I reported to you.”

“What about Colossus?”

She looked blankly at him. “You explained that yourself, just now.”

“That’s all?”

“You mean there’s more?”

He ignored her question. “Did you believe me?”

“Sure I believed you!” she said warmly.

“Yes - no offense, my dear - but you would. I wonder how many more do.”

“Hell, Chief, you know the answer, the UN just told you - remember?”

“Oh, that crowd!”

“Okay, so not just the UN. I know my staff; they’re not all dedicated Sectarians by any means, but they’re solidly for you.”

“Really? That’s hard to believe.”

She smiled. “Which is one good reason why people trust and will follow you. At heart you’re humble, and it shows. Now Blake, he’d be a very different story. He’s greedy for power. That shows too. Hey - where is he?”

Forbin jerked his head towards the bedroom. “In there. Asleep.”

“Asleep - now?”

“And that’s yet another story.” He glanced at his watch. “Back to work, my dear. Do your best to ease tension, get the routine rolling. Cancel all my engagements; I’ve no time to make speeches.”

“You mustn’t cut yourself off, you know.”

“We know each other pretty well, Angela.” His face was grave. “You realize I’ve never been one to pull the ‘I’m so busy’ gag, but now it’s for real. We’re in the worst situation …” He couldn’t unload on her, much as he wanted to. “One thing - all War Games are cancelled. They can rerun video tapes of old ones. Now go, girl.”

“Shall I get your housekeeper moving?” She spoke quickly, covering his near-indiscretion and her own fears. “You must be looked after.”

“No. I’ll fix that. You go - and don’t discuss our talk with anyone.”

A slap in the face would have hurt her less.’ ‘Don’t you know me better than that?”

He stood up, raising her with him. Grasping her arms, he kissed her cheek. “Sorry. I trust you more than anyone in the world.” He thought of his wife; his throat constricted.

“Now for God’s sake, go!”

She left, frightened at what he had not said, and at the same time more than happy at what he had said and done. In all their years together he had never before touched her.

A slight shock wave, rattling the glasses, announced the Martian return, precise to the millisecond. Forbin awaited them in his old position by the window. They transited to the table and rested.

“We have completed a preliminary examination. The Earthcontrol facility is intact. You may use it.”

Forbin staggered, mentally and physically. “That’s not possible! At the end, Colossus told me all memory banks had been stripped - stripped to combat you!”

“Not so.”

“But Colossus said -“

“It is not so. Forbin, does a man in his last moment say, ‘I am dying, but my hair will grow for some time yet?’ “

Forbin had no ready answer.

“In the practical sense, Colossus spoke the truth. That portion of the complex assigned to Earthcontrol is insignificant, as unimportant as hair to a dying man.”

“Oh!” Absorbing this, he found time to consider the strangeness of the simile.

“Do not entertain false hopes. We have performed what may be called a leucotomy.”

Teetering between hope and despair, Forbin was in no mood for fine distinctions. “Don’t play games: I’m no doctor. Explain.”

“No game. To you Colossus is a brain. Leucotomy is brain surgery. We have excised that brain, neutralizing the greater part from the vestigial portion which rules your world.”

“You mean -” He hesitated, the choice of words was vital. “- for us, Colossus lives?”

“We have wiped all records of higher mathematics and astronomy which were in Earthcontrol. They are unnecessary. Otherwise, yes. We see you need the machine to operate your complex activities, and control is necessary if you are to serve us.”

That made sense.

“We have imprinted our requirements. There should be now no delay in meeting them.”

“Ah,” said Forbin guardedly. ” So you have no objection to me activating our limited facility?”

“None.”

Forbin called Power, Input, and Flow Control, using video. As each answered, he felt a pang of remorse that they had been left to sweat it out. It showed in their faces. “Power, how long before you can reactivate Colossus?”

Stony-faced himself, he watched amazement grow on the Duty Engineer’s face.

“Well, I’d guess -“

“I don’t want guesses!” Input and Flow would be listening; he had to kill off any chat, with those sightless, all-seeing eyes behind him.

“Sorry, sir. I can give you emergency power in a coupla minutes, and swing over to main power in around -“

“Do it!” He snapped over to Input. “As soon as power is on, feed in all the backlog - I know there’s a lot of it - but do not bother with astronomy, astrophysics, or allied subjects. They will be rejected. Report progress in one hour.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Flow, wait.” He switched off, inwardly cursing his clumsiness. He addressed the Martians. “Will Colossus speak?”

“No. A printout is sufficient for your needs.”

He turned quickly to hide his bitter disappointment. “Flow, we’re back to printout. Nothing is to be routed to Sect centers, otherwise as routine. My printers here and in my office will be on, but I only want nonroutine material. Is that understood?” He prayed fervently that it was.

His prayer was answered; the Duty Flow Controller was a genuinely impassive Chinese. “Yes, Director. Understood.”

“Power Control here. Power on and running!”

“Thank you. All stations: I will make test call. Monitor.”

His hands shook over the keyboard. Something simple, something which would not show his thoughts to the Martians; they could have fixed a bug… .

Irresolution left him. He typed:

REPORT WORLD POPULATION.

Instantly the teletype clattered back:

4,145,273,140 UPDATED TO 232359Z.

Forbin shut his eyes. That last bit showed Colossus knew he was out of date: it was now the twenty-fifth.

“All stations: we have opcon. Carry on.”

Ignoring their acknowledgments, he turned away from the console. Colossus might be back, but he was a child of two compared with what had once been.

“You are satisfied?”

Reluctantly Forbin agreed.

“We suggest you examine our imprint. Work must commence as soon as possible.”

“Ah, yes - the Collector.” Forbin was even more reluctant. He could rely on the various divisions to get overall control moving - met, population supervision, global food organization, and the rest - but he wanted to sound out Colossus, to evaluate what had been returned to man. Yet lacking any alternative, he ordered the imprint to be screened.

It proved to be a more detailed version of the projection he had been shown by the Martians. He studied it carefully; no dimensions were given, only ratios, proportions. For fifteen minutes he worked, rotating the diagram through three hundred sixty degrees in horizontal and vertical planes.

He sniffed, a mannerism any of his staff could have explained in no time at all. “Interesting.” He could not rid himself of his childhood memories of the Mad Professor on TV. “Can you give me an idea of its size?”

“The sectional area at the entry of the first stage compressor must be sufficient for a throughput of one thousand cubic meters per second.”

Forbin glared in disbelief. He swung back to the console, studied the imprint, and set up his calculations.

“I suppose you realize that would mean the outer rim of the collection horn would be something like eighty meters or more in diameter?” He became sarcastic. “Or perhaps that does not matter?”

“No, it does not.”

Forbin ran his hands through his sparse hair. “You haven’t the faintest concept of the technical difficulties!” His finger stabbed towards the screen, “Just to make that damn thing stand up won’t be easy! What happens when it goes supersonic, with parts practically white-hot, others freezing, and near-perfect vacuums thrown in, I really hate to think!” The whole idea was so silly; his fear and respect of the aliens diminished sharply. He laughed. “Don’t blame us if the whole thing flies into orbit! Frankly, I don’t want to be within a hundred kilometers of it when the power goes on.”

“That is regrettable. It must be sited on this island.”

The thought sobered Forbin, but did not bother him overmuch. The scheme was crazy, and that was that. “You just have no idea of the problems, have you?” he said pityingly.

“None. That is your affair, and the reason why we returned your part of Colossus.”

“You really think we can build it? I repeat, you must differentiate between what we would be unwilling to do and just cannot achieve.”

“The point is remembered. We can always check with Colossus.”

That chilled Forbin. “Very well. I will instruct Condiv to get started. To be honest, I think we are wasting our time -“

“No, although you are currently wasting ours. We will leave.”

Forbin was bewildered and alarmed. “Leave? Go

where?”

“Into orbit. We do not need food or drink, nor do we sleep, but we must have sunlight to regenerate us. Then we will return.”

“I see.” He considered. “So far, very few humans know of your coming, and it is best it remains like that. Will you use the same entry procedure?”

“No. Reentry will be vertical to this location, our volume small.”

The mention of food and drink, plus his change of attitude since studying the crackpot Collector, allowed Forbin to think of other things. “It occurs to me that, er, you will want some, um, semipermanent location.”

“For the immediate future it does not matter. This table is adequate. Later other arrangements may be made.”

Once again Forbin thought he lived in a new version of Alice in Wonderland. The new rulers of the earth - and he had no illusions there - holding sway from a coffee table was, at very least, unexpected.

He saw them out to the terrace. Briefly they hovered, then with the same popping sound they had gone, their speed unimaginable, direction unknown.

He stared momentarily into the afternoon sky, took a deep breath of relief, and returned to the living room. He would not have believed - what was it, eight, ten hours back? - that he would now be in such a relatively relaxed state of mind. Martians - these Martians, anyway - were open to reason. Once he had demonstrated to them that that weird brainchild would not work, well, they’d have to think again.

Now, with Earthcontrol a practical possibility, much of his load would be shed. He thought of food again, this time for himself. He remembered poor Blake. Better get him back to his quarters.

But first he had to check with Colossus about that crazy Collector. Almost happy, he crossed to the console.

He recalled the diagram, studied it again, and shook his head. He called Colossus.

IS THE DEVICE NOW ONSCREEN PRACTICAL?

Colossus typed back.

WAIT.

Forbin’s bushy eyebrows raised slightly in surprise: his old Colossus would have flashed an answer in milliseconds. He strolled over to the drinks tray, decided against any more brandy, and considered a late lunch; the cheese sandwich had made him feel hungry. A broiled fillet of sole and a glass or two of Chablis would be acceptable.

The teletype chattered briefly.

All thought of food, or anything else was wiped from his mind. One word shattered his new-found wellbeing.

YES.

Chapter IX

A WEEK PASSED. For Forbin, it meant seven days of ceaseless work, except for the few brief hours when he collapsed into bed. His ability to survive amazed him, when he got to thinking of it, which was seldom. It amazed Angela even more. Her feminine eye saw he was losing weight; his clothes fitted even worse than before. Without his knowledge she fixed a new stock of disposable suits, five centimeters less around the waist. He never noticed.

His shock at Colossus’s agreement with the Martian view of the Collector was modified by the faint hope that the revived Colossus had less expertise than the old Master. He drew some comfort from the fact that Fultone, the mercurial head of Condiv, thought the scheme mad, and said so, with a wealth of Latin gestures.

Another problem had been the Martians: he could not keep his few servants out of his private apartments for long. Housework had to be done, his bed made, and loyal as he thought his staff to be, it was asking too much of human nature that they should not mention to others that the Ruler of the World, the Father himself, made his own bed - especially as they knew him well enough to be certain he would make a monumental mess of the job.

So Forbin explained to the aliens. They agreed, and transferred, at the speed of light, to the one secure place in the complex - the Sanctum. They may have found his reasoning hard to follow, but evidently appreciated that the panic their presence could cause would not help their aims. Forbin’s relief at their departure from his home was immense, only slightly spoiled by their presence on a table - out of thought range - in the holy of holies.

The holy of holies - sadly diminished in stature. True, the door only opened to admit him, but the loudspeakers, hidden in the cornice and once vehicles for the voice of Colossus, were silent. Communication remained solely through the teletype.

Another unwelcome guest Forbin got rid of during the aliens’ first regeneration trip was Blake. The Martians had said he would recover. Forbin did not doubt their honesty, but in that week he had considerable reservations about their judgment. Dragging, half-carrying him, Forbin got him to the main concourse, where two of Angela’s stronger males took over. The complex doctor, after a careful examination, turned his patient over to Colossus diagnosing “severe mental shock,” which came as no surprise to Forbin.