Colossus (18 page)

There was silence while Forbin searched for his pipe, then the Chief of Staff spoke.

“But what are they aiming at, what do they want?”

Forbin stopped patting his pockets. “The same question could be asked of people—and not answered. These machines exist, and maybe, with all human philosophy stacked in their guts, they’ve come up with some idea or plan. Maybe that is what all this high-speed exchange is about.” He found his pipe, tucked down the side of his chair. “I am sure on one point: We’ve lost control, and I don’t see much chance of us getting back on top. There is a half-idea in my mind, but I won’t raise any hopes until I have a chance to talk it over with Kupri and my own associates.”

The President stared squarely at Forbin; there was a nervous tic under one eye which Forbin had not seen before. “So it comes to this: the machines are our masters, and our defense rests on how they feel.”

Forbin rubbed his pipe against his nose. “Yes, that is about it, but you’ve missed one point. Colossus and Guardian are not on opposite sides. The ideological angle doesn’t exist for them. They probably see us as just so many ants.”

He breathed out smoke like a dragon and went on, “We have to accept that they’re in charge. If you think about it, we’ve been this way for a long time; computers control our factories, our agriculture, transport—road, air and sea—and most medical diagnosis. The only difference here is that we’ve given these two the power to punish disobedience. And remember— talking of these other everyday computers—given control of them, the two big boys could control production as well. Quite a thought. Then the only spheres in which we’d have an edge would be in art and emotion.” Forbin paused, gulped his drink.

“I can’t see that emotions will get a high rating,” observed the President gloomily.

“You may be right, but it’s an area of knowledge that they can’t grasp. The irrational quality will puzzle them.”

The President, who two hours earlier would have regarded Forbin as nuts, was now trying to understand.

“That may be so, but where does it get us?”

“Frankly, I don’t know,” confessed Forbin. “I only say they don’t understand, and I don’t think they’ll like any field of knowledge to be closed to them—particularly when this irrational quality is demonstrably the mainspring of us, their creators. They’ll see it as a power source, which in a way it is.”

“Um,” said the President, unconvinced. “Is all this connected with that half-idea you have?”

“Not really. I’ve just been thinking that we might try gradually to render all the warheads safe when missiles come up for servicing—maybe fit dummy warheads. But there could also be an angle on the emotional side.”

The President slammed the desk with his fist “It’s all goddam crazy! Here we are, thousands of millions of dollars spent, and almost within twenty-four hours we’re scheming how to take the things to pieces!”

“Maybe we’re sounding off too soon,” replied Forbin. “We need time badly, and that’s the one thing we don’t have. But what there is, we must use to get organized, to get our minds rolling again.”

“You make it sound as if there’s more to come!” The mere thought made the President drain his glass.

“Well,” said Forbin, slowly, “I can’t see things staying this way. It’s possible—oh, hell—I just don’t know.”

The President was about to speak when the red light came on. Carruther’s sharp voice assailed their ears. “Mr. President, Bishop’s back. Your TV address is fixed for 11:30, forty-six minutes from—” there was a short pause—”now!”

The President was grateful to be back in a world he understood. “Right—send my wife in. Cameras can come in five minutes before the telecast.”

“Sir!” The light snapped off.

“There’s a hell of a lot to be said for good old-fashioned Navy training,” observed the President.

Bishop had found the correct dye, and with impersonal efficiency the President was hustled into the bathroom by his wife. Forbin called Fisher, and filled him in on the situation. As he talked, his eyes roamed round the gracious white and gold of the room, a relic of a time unbelievably remote.

“Jack, I want you or Cleo to get on to Grauber at CIA, ask him to let me have any information he’s got on Guardian. I don’t think Kupri will pull any fast ones, but I want to have as much collateral as possible before I talk with him. I have in mind fixing a meeting to really talk. Tell Grauber I won’t call Kupri before the President’s address, so he has that much time to get any information to me here.” Forbin sounded casual, and became even more casual as he went on. “How’s Cleo? Good, put her on. Cleo, dear, how are you? Fine, fine. Don’t worry too much, somehow we’ll get by.” He lowered his voice instinctively. “How is Fisher? Yes, I see. Well, do what you can to keep him happy. See you soon.”

Forbin felt unwarrantably happy as he rang off, and opened a fresh bottle of the Presidential Scotch. He knew he was coasting, not moving as he should, but his strained nerves screamed for relaxation, if only for a few brief minutes. He was very tired, almost past caring. He found himself thinking idly of Prytzkammer, reduced from a smart, urbane man of the world to a whimpering wreck, then a huddled-up corpse, as undistinguished as a bundle of dirty washing …

And then he heard the teletype again.

PROVIDE MONITORING FACILITIES ON HEADS OF STATE PRIVATE TELEPHONE

Forbin stared at the message. This really was it. The machines were after full control. “Of what?” and “Why?” were profitless questions at this time.

Even as he strove to concentrate on his immediate action, Colossus peremptorily demanded an acknowledgement. He swore childishly to himself. He must have time, time to talk to Kupri before the line was monitored—there was no question of refusing the demand. The insistent pinging of a phone registered slowly in his mind; still staring at the machine, he picked up the instrument. It was Cleo, anxious to know why Forbin had not answered Colossus. Suddenly Forbin saw the answer.

“Cleo, listen. I must gain time to talk to Kupri. You answer. Say that I alone can order the facilities required, and that I’m out of touch. I’ll watch at this end. Stall as long as you can.” He rang off without waiting for her to reply, and, being unable to remember which button to press, ran out to the aide’s office, meeting the basilisk stare of Captain Carruthers.

“Captain, get me Kupri, K U P R I, on the hot line at once. Time is very short.”

The Navy man’s eyes probed the Professor coldly. Although the aide knew full well only the President had the authority to originate a call, he hesitated but briefly, then reached for the red phone. “I’ll call as soon as I have him.”

“Hurry!” called Forbin as he ran back to the teletype. Colossus had just sent

ACKNOWLEDGE FORTHWITH

It was up to Cleo now. Automatically, Forbin started hunting for his pipe. Cleo had taken over.

MESSAGE ACKNOWLEDGED

Instantly Colossus flashed back

WHO SENT ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Forbin nodded to himself. Colossus had recognized that it was not Forbin sending. There were a half-dozen ways this could be done; Forbin’s clumsy typing was the most obvious, then there was the microsecond difference in the time of transmission, the different key relays. The interesting, chilling point was that, as Forbin had feared, Colossus was checking on these details.

MESSAGE WAS ACKNOWLEDGED BY COLOSSUS PROGRAM OFFICE

Forbin could guess the next question; he just had time to see his forecast confirmed before answering the phone.

IS FORBIN THERE

But there was no time to see how Cleo made out with that one. He grabbed the hotline phone.

“Is that Kupri?”

“Yes.” The clear unemotional voice seemed very close. “Look, Kupri, I have just had a demand from Colossus to monitor this line. I have my office stalling as long as they can, but this may be our final chance to talk. I haven’t had time to formulate any concrete proposals, but I think we should arrange a meeting, away from our own capitals, somewhere quiet.”

“A meeting is a good suggestion. I do not think we want a place too small or quiet—I suggest London; it is off the beaten track, yet quite busy …”

“OK, make it London,” cut in Forbin impatiently.

The Russian continued, quite unruffled by Forbin’s manner. “As for this demand for monitoring, I have not had a similar message from Guardian, and if I do not receive such a demand, I think we can assume that the machines have integrated their intelligence intake.”

“Quite probably,” said Forbin, without much interest. “Right now I would like to put to you, while we have the chance, the very rough idea that we might be able to neutralize the machines by virtually sabotaging their weapons. With the Colossus setup, we have a fixed program of servicing and replacement of missiles. It’s probably the same with you. Speaking from memory, I think it takes five years to work round the whole lot. In that time we could gradually replace warheads with dummies, or at least render the detonator systems safe—”

Kupri broke in, a trace of irony in his voice. “It is perhaps possible, but we would both have to trust each other a great deal more than our nations have done in the past.”

“Yes, I know that, but we could meet that point by exchanging supervisors to work with our respective servicing teams.”

“There are other difficulties,” began Kupri, but Forbin, pushed still more by the sound of the teletype in the background, exploded.

“Hell’s teeth! Either mankind works together, or we submit to the rule of machines! You, of all people, must know this.” Forbin fought momentarily within himself and went on in a more reasonable tone. “It’s only a suggestion—if you can do better, I’ll be only too glad to hear it.”

“It may be that neutralization is the only answer,” the Russian replied. “I will discuss this with our Chairman and also seek his permission for the London meeting. Since we will not have another chance, I suggest we make arrangements now for that meeting, but before we do so, are there any other matters you wish to raise?”

The Russian’s calmness annoyed Forbin, who again had to hold himself in check.

“No,” he said shortly. He paused, then went on, “We both agree that the machines will not like us meeting. It has to be clandestine, so how do we communicate?”

“Subject to the Chairman’s approval,” said Kupri cautiously, “I will travel as part of a trade group joining our mission in London. I will be a secretary, too minor in position to be of interest to your intelligence. My name will be Matutin, I. K. Matutin.”

“Matutin,” repeated Forbin. “How do I know the date of our meeting?”

“Listen to our evening TV transmission for England—evening their time, that is. The movement of our trade group will be mentioned in the newscast in two days’ time, the 7th, and the date of that group’s arrival in London will be the date for our meeting, or as soon as is possible for you after that date. When you get to London, ring our mission and ask for Matutin. All you need say is “‘What time do we meet, Matutin?’ and I will tell you, nothing else.” Kupri stopped. “Is that clear so far?”

It struck Forbin that Kupri was remarkably well versed in clandestine activities, but forbore to mention it. Kupri went on to give recognition details and the rendezvous—Hyde Park, at the western end of the Serpentine. Forbin repeated the details back to him.

“That is correct,” said Kupri. “I would suggest you try to avoid your own security forces. Try not to be escorted by them—who knows where their routine reports may end up?”

“I don’t get it,” said Forbin. The teletype was still going intermittently.

“Come,” answered Kupri reproachfully, “consider—is there not a possibility that there is a foreign agent in the Secret Service or the FBI? I do not say there is, but you cannot rule it out.”

Forbin knew he was right, and a new wave of helplessness engulfed him. “OK,” he replied wearily, “I guess so. I’ll watch it.”

“Good-bye then, Professor.” The calm detached voice softened fractionally. “Do not be too depressed, we have not lost yet.”

“I guess so,” repeated Forbin. “Good-bye.”

He replaced the receiver and carefully noted down the details of his rendezvous. He looked up as the President stumped in, his hair aggressively brown. Forbin took it in at a glance and passed on to more important matters.

“I have just been on to Kupri on the hot line.” Forbin knew, against his will, he sounded defensive. “Colossus wants—demands—a tap on that line, and it’s not hard to see why.” “I get the idea.” The President nodded. “So?”

“So I took this last chance to give him a rough outline of my idea to neutralize the hardware. There’s a lot that would need to be discussed, and perhaps someone will come up with a brighter idea. Anyway, I’ve arranged a covert meeting with him.” He explained the plan.

“Why so secret? You think Colossus might object?”

“I’m sure of it. Bluntly, the machines are more interested in Kupri and me than you or the Chairman. Their view clearly is that machines are more important than people; your concern is with people, ours is with machines—it’s as simple as that.”

The President gave a faint, unfunny, twisted grin, but did not speak. There was no need.

Forbin didn’t pursue the subject, but crossed to the teletype and tore off the messages. It looked as if Cleo had been holding her own. He picked up the exchange where he had left off:

IS FORBIN THERE

Cleo had answered

FROM CPO NO

Inevitably Colossus had come back with

WHERE IS HE

FROM CPO WAIT WILL TRY TO FIND OUT

Forbin nodded approvingly. Cleo was not giving a fraction more than had been asked. Five minutes had been gained while she was “finding out.”

FROM CPO PROFESSOR FORBIN IN WASHINGTON UNWELL AFTER RECENT EVENTS NOT TAKING CALLS

Forbin stopped nodding at that one.

IMPERATIVE MESSAGE BE PASSED AT ONCE

Cleo, greatly daring, had replied

HUMANS MUST REST MESSAGE WILL BE PASSED IN ONE HOUR CHECK YOUR MEMORY BANK ON FATIGUE/STRAIN

Forbin hardly dared to look at Colossus’ answer.

FORBIN IS TO BE ON LINE AT 1711 GMT

The time check, printed down the side of the sheet, showed that Colossus made that message at 1610’ GMT—giving Forbin precisely one hour, one minute. It was cheering to think that Colossus was not completely unreasonable, yet that very flexibility was staggering … He glanced at his watch; he had nearly an hour—to do what? Cleo had stalled, but only stalled, Colossus. He must make the most of the time gained. First he must call her.