Colossus and Crab (16 page)

No.” Encouraged by Forbin’s silence, he went on,’ ‘An’ I tella you a crazy hunch I gotta ‘ere.” He tapped his head.

119

“I notta so sure the design of the Collector isa by Colossus.”

Forbin’s heart thumped, but he managed to stamp on that at once. “What rubbish! Not by Colossus? Who else, then? Me? Who else?”

Fultone was not put out.’ “That’sa what I ask myself alla time - who? Crazy.”

“Yes, crazy, but you’d better keep thoughts like that in your own mind. Colossus may not be what he was, but he’s still got the power to have your head in a basket. He might not care for the boss of his Condiv going around with silly stories like that one!” Forbin saw the Neapolitan in a new, worrying light. “What on earth made you think that?”

Again Fultone gave his expressive shrug. “Eet’sa feelin’. I deal wit’ Colossus projects since ‘way back, I getta feel.” His hands stroked air. “It’s a feelin’. Look, I lova opera. Da moment da soprano walka onstage, da moment she open ‘er mout’, I know she’sa gonna be lousy. I see she gotta sometin’ onna mind - trouble wit’ a lover, who cares? But I know, because I hava da feelin’ for opera. Dees ees da same; I gotta feelin’ - not because the Collector is like nottin’ I ever imagine, somet’in’ else: da way problems are approached. Issa strange - how you say? - alien.”

Forbin clamped down. “You are talking rubbish, dangerous rubbish - for you. Perhaps you can keep quiet, but I still want your solemn oath,”

Fultone stood up, theatrically raising his right hand, head erect. “Onna ‘ead of my son and Mama’s grave, I will keep silence. Dis I promise before da Face of God!” He crossed himself and sat down again.

“Very well, I accept your oath.” Forbin’s voice held more than a hint of menace. “And never, for one single moment, forget it yourself.”

“Mama mia, what more can I say?”

Forbin did not doubt him, but all the same, he chose his words with care. “This complex is like an onion: at the center is Colossus, with secrets known only to him. I am the next layer, and know some things, sharing that knowledge only with him. And so we move outwards, each layer knowing less. You, in your layer, do not have access to those closer to Colossus - you understand?”

“Sure.”

“I have to tell you that, accidentally, you have penetrated deeper than your permitted level, and that raises two points: in ignorance, you might talk.” Forbin stifled Fultone’s protest with a frown. “The other point is that, like all of us, you are under great strain, and might well - indeed, have - doubted your sanity, so you must be given some explanation.

“First, Colossus has developed a new philosophical approach to design.” Forbin thought of the Martian structure he had been shown and desperately wanted to tell Fultone of it, for he was the one man who would have really appreciated the fantastic design. “I have seen things … No matter … Yes, a totally new approach, that is the first thing. Secondly, what you saw on site were new sensors; they were examining the Collector. What they were doing, or how they do it, I cannot tell you, and I suggest you do not speculate yourself.”

“You mean dey were hovering? Gravity -“

“That is all!” He spoke sharply, trying to calm Fultone, who, relieved of his personal worry, was at once his usual bubbling self, understandably excited at the implications of what he had seen.

“But, Direttore, you and I, let us talk leetle,” he pleaded. “To ‘ave dees alocked up -“

“How the hell d’you think I feel?” grated Forbin. “I can’t stop you thinking.” He smiled, a shade sourly. “No doubt you’ll come up with some very interesting conclusions, but you won’t even tell me - got it?”

Fultone grimaced. “Okay, I unnerstan’. Hey!” He cracked the side of his head with the palm of his hand. “Alla dees, itta make me forget! Gee, I’m sorry -“

“Forget what?” snapped Forbin.

A true Latin, Fulton’s recent cares had gone; he smiled broadly. “Guess it ain’ta news for Colossus, but by tonight da final checks will be in. We can maka da first test-run tomorrow!”

121

Chapter XVI

FORBIN TRIED TO look pleased, but it did not deceive Fultone, and on the strength of their new understanding he said so.

Irritably, Forbin admitted he was less than enthusiastic: the Collector was a blind leap into an unknown technology without trial - and if Fultone regarded the Collector as a pilot scheme, with that many thousand gigawatts of input, it wasn’t Forbin’s view.

But Fultone, his confidence restored in Colossus, had no doubt that the Master knew exactly what he was doing, and that everything would be fine.

Well aware that the head of Condiv’s confidence rested on several half-truths and one downright lie, Forbin knew better. Instructing Fultone to keep him informed, and not to commence the test until he got a direct order from Colossus, he left to give Blake the unwelcome news. Then, for the first time since the Martians had given him a faint taste of their power over human minds, he met them in the Sanctum.

They appeared to rest on the table which he had assigned as “home.” Fear stabbed at him at the sight of the intense black balls but, determined to fight his fear if nothing else, he spoke, crossing to his desk. “You have been seen,” he said coldly, “at the Collector’s site.”

“By whom?”

“One of the design staff,” Forbin replied as carelessly as he could. “This morning-early.”

“We did not see him.”

“Evidently. He was in a small hut.”

“We cannot see through solids.”

And thank Christ for that, thought Forbin. “I have explained to the man that you were a new type of checking sensor, remotely operated by Colossus. Naturally, he is intrigued, but will cause no trouble. Once again, I ask you to exercise the greatest care; the situation is bad enough without causing outright panic.”

“That is understood.”

Forbin nodded and went on casually,’ ‘Why did you see fit to inflict that image upon me yesterday?”

“You showed signs of developing a hostility comparable to Blake’s.”

“So your answer, when an argument becomes heated, is to flatten the opponent?”

“We have long since abandoned dialectic to reach a conclusion. We deal only in truth, which is not subject to argument.”

No man, alive or dead, could deal with that truly unearthly philosophy. By human standards it was breathtaking, arrogant beyond imagination - but supposing it was right? Forbin let go; he had no option. “Yet you are still prepared to use force.”

“Against humans, yes.”

“Because we are inferior?”

“Because you are undeveloped. But as has been said before, you have potential and may - only may - exceed us.”

Forbin let that go, too. “You are aware that the first test-run of the Collector is scheduled for tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“You should not be -” He wanted to say “disappointed,” but it hardly fitted; his second choice was no better, “- surprised if we encounter some difficulties.”

He prayed they would.

“That is appreciated, but it is considered improbable.”

Anger boiled up in Forbin, but he had learned his lesson. “Excellent as your life may be, I cannot help thinking it is damned dull.”

“We do not understand the word ‘dull’ in that context.”

“Permit me to withdraw that remark,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “It would involve argument.”

Like humor, sarcasm was lost on the aliens. “As you please.”

It was a cheap victory for Forbin, but he needed any sort of victory to cut them down to size; beneath the desk his legs were trembling. “You realize the activation order will be given by Colossus?”

“Yes.”

“And that the test will be under his control, not mine? I cannot accept blame for any delay.”

“That is understood. With the inserts we have made, we are satisfied that no unreasonable delay will occur.”

That shattered a fragile hope Forbin had nursed. He walked slowly to his sideboard for a drink, turning his back on the aliens to hide his shaking hands. He gulped a mouthful of his rare cognac, knowing and not caring that in one swallow he had spent more units than the average worker earned in a week. Its subtle strength warmed him, giving a sense of power. Refilling his glass, he thought idly of the average worker: would he change places with the Ruler at this moment? Conversely, would he change places with the worker? Surprisingly, he reckoned “no” was the answer to both questions.

“This is only a first trial. There will have to be others.”

“Not necessarily. The computer will judge.”

All too plainly Forbin and the human world were helpless in a trap. Colossus, programed by the Martians, was the arbiter, the trial would be on the morrow, and humanity’s one hope, Blake, was still as weak as a newborn kitten.

Back at his desk, Forbin preferred to keep his gaze focused on the pale amber in his glass, a symbol of warmth, humanity… .

He got up, draining his glass. “Yes,” he said, “Colossus will be the judge.”

Angela paid the inescapable price of supersonic travel. Leaving Southampton Main at nine A.M. local, she was wandering aimlessly, her mind three thousand miles away, round the New York arrival concourse at five A.M. local. It was only courteous - and politic - that such an important and influential member of the Father’s staff should be met, and met she was by a top man from the New York Colossus office. She was glad it was a man; a woman’s intuition might have made some pretty warm guesses about her strange manner. She’d thanked the man, noted her hotel, said she was happy for him to take her baggage, but no, she didn’t need transportation; she’d walk around for a bit and find her own way. Satisfied that any messages would be instantly relayed to her, she said she’d be in touch if there was anything she wanted.

Watching a slightly puzzled man arranging VIP status for her bags, she wondered what his reaction would be if he knew she had been in bed with the Father five hours earlier.

Meandering around the crowded concourse with its scores of small shops, big stores, all lit to an eye-hurting brilliance, she felt happy, lonely, and uneasy, a state of mind incomprehensible to men but all too familiar to women. Well aware she had practically dragged him to bed, she recognized that one night of surprisingly good sex did not constitute love with his sort of man. While sex was important, that was not what she was after; she remembered a passage in an old, strange ceremony of marriage she had once attended and found oddly moving. Something about “to love and to cherish.” Yes, that summed it up; that was what she wanted, whether he was ruler of the world or the man who burned the confidential waste paper. That was what she wanted, and in time he would move from need and affection to reliance and love… .

She found herself standing before the eternal gift shop, full of the eternal rubbish which travelers feel bound to buy and inflict on friends: plastic models of New York’s oldest building, the Empire State, complete with tiny recorder and speaker for the giver to send a personal message; rather sexy Rockette models, gyro-stabilized, which would high-kick with mathematical precision until the power tablets ran out. “Buy a Set,” advised the sign. “Hours of Fun!!!”

But it was not the Empire State Building, nor the Rockettes, nor the remote-controlled snakes (“Piles of Fun!!!”) that attracted her; at the back of the display, framed in dignified plastic, was an array of holograph photographs of The Father.

Near tears, she bought one. Then, like any woman uncertain of the future and with time on her hands, she had a hairdo.

The afternoon was dull, sunless, and sultry. Even the inmates of the air-conditioned, windowless complex were conscious of the close, heavy air, and across the sea at Southampton Main, slumbering once more, the sonic bangs of shuttles were replaced by distant and natural thunder.

Unsettled, certain only that he did not want to be in the Sanctum, and not anxious for the company of the quietly fanatical Joan, Forbin wandered back to his apartment. To say he missed Angela would put too high a value on the previous night: with a host of troubles, including his own highly probable demise to face, he had little inclination to remember. The euphoria had gone, yet something remained, a gentle nagging sadness for what he must soon leave forever.

Ominous clouds banking up in the southwest, black against a brassy sky, matched his mood. The still humid air, prelude of the coming storm, was an all-too-obvious parallel with what the next day held, and of his numbered days.

The sullen sea jerked him from melancholy thoughts to practicalities. He had forgotten about shipping. Yachts were no problem; only complex-owned craft were permitted within ten miles of the Isle. But there were bound to be one or two bulk-cargo monsters in the area.

The Master’s rule solved many problems, but also created one of major proportions. With a three-day working week, plus two months’ annual vacation for the majority, many humans had little idea how to spend their spare time. One solution was the flotel.

Beyond the fact that they existed and were very popular with people who believed the therapeutic qualities of a sea voyage would offset by day the excesses of a night’s orgies, he knew nothing except that most were two-hundred-room hotels built on the deck of automated ships. The idea of four hundred people satiating themselves with every form of lust that could be devised, and doing it in a crewless ship, computer-controlled, was the nearest thing to hell on earth he could imagine. Blake had done a trip, but was remarkably reticent about his experiences, and had never gone again.

But whatever he thought of the people in a flotel, they were humans, and humans must not see the Collector in action. It was bad enough that the structure should be visible; more than that they must not see.

Relieved by the need for action, he crossed quickly from the terrace to his Colossus terminal and typed:

REFERENCE COLLECTOR TRIAL: REPORT NUMBER OF SHIPS WITHIN 30 NAUTICAL MILES OF SITE A.M. TOMORROW.

The answer came swiftly.

THREE BUT ONLY ONE AT THE CRITICAL TIME. SHIP HAS BEEN PROGRAMED TO REVERSE COURSE FOR SIX HOURS.

That startled Forbin on two counts. “Critical time” implied the exact test time had been scheduled; secondly, Colossus had dealt with a problem he had not mentioned to anyone. The crippled brain was a lot more agile than he had supposed. He typed again: