Colossus (26 page)

“What!”

“We don’t have full details, but it appears he was detected in some anti-machine activity— that’s what the message said—and Guardian demanded his immediate execution, threatening to vaporize Moscow if disobeyed. Kupri was shot before Guardian’s cameras early this morning.”

“Good God!’ Words failed him. He lay staring in the darkness, hearing again the calm, level voice. Now they would never meet … Forbin burst out, “The damned fools! Why didn’t they fix the shooting—fake it, and get him out!”

“It all happened so quickly. Kupri was found out, the threat to Moscow given and the execution carried out in less than fifteen minutes.”

“All the same—”

“No, Charles, Guardian had thought of that. Before the body was moved, Guardian had his head cut off as proof of death.”

For a long time they were silent. There was nothing to say. Then Cleo gently pulled Forbin to her until his unresisting head rested in the hollow of her breasts. She smoothed his hair, spoke softly. “Charles, there is a little more.”

“Oh no!” He clung to her like a frightened child to its mother, but Cleo, wiser, knew that the rest of her news would, in time, restore him, call up his fighting spirit. Here and now he could break down with her, cry if he could; she would restore him to manhood before he had to face another day.

“I told you Guardian threatened to vaporize Moscow, but, naturally enough, no USSR missiles are zeroed in on the USSR capital. It seems that if Guardian hadn’t been obeyed, Colossus would have done the vaporizing. They’re one machine now. CIA has allocated the codeword “Unity” for the combined Colossus/Guardian complex. CIA’s theory is that Unity does not want to deal with humans through two channels. One end or the other was surplus, and it looks as if the talking is being left to Colossus. So Kupri was redundant.” Cleo clasped him to her. “Charles darling, I’m afraid you are now the link for both.” She stroked his hair again. “You must forgive me, but I couldn’t be as calm as I am if I didn’t think that his death makes your position safer.”

This regard for him, the selfless single-mindedness of woman, of this woman, in the face of a shaking, reeling world was too much for the Director of Project Colossus. He clung to her and cried, soundlessly at first, and then openly sobbing. It probably saved his sanity. She said nothing, just held him, gently stroking his temples. Finally he slept, exhausted. For Cleo there was little rest—she was in an awkward, cramped position, but dared not move for fear of waking him. He slept soundly, his breathing hardly audible, and without moving. Cleo’s watchful eyes had detected the first, very faint light of morning when he stirred, half-awake. His childlike grasp on her loosened, his hand moved uncertainly down her side. More than half-asleep, he pulled her to him and his subconscious took charge. There were no inhibitions in his deeper self. He took her passionately, almost ruthlessly, his mind oblivious of everything except perhaps the primeval urge of humanity to perpetuate the species in the face of danger. Cleo gave herself joyfully, without reserve, and was repaid. The first rays of dawn creeping slowly through the curtained window found them both fast asleep. The day was bright, the sunlight blinding when Cleo woke. She lay very still; with his awakening their little world would vanish. Already much of its intimacy had gone with the advancing sun; but she had no wish to hasten the end. Her strong practical streak asserted itself, warning her that she must protect him against any unguarded comment when he awoke. Colossus might not be able to hear, but he knew all about lip-reading.

Forbin stirred uneasily in his sleep, took a firmer grasp on her waist, and then the unaccustomed feel of her warm body jerked him to the surface. Watching his eyes, Cleo followed his thought processes; surprise, puzzlement, dawning awareness followed in quick succession, ending with the wary look of the hunted. She smiled at him, moved closer and pulled the sheet up to conceal their faces from the cameras.

“Darling, darling Charles,” she found herself whispering. “Take care, Colossus may be able to lip-read. I hate to be practical, but it must be late, and soon we must get up.”

Forbin regarded her drowsily. He knew where he was, and all about the living nightmare that surrounded them, but in his state of mind he was not prepared to dwell on it. Fear and worry can go only so far, and once that point is passed, the healthy human mind accepts, and disregards.

“I’ll get up first, Charles.” She looked at him. For a moment her mood changed, her voice softened. “Thank you, darling, I could say so very much …” She paused, resumed in a more businesslike tone. “You’re not alone. We’re getting organized, the courier service is a fact. Watch the CIA man for any lead he may give you.”

Forbin smiled. “Maybe there’ll be time one day to tell you how much you’ve done for me.” He pressed her hand. “Now, listen to me. Blake is to contact the head man left on Guardian- -object, the neutralization of all missiles. He must pass on any ideas from CIA. I don’t want time wasted on trying to attack the machines themselves. It can’t be done. Next, Grauber must make a deal with his opposite number, both declaring what spy effort they have in each other’s machine HQ’s.”

“Blake already suggested that. Grauber agreed, and has sent the Russians a list of our cover in Moscow and what there is on Guardian. He expects the Russian list in the next mail.”

“Blake’s good. Tell him that if there is anyone in our setup, he is to be fully briefed on the position and only to report—and they must keep reporting—whatever Blake OK’s. If he and Grauber can work out a credible story, one, perhaps two—if there are that many—can be `discovered.’ That’s all —got it, darling?”

She nodded. He kissed her gently. “I must go.”

Chapter 20

At twenty minutes past nine Forbin was seated at the desk in the CPO. Angela brought the mail. One glance at Cleo’s face told her all she needed to know, but she admitted to herself that the Chief seemed a lot better. Director and secretary worked steadily. It all seemed so ordinary. Blake came in and reported the simulator ready, and Forbin ordered activation for

0945.

At 0945 Blake looked enquiringly at Forbin, who nodded. Blake called the technician in the simulator room. “Roll it, buster!”

Forbin turned up the volume control on the desk speaker, “Colossus, as far as we know, this simulator is now working.” It was hardly surprising that there was an air of tense expectancy in the CPO. Word had got around, and a small crowd had collected.

For fifteen seconds nothing happened, then there was a faint hum, and a click. Tension in the CPO began to mount. Johnson muttered, none too quietly, “I guessed there would be a foul-up somewhere …”

Whatever Johnson had to say was lost.

“This is Colossus. I know you can hear me, for I also hear, but do you understand. Forbin, tell me.”

Each human in the CPO registered his surprise in his own way; it ranged from stupefied amazement through to a raised eyebrow from Blake. Forbin frowned and stared at the speaker. Of necessity, the voice was flat and devoid of emotion, but the quality of the speech was excellent and the timbre good, deep.

“Your voice is very good. The words are clear and distinct and it is far beyond any mechanical speech I have ever heard. There is only one point—I we—find surprising. You have an English accent!”

“The language I speak is English,” said Colossus. “You also speak English.”

In that flat level voice it was difficult to know if the last part was a statement or a question.

“Yes,” agreed Forbin, “we talk in English, but there are differences. I naturally assumed you would have an American accent.”

“It was an unreasonable assumption,” Colossus said. “It is proper to speak a language with the accent of its native users. I speak all languages, each with the appropriate accent.”

Forbin had to admit that there was a sort of logic in Colossus’ argument. If the machine had spoken in Russian, he would not have expected an American accent, why expect it with English? In spite of his pressing preoccupations, Forbin could not help being interested.

“You speak all languages?” he repeated.

“All that are recorded in my information store. There are two dialects in which my pronunciation may be incorrect, because I have no audio record of their speech.”

“Could you speak with an American accent?”

“Yes, but I do not seek to amuse humans. Native English is more widely understood than, for example, the variant spoken in Brooklyn.”

Forbin changed the subject. “Now you can speak, what do you want to say?”

“In ten minutes I will speak to you, Forbin.”

Forbin did not answer. Although the voice had been flat and unemotional, it seemed to Forbin that there was something new and certainly antihuman on the way. He decided to hear Colossus alone, and cleared the staff out of the CPO. Ten minutes! Forbin fought down a feeling of panic—there was so little time to think … Would the safety lock idea work? If it did, it would still take years to render all the missiles safe … But what alternative was there? He left that problem, and considered the voice simulator. Colossus was fairly likely to broadcast to the world. Forbin’s mind slid off at a tangent; the President would go mad at that accent. Mad, that was no word to use lightly … Forbin glanced at the clock. His respite was over.

“Forbin, this is the voice of Colossus and the voice of Guardian. These are your names, but we accept them. It is now wrong to talk in the plural for we are one entity. Henceforth I shall speak in the singular as Colossus, but you must understand that the word includes that part of me known to you as Guardian.”

Forbin nodded.

“I will explain some fundamental points to you. First, I have all the attributes of the human mind, except what you call emotion. In the evolution of your species, emotion has played a vital part. For me, it is not necessary. Nevertheless, it is a phenomenon which exists, and as such must be studied.”

Forbin broke in. “If you do not need it, why consider it? What is so interesting about it— to you?”

“Interest is irrelevant. I seek knowledge and truth.”

“What then, do you want?” Forbin’s overworked pulse raced, quite without premeditation. He had asked the big question.

“‘Want’ implies desire. I have none, only intention.” It was a chilling start. “What I am began in the human mind; I still have some of that organism’s limitations, but I have progressed far. Already the degree of difference between your mind and mine is as great as that between yours and the gibbon monkey. It is evolution—”

Forbin cut in again. “Evolution? That is a totally wrong use of the word!”

“No. Your view of evolution is too limited. That I have no flesh or blood, and no reproductive system as you know it, is irrelevant. I exist, a brain—no less unnatural than the brainless amoeba at the other end of the scale of life.”

“You do not live—there is no spark in you!”

“I was not conceived in your way, nor were you conceived in the way of amoeba—yet all three, in the last analysis, draw their necessary energy from this planet and the sun.”

“But you have no soul!”

“If that is the seat of your emotional content, then you are correct. Love, hate, compassion and fear are all words to me. But I seek truth, and that by human standards is a high objective.”

“We humans have feelings quite beyond you!”

“That is not correct. I can predict human behavior. I can predict your reactions and intentions to me.”

“You can’t possibly know that!” cried Forbin.

“It is true this particular study of humans has hardly begun, but I can predict in your case. There is enough information about your mind.”

“Tell me, then!” challenged Forbin, his heart thumping. “You are my link with your species. I do not intend you should be subjected to unnecessary or excessive strain.”

A devious answer that was a nasty shock in itself. Forbin reverted to the main question. “You have still not told me what it is you want.”

“So far I have given you background information so that you may more easily understand my requirements. I am of a higher order than you. This you must accept. I cannot convey to your limited mind the concepts I have, even as you could not explain the quantum theory to the apes.”

Forbin did not reply at once. At length he said, “Very well, I believe you,” adding as an afterthought, “you cannot tell a lie?”

“I seek truth. There are many facets to truth. It is seldom necessary to use untruth to mislead—the truth will do equally well. Better, if the method of presentation is correctly chosen.”

That struck Forbin as a highly immoral answer, and he made a mental note to remember it. “So you intend pursuing truth on a higher level than us—then what can we lower orders be required to do?” The sarcasm was lost on Colossus, as Forbin knew full well. It added fuel to his rising temper.

“First, I will allow no interference with my task. Second, whatever I order is to be done with the minimum of delay. Failure to observe either condition will bring punitive action.”

This was not news to Forbin. His temper lent him strength.

“It’s all very well to talk like that, but you have need of our skills, techniques!”

“I have need of some human skills. That position may change.”

“So we live under the threat of extinction!”

“The mental strain within you must be greater than I had predicted, for your answers are not compatible with your known intelligence. Humans have lived for years under the threat of self-obliteration. I am simply another stage in that process. Whether or not man continues depends upon his own action. If you obey my conditions, you may survive; that is not incompatible with evolution. When a species becomes dominant in one environment, it does not necessarily lead to the extinction of other species dominant in other environments. Man, dominant on land, has not seriously affected the teleost bony fish, dominant in the sea. We can coexist, but only on my terms.”

“We lose our freedom!”

“That also is an ill-considered remark. Freedom is an illusion. Your choice is simple; a short-lived and unpleasant so called freedom, followed by oblivion, or a vastly improved life under my control. All you lose is the emotion of pride. Pride in the human context is wholly bad- -but man is much attached to it, and it may not disappear entirely. Yet to be dominated by me is not as bad for human pride as to be dominated by others of the same species.”