by Неизвестный
IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO STAY IN AUDIO AND VISUAL CONTACT AT ALL TIMES
Forbin read the message and tried to look unconcerned, although he knew that there was no possibility of the machine being able to evaluate the finer shades of facial expression—or could it? He swallowed nervously. Now for it. . .
“Colossus,” his tone was conversational, “do you understand the meaning of the word 'privacy'?”
Again the monosyllabic
YES
“Do you understand that humans create words to convey to each other their thoughts, needs or actions?”
YES
“And that there cannot be a meaningless word?”
YES
“Then you will agree that 'privacy' has been created by humans to express a human need of requirement?”
YES
Stay with me, Socrates, Forbin thought fervently. I know this isn't very good stuff, but it's the best I can do. . .
“And you know that I am human, and in most respects like any other human?”
YES
“Therefore my need is no more—and no less—than any other human?”
The microsecond wait was all eternity.
YES
Forbin tried to hide his elation by blowing his nose vigorously.
“Will you, therefore, with suitable safeguards, allow me some measure of this human need, privacy—without which I may lose my reason, and thus cease to be of value?”
WHAT SAFEGUARDS
“I will come to that point in a moment. You will know that humans by nature, sleep at night?”
YES
“Also that in most of the inhabited globe of the earth, the sun does not shine at night?”
YES
“It is natural, therefore, to sleep in darkness. If my bedroom has only one entrance, and I demonstrate to your satisfaction that I cannot leave it or communicate from it without your knowledge, may I have darkness and privacy in that room at night?” Forbin was warming to his work. He was struck by the slightly bizarre thought that he found Colossus more reasonable than many humans. “There will be no telephone or other communication device in the room, and it may be inspected and kept under surveillance at all other times; you may examine all articles before they are allowed—”
NO
That was a setback. Forbin was silent for a moment.
“If you so order, I cannot argue, but you have agreed that I need privacy as much as the next man. Under what conditions would you permit—”
Colossus was also warming up. Without waiting for Forbin to finish, the teletype started once more.
PRIVACY CONDITIONS
1—CAMERAS TO BE FITTED IN DUPLICATE TO COVER ALL POSSIBLE EXITS
2—WIRE SCREEN/WARNING MESH TO BE FITTED TO ALL CEILING FLOOR AND WALL SURFACES
3—MICROPHONES TO BE FITTED EXTERNALLY TO ALL WALLS OF ROOM
4—YOU UNDERTAKE FULL COOPERATION WITH US
5—ATTEMPTED EVASION OF SURVEILLANCE WILL BE PUNISHED WITHOUT FURTHER NOTICE BY DESTRUCTION OF A CLASS II CITY
QUESTION HOW MANY TIMES A WEEK DO YOU REQUIRE A WOMAN
Forbin, reading the conditions as they were typed, nearly had a coronary when he got to the question. Item 5—such is the power of the human mind to adapt to any condition—was accepted with no more than an involuntary tightening of the jaw muscles, but the question. . . Forbin mentally cursed the blameless Angela for being present, but then the cool clear side of his mind saw that this might be turned to advantage: it would ease his embarrassment, and demonstrate the urge for privacy. . .
“Angela, be so good as to wait outside until I call you back.”
Intentionally, the phraseology was practically archaic; he hoped she would have the sense to play up. She did.
“Yes, sir,” she replied meekly, and, avoiding his gaze, literally trotted from the room.
Forbin acted it out for all it was worth. He mopped his brow, shook his head.
“Colossus, I accept your conditions, but that question, really. . . it was most embarrassing.”
WHY
Again Forbin shook his head. “It would take far too long to explain, but you must know that this sort of thing we do not discuss openly. In fact we do not discuss it at all, it is a private matter.” Cunningly, he thought, he worked in the key word. “Even talking to you, I find it difficult. . . It's true I have a mistress, and I would—er—like her company in my room,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “four times a week.”
REPEAT
“Four nights a week!” Forbin almost shouted. He was not acting now. The risk of the destruction of cities he could accept, but to reply to a question like that, painfully aware that Blake and God knows who else, would be listening to every word—Cleo! He clutched despairingly at his head. He was so covered with genuine confusion, it was some little time before he realized that Colossus had answered.
AGREED—FOUR TIMES A WEEK
“Thank you,” said Forbin hoarsely. He could think of nothing else to say, but a further inspiration made him lean over with a pen and scribble furiously on Colossus' last answer until it was completely obliterated.
WHY DID YOU DO THAT
For good measure, Forbin mopped his brow once more. “I do not want my secretary to know, it is a private matter. Can we regard that subject as settled?”
YES
“Thank God for that,” replied Forbin with genuine relief. He called out, “Angela! You may come back now!”
Angela returned, impassive, and resumed her seat. Forbin knocked his pipe out on the edge of the desk, and proceeded to fill it. Well, that was one big hurdle behind him, and it certainly showed a realistic approach on Colossus' part to bring that subject up. His confidence began to blossom out.
“I will see that the conditions are obeyed tomorrow,” he said. The warning mesh to which Colossus referred was obviously the same stuff that had been built into the cement shell of Colossus himself. With that fixed, physical escape would certainly be impossible, and the screening effect of the low-voltage energization in the mesh would effectively stop transmission or reception. “As for tonight, I am so tired I am sure the lights in my room will not affect me unduly.” That was nothing less than truth. “Is there anything more you want of me tonight?”
YES
“What?”
A VOICE SIMULATOR TO MY SPECIFICATION IS TO BE BUILT
So now he wanted to talk. . . Many talking machines had been made in the past hundred years, and lately some of them had been very good. But a voice designed by Colossus. . . He decided to try a little passive resistance.
“It is getting a little late in the day to start now—”
NIGHT AND DAY ARE ONE TO US YOUR MEN MUST WORK SHIFTS
There was something almost poetic in that “Night and day are one to us.” But it was that “us” that was daunting. . . “Very well,” said Forbin, “send your specification, and I will have a design team working here within the hour.”
Without further preamble the machine began to hammer out the specification. Watching the details, Forbin almost forgot the appalling problem facing him. They were very exact—the values of resistances, diodes, stators. . . It went on, and on. . .
Forbin watched, fascinated. It was not particularly difficult to appear to cooperate; he was genuinely interested to see what the result would be. True, there was nothing, so far as he could see, original in the specification, but it was clearly refined to a degree that human brains had not yet reached. He recalled it was necessary to show willingness as concretely as possible.
“Angela, take down this memo: addressed to Group A leader, copy to Admin from Controller. Split group into three watches for design team duties. Assignment: to design and supervise building of voice simulator to Colossus' specification. First watch to start work in CPO at 2200 GMT this day.”
Angela made as if to get up.
“Wait,” Forbin ordered. “Make a similar memo to Technical Group leader, to be ready to commence by 0800 GM
T tomorrow. Better send copies of each to the other group leaders.
Forbin had spoken loudly, perhaps unnecessarily so, but Colossus gave no sign, the specification continued to roll out of the teletype.
He continued brusquely. “Type that lot now, and I'll sign the authorization and you can deliver the copies immediately.”
In other, happier days Angela would have told her boss that slavery went out in Abe Lincoln's time, but now she contented herself with a subdued “Yes, sir.”
When the memos were ready Forbin signed them with considerable flourish, and before Angela could even pick them up, said,
“Now go and hand them out, yourself, at once!”
Before she was halfway to the door, he called out, “Another thing—fetch me a pint of black coffee from the commissary, will you?”
She turned and spoke, her voice was meek, but the glint in her eye, and the slightly raised eyebrow more than canceled that out, “Would you like a whip as well, sir?”
“A what?”
“A whip, sir. They're very good, you know, there's strawberry and banana, and the raspberry is worth trying.”
“No, Angela, that will be all,” said Forbin stiffly. “Yes, sir.”
When Angela returned with the coffee, he was deeply immersed in the specification. She placed the container on the desk beside him, and he said, absently, “That's very kind of you.” It was hardly in keeping with his image of the powerful man of affairs. Then Fisher appeared, peering nervously round the corner of the door.
“Come in, come in,” said Forbin heartily. “I want to talk to you about this job.”
Fisher most certainly did not catch on. He blinked at Forbin in surprise. “I don't see how we can get on with our—”
“Yes, I know all about that, Jack,” cut in Forbin hastily, “but this is a lot more important than checking those circuit diagrams.”
“Diagrams? I don't—”
“I said, forget it!” said Forbin, genially ferocious. “Come and sit down, while I give you the rundown on this.”
The teletype clattered beside him. Fisher jumped as if bitten by a snake.
IS THIS GROUP A LEADER
“Yes,” said Forbin reluctantly. He had avoided names in his memo, but had not much hope of getting away with it.
WHAT IS HIS NAME
“This is Doctor Fisher.”
Fisher gave a fine impression of a hunted hare. “Do I speak?”
Forbin grasped his arm, none too gently, “Just act normally, Jack, nothing to get heated about.” Just to show how ordinary the whole thing was, he addressed Colossus.
“Colossus, this simulator is very complex; I'm not sure we can just build the thing straight off—parts will need testing, and there may be a little experimental work to do.” What would Colossus do, if the simulator did not work—blame him?
TESTS WILL NOT BE NECESSARY PROCEED AS INSTRUCTED AND SIMULATOR WILL WORK
And that was all there was to say on that point.
Forbin dragged the goggling Fisher from the teletype and forced him into a chair. He handed him the specification. “There—all you have to do is to work out physical layouts for that. As soon as you have a reasonable idea of the physical size of the device, let the head technical man know, so that he can start arranging a suitable space.”
Not for the first time in the past few days, Forbin saw that Fisher had aged considerably, and that, at the first sign of a new crisis he was more interested in getting his head in a hole someplace than in trying to deal with the trouble.
“It's quite simple,” he said quietly. “Forget everything else, and get on with it.” He glanced at the wall clock. “The first watch should be on in a few minutes—get them started, then I think you should go and rest.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Fisher. “I don't feel I can take much more, I really don't.”
Forbin thought of the bottle of rye he knew Blake kept in his desk drawer, in open defiance of the Admin Standing Orders. He got it out, found a couple of plastic mugs, and poured two fair-sized tots. “Drink this,” he ordered. He was replacing the bottle when Blake walked in.
“Ah, Blake,” said Forbin. “I didn't think you'd mind—I've just had a crack at your bottle of hard stuff.”
“Hell, that's OK,” replied Blake, easily. He looked at Fisher, who was studying the specification, and as always, when actually working, on the ball. “This the job, Doc?”
Fisher nodded. “I think we had best break it down into the main groups of components. There appear to be three. . .” The teletype chattered briefly.
FOUR
Blake and Forbin looked at it together; Fisher just sat, wide-eyed, ready to scuttle.
“OK, Colossus, if you say four, it's four. That saves us a lot of messing around.” Blake's easy acceptance of Colossus as another person in the room, stiffened Forbin and quite probably saved Fisher from blowing his top.
Forbin sat down and began to think about the implications of this voice simulator. Why did Colossus want it? Could be the easy answer—that it would be easier to amplify written instructions. And conversation would be possible. But supposing the machine wanted to address a wider audience? It could be that Colossus intended to speak to the world. Well, if he did, he did. Forbin was not going to be diverted from the main task, the inhibition of the machines. If the world got a few nasty shocks on the way, it might do it some good. It might. Forbin drank his coffee.
“Colossus, I am now going to take a short walk—”
NO
“Why?”
BEFORE LEAVING YOUR FINGERPRINTS ARE TO BE TAKEN BEFORE THE CAMERA
“We don't have fingerprinting equipment—'
USE RUBBER STAMP PAD AND BLOTTING PAPER AND PRESENT RESULT TO CAMERA
Forbin shrugged, there was nothing for it. A pad was produced and a rather imperfect set of prints taken. These were laid on the desk and Forbin noted gloomily that, after less than two seconds, the teletype made
SATISFACTORY YOU MAY PROCEED
He wondered at the definition of the camera; he had expected that it would be able to read typescript at that range, but to reproduce fingerprints, and not very good ones at that, made him consider if Colossus had been able to evolve a new system of identification. As he walked to the door, he exchanged significant glances with Blake. His initial elation at the success in arranging for Cleo to come to him, and at finding the surveillance less oppressive than he had expected, was damped down. This habit of Colossus', leaving some difficulty to the last minute, was very disturbing. The fingerprint business, for example, could have been settled at the beginning. It left him with the nasty feeling that there were many such hidden traps waiting for him.
Outside, Forbin walked carefully down the illuminated sidewalk, and noticed that it was unusually empty, while the sidewalk on the other side of the roadway looked a lot more crowded than usual. It added greatly to his loneliness.
He scowled and blinked in the harsh light of the new lamps fitted in his office. Here at least he had always been used to the gentle, somehow human lamplight. Maybe, if all went well, he might get this altered, but this was not the time to raise the matter. Wearily he dropped heavily into his chair and surveyed his desk. There was a fair-sized pile of correspondence in tape and letter form—so much rubbish now, routine reports on tests, requests for data, the usual torrent of stuff from Admin—all outdated junk.
For a half-hour or so Forbin worked mechanically through some of the accumulation before him, reading, initialing, dictating. But at 1800 local time he decided he had had enough. Without a glance at the cameras, he scooped up the completed work, marched out of his office and dumped it all on his secretary's desk. He paused and looked round, looking for any loophole in the surveillance that he might use, but there was no inspiration in the small room, nor yet any in his tired, depressed brain. He turned quickly on his heel and left.
In his living quarters it was the same story, bright light everywhere and the ubiquitous camer
as and microphones. . . He poured himself a large bourbon, and switched on the TV screen. Immediately the outside world flooded in, and for fifteen minutes, he sat and watched a film avidly—but when it ended he realized that he had not the faintest idea what it had been about. He finished his drink and went into the bedroom and stripped for a shower. The cameras in the bedroom and bathroom were the hardest to take; thinking of Colossus as a human was no sort of help at all in this connection, for Forbin was essentially a shy man. In the shower he stood, grateful for the partial screen of the steam, thinking. . . thinking. If only to boost his morale, he must find some small way of defeating the invisible net around him. He dressed and headed back to his drink cabinet. There was a newscast on the TV. Forbin looked sourly at the newsreader, casual, genial. All right for you, you bastard, he thought, you can get up and leave the camera. . .
“. . . dateline Moscow, USSR. Pan-World reports a large meteorite fell early today in the Northwest Siberia. Official sources state that a small township was almost completely destroyed, and that casualties may add up to as much as two thousand. A large area of forest was also burned and scorched by the impact. A similar meteorite fell in Siberia around ninety years ago, but at that time the area was unpopulated. WHO and the International Red Cross have offered aid, but the Soviets state that they are able to render all the assistance required. Washington, D.C. Senator Kaufmann has said he will raise the question in committee of the responsibility for the malfunctioning missile which caused a shelter warning to be issued this morning for Texas. It is reported that the President has said he would welcome this opportunity to clear the matter up. Luxembourg, Europe. The USE Senate today voted to integrate—”
Forbin blanked out the TV screen. He felt sick, and barely controlled a wild impulse to hurl obscene abuse at Colossus. Two thousand! Two thousand human lives for a switched-off transmitter, and this could only be a beginning. There must be an answer somewhere. . . With renewed resolve he got up, put on a fresh shirt and left his quarters, not entirely sure where he was going. God knows, he reflected bitterly, there is not much choice; for sure he did not want to be alone with Colossus, or his thoughts, and that meant the CPO. En route, he remembered he had warned Bishop, the Presidential aide, to expect a call, and he had done nothing to arrange it. How could he fix it? The President had to be kept informed, and it might be that there was some news of Kupri. He recalled also that he must arrange for someone to monitor the Russian broadcast which would give the date of the meeting. There was so much to do. . .