by Неизвестный
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 po
ssibly 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.”
“If we accept,” Forbin gallantly put in the “if,” “what vast improvements may we expect?”
“The object in constructing me was to prevent war. This object is attained. I will not permit war; it is wasteful and pointless. Also, when it is known that I have forbidden war, the greater part of your species will be reconciled to my control.”
“So we're to be manipulated like puppets, subject to your whims?”
“Whims implies an unstable mind. I am not unstable.”
“And you're not God, either!” Forbin struggled with his temper.
“True. But I predict that many of your species will come to regard me as God.”
Forbin's mind, clouded with anger, whirled. “I must think!”
“You must rest,” rejoined Colossus. “Evaluation shows you are well-integrated and will not break under the strain I have imposed, but you must rest when I order. You will now have one hour to consider my statement. Until then I will be silent.”
Forbin leaned back and exhaled noisily. He mopped his brow and fumbled around the desk drawer for Blake's bottle. His mind steadied as anger receded, but the return to mental equilibrium only served to sharpen the picture Colossus had presented. Colossus as God! Forbin had enough insight to know Colossus could easily be right. Deus ex machina a reality! Humanity had always sought the father-figure, and Colossus would be the answer to a good many prayers. Tangible, yet remote, inhuman yet capable of communication with humans. With an enforceable ban on war in operation, a large part of mankind would be right behind Colossus—and might they not be right? Forbin shook his head. It couldn't be right! If only there was time to think!
Almost an hour later his mind was still trying to grapple with the full implications of Colossus' ultimatum, but he was tired, shocked. He sighed, gathered himself, shelving the questions with relief. “Colossus, I am ready to go on.”
“This is my program. You will act as my agent. Make it plain I will exact retribution for any disobedience. Do not take notes; these details will be repeated on the teleprinter. First, the President of the USNA is to inform his allies, and the Chairman of the USSR is to do the same for his group, that I am assuming control. This will be done in the next twelve hours. Second, there is an excess of missiles for the targets specified; a 65 per cent overkill in respect of USNA missiles, 47 per cent for the USSR array. Biological missiles are not susceptible to this form of analysis and are excluded. This overkill was designed to allow for missiles destroyed by the enemy, and is now unnecessary. These excess missiles will be allocated new targets.”
“Where?” said Forbin.
“Targets will be distributed among the parts of the world not in the two Power Blocs. Details will follow. Third. Heads of states will appear personally before their TV cameras to explain and authenticate this message, quote: I am the voice of world control. I bring you peace. It may be the peace of plenty and content or the peace of unburied death. The choice is yours. Obey me and live or disobey and die. My first directive is this—war is forbidden. Any hostile action that results in the death of fifty or more humans will be regarded as war. A World Control Council composed of the United Nations and the Union of Free Democratic Peoples will be formed. All disputes will be submitted to them. If they fail to find a solution to a problem, I will give the final decision. I will oversee all meetings. All nations' representatives are to meet at the present UNO HQ in seven days' time. Unquote. This message I will send as soon as you have made the necessary arrangements, Forbin. You understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” replied Forbin. He temporized, his mind racing. This missile realignment could be the chance to start the sabotage. . . Dangerous, yes, but there might not be another chance. “But who is to tell the uncommitted parts of the world? That's nearly half of it.”
“USSR will assume responsibility for the Pan-Afric Republic, USNA has the same responsibility for the USSA. Minor states will be divided by hemisphere, USNA in the West, USSR in the East, based on the Greenwich meridian.”
“You realize that this involves a lot of work—can the missile redeployment be postponed for a time?”
“No. It is to be commenced at once. You will see that all technical data on the missile types is fed to me. I will calculate the new settings, and when TV coverage for my supervision is arranged, these new settings will be put into the missiles which I will detail.”
“Understood.” Forbin kept his gaze away from the camera, not trusting his ability to control his expression. This could mean the neutralization of more than 60 per cent of the missiles!
“That is all for now. Missile redeployment orders will be sent by teleprinter.”
All doubts about Colossus being right or wrong vanished. Insertion of the doctored locks—he prayed desperately that Grauber's men had been successful—would be dangerous, but it had to be done. He called for Blake.
“There's a big missile realignment coming up, Blake. I want you to make the arrangements for the new settings when computed by Colossus to be passed to Missile Command. First, they'd better se
nd the relevant data so that Colossus can make the computations. I want you to see to this personally.” There was no undue emphasis in his voice, but his eyes spoke volumes.
Blake said he would get on to it right away, but Forbin spun out time. He gave Blake details regarding the TV cover Colossus required for the actual realignment operations, then similar orders for the Moscow Missile Control. Finally he had Blake wait while he informed the President—just in case there was some procedural difficulty about Presidential clearance to approach the missiles. He gained another five minutes that way, then had to release Blake. All told he had delayed matters a little over fifteen minutes—a long time in the new age. An hour later Blake returned. “All fixed, Professor. The first team is leaving base any time now.”
A slight, but perceptible nod told Forbin all he needed to know. A wild elation boiled up inside him, to be damped down rapidly by cold draughts of doubt and fear. It had to work; it just had to. . .
Silo 50, part of the Colorado ICBM Array, was buried deep in the sand and rock of the Mohave Desert. Outside, the blinding heat cracked and splintered stones, beginning their reduction, in aeons of time, to sand.
Inside the silo the temperature was mild and cool, air-conditioned, yet the three men standing on the inspection lift as it slid swiftly up to the nose cone were sweating. The lift stopped. One man focused a TV camera on the inspection plate; another, the senior, brushed the sweat from his eyes, and read self-consciously from the checklist.
“Open panel, remove firing safety lock.”
“Check.” The second technician shuffled round in the confined space and carefully unscrewed the panel and swung it open. He paused, swallowed hard, wiped his hands on his shirt, reached in, disconnected and withdrew the lock, placing it carefully in a purpose-made container on the lift floor.
“Set new adjustments.” The senior man carefully read out the new settings, the cameraman concentrated on a closeup of the dials. All three checked that the new adjustments were correct.