Mutant 59

by Kit Pedler

  ‘I don’t think so but I can’t be positive about it. You should go for an X-ray, just to make sure.’

  He stood up. ‘OK, I’ll give up being professional. You can put your coat back on now.’

  She smiled at him and slipped her jacket back over her light brown slip. Gerrard had noticed that, rather disconcertingly, she did not wear a bra. Her nipples showed dark and her breasts were full for her slender figure and firm. He saw a puckered red mark on the side of her neck. She became aware of his gaze and buttoned her coat quickly.

  ‘How did you get that?’ said Gerrard.

  Anne was confused. She pulled her scarf round her neck and tucked it in. ‘An old wound.’

  ‘Not that old,’ said Gerrard. Suddenly he became aware of what it could be and cursed himself for being naïve. It looked like a recent love bite. You’re badly out of practice in every department, he told himself.

  He got up from the settee. ‘I’d best go back to Barratt’s and collect whatever Aspinall’s got. We’ll have to take the gears back to the lab.’

  ‘You will stay for a drink though, won’t you?’ Anne looked up at him. ‘I’m very grateful … Doctor.’

  ‘And leave that poor guy at the store worrying what’s happened to you? He’ll have you hospitalized by now,’ said Gerrard. I’d better go back.’

  ‘I must know what it is,’ said Anne. ‘Let me know, will you, as soon as you find out? I’m going to put my feet up. I must have walked miles up in Gareloch.’

  ‘Sure, but … you’ll hear, won’t you …’

  ‘Through my husband?’ said Anne. ‘He’s a very, very busy man. Please don’t forget to phone me, I want to know.’

  ‘Well I guess there’s a story in it some place,’ said Gerrard.

  ‘Not my type of story … “robot runs amok in crowded store” …’ Anne smiled. ‘No. I want to know because of our involvement – Aminostyrene.’

  Gerrard paused awkwardly at the door, ‘Then I’ll phone you. So long.’ He smiled and went out. As Gerrard went towards the elevator he wondered why she had the power to make him stammer and feel an oaf. He was annoyed with himself and when the lift didn’t arrive he ran down the stairs to work off his annoyance.

  As he strode back into the toy department, the shop was on the point of closing, the last shoppers were being politely and impolitely ignored as the staff scrambled to make up their tills.

  Inside the display, Aspinall had the huge figure partly dismantled on trestles. ‘Exhibit A,’ he said, pointing to the mechanisms he had extracted from the robot. Gerrard looked at them curiously. There was a definite softening of the edges and in one place a plastic surface had become tacky.

  ‘These better go along to the lab.’ Gerrard opened his briefcase and took out a piece of cloth, being careful to touch the gears only with the points of a pair of tweezers. He placed the bundle carefully into his briefcase. ‘What will you do?’ he asked Aspinall.

  ‘Go back to using metal ones I suppose. It’s a bloody nuisance. I shall have to get it all specially made – take ages.’

  ‘Have you seen anything else like this softening?’ asked Gerrard.

  ‘Well,’ said Aspinall, ‘I don’t work here of course but I’ve asked the maintenance chaps. They’ve not seen it before.’

  Gerrard nodded, picked up the briefcase and turned to go.

  Aspinall touched his arm. ‘Do please extend my apologies to Anne … Mrs Kramer.’

  ‘Yeah, I will,’ said Gerrard. ‘You’ve met her before?’ Gerrard was vaguely annoyed. That was the trouble with Anne Kramer’s type of woman. They spread the charm around like flu germs in January.

  ‘She was here at the opening. I read her stuff, it’s very good for a woman, you know.’

  ‘So they tell me.’ Gerrard nodded. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He went out through the deserted departments accompanied by the hum of the cleaners’ vacuums. Dust covers were now on the counters and the place had all the attraction of a stale cigarette butt.

  Three

  Lionel Slayter woke up with a jerk and then pulled the sheets over his head to keep out the chill of the bedroom air. As he lay luxuriating briefly in the warmth of the bed he was conscious of a vague anxiety – something wrong about the day ahead – something unpleasant … maybe the end of a bad dream … his mind cleared with a snap …

  The inquiry. Adrenalin surged.

  All that work! There was nothing wrong with the idea, nothing at all. Every single step in design and construction was checked and double-checked – it couldn’t have failed on such a massive scale. There was plenty of circuit redundancy to cope with failure, ample multiplexing – they had all run tests on blank experiments.

  He panicked briefly and then began to visualize the reaction of the inquiry board.

  Atherton. He couldn’t expect any help there, the two of them basically loathed each other, which led to permanent scientific antagonism. First-class mind – no doubt about that – but no originality. Ambitious, hard, completely without compassion, he had always done the right thing at the right time rather than doing the wrong things well. Probably pull himself up to a very senior position in the ministry and be thoroughly disliked by everyone. Bastard! For a few moments he indulged himself by hating Atherton.

  Who else? Professor Starr – he had only met him once after a lecture at the Royal Society. He remembered a large courteous man, stubbly grey hair cut close to the angles of his skull, gentle but very persistent, probably honest. He would listen.

  Holland; road research director. His attitude was unpredictable. A worried little man with an ulcer face. In the end he had given full support to the ‘learning roads’ project so, to some extent, he would want to defend it. But, if the whole thing was going down the pan, he’d also want a scapegoat. If the facts pointed at project design, then he was cooked and Atherton would slam the bloody oven door.

  Hinton; computer man. He remembered their first meeting. An honest industrial con-man, he was out to sell his company’s latest product, the DPF6. Incapable of seeing both sides of a problem, he could only behave as an advocate for his product. With a pulse of fear he wondered whether he had kept all the specification sheets of the machine. Any suspicion of computer malfunction or design fault would have Hinton bringing out performance specs on every last printed circuit. He was a professional.

  He got out of bed, staggered briefly and then remembered the pills. The quack had said only two, three had given him a few hours of oblivion, but now his head throbbed and he felt sick. Never get through the day, he thought.

  As he scratched the frost patterns on the window with his fingernail and looked out at the bleak December morning, his gloom deepened. Foregone conclusion really: terribly sorry about it all Slayter, you know we have the highest regard for your ability – it’s just that – well the mistake was too expensive – the SRC are bound to say no. Then back to the journals, back to the PhD queue – probably end up managing a bloody launderette like Matthews.

  As he got off the bus in Whitehall it had started to snow, big wet flakes turning into brown slush as soon as they landed. He felt the cold wetness seeping into one shoe as he went through the main entrance of the Home Office. There was a hole in the shoe.

  The effect of the pills had completely worn off and again he felt the panic. It was curtains. He’d never be able to go to any more of the IE meetings – ‘Oh, there’s old Slayter – remember that bog-up he made of the road thing – that’s what comes of giving grants to science-fiction projects.’

  No more invitations to lecture – nothing. Once someone went a little way down in research, the academic sons of bitches kicked you all the way.

  As he walked down the vaulted corridor, smelling of sour paper and old tobacco, he had an almost uncontrollable urge to run. To go back to his flat and feign illness – anything to avoid the humiliation. He felt sick again.

  Holland’s voice interrupted his anxiety:

  ‘Lionel, good morning.’ Then, seeing
his drawn face: ‘Come on, I don’t think it’ll be as bad as you think.’

  Slayter mumbled: ‘Rubber stamp as far as I can make out, then – chop.’

  Holland spoke firmly: ‘Lionel, I’m chairing the inquiry on the basis of evidence, not opinion. We’re meeting to discuss how, not who.’

  ‘But it’s going to come down on me in the end, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not necessarily – we’ll just go by the data.’

  ‘Hinton’s going to defend his machine to the hilt; Starr’s going to sit on the fence and Atherton wants my guts anyway. What the hell’s the use!’

  Holland stiffened, his voice took on a formal edge: ‘Slayter’ – the surname hurt – ‘I’m chairman of this inquiry and I take it a little unkindly that you think it’s going to be such a farce – no one’s going to be blamed until it can be proved – you can rest assured.’

  Seeing Slayter’s defeated expression he softened: I’ve known Atherton for seven years and, between you and me and the Official Secrets Act, I think he’s a shit. Of course Hinton’s going to defend his machine. I’ve been in this trade for a good bit now, you know.’

  He looked at his watch and took Slayter by the arm: ‘I think we’re about ready.’

  The inquiry room was high ceilinged and the long mahogany table gleamed and smelt of beeswax. Portraits of long-dead civil servants looked down severely at the intrusion.

  Holland drew them to order: ‘I think it’s unlikely that we can reach any firm conclusions today, so first I think we should consider the individual reports – these were all pre-circulated I think?’ He looked up, they each nodded their assent.

  ‘If I may summarize their content. Dr Slayter has stated quite firmly that the arithmetic unit in the computer failed and that the disaster stemmed directly from this cause. Mr Hinton, you have expressed the opposing view that the component failure by itself could not have led to such a widespread disorganization and that, in your opinion’ – he looked down and read from a document – ‘there was insufficient – er – fail safe capacity within the network design.’

  Hinton looked down at his own copy to check and nodded.

  ‘Atherton, your view is similar to Hinton’s as far as I can see.’

  Atherton broke in: ‘No, not at all. What I didn’t make clear in the report is that, in my view, the entire concept was insufficiently quantified and that the available parameters were far below the standard necessary for such a speculative project …’

  He spoke almost vehemently and behind the thick glasses there was an unmistakable animosity. Although his face was blank of expression, a close observer could have sensed that to cut a young scientist down was the nearest thing to pleasure he ever experienced.

  Holland spoke mildly: ‘Quite so, this is in fact perfectly clear from your report, Mr Atherton. Now, Professor Starr, you, I think, made the point that the affair stemmed from an interaction between the component fault and an inherent design instability in Dr Slayter’s control network, is that so?’

  Starr spoke with a measured and an almost staccato precision. His eyes took on an inward, contemplative look as he spoke: ‘Yes, up to a point, but there are still a number of unknowns. I have spoken to Dr Slayter at some length about this and, as far as I can see, at this stage he made excellent provision for component failure. In many areas of the network design localized failure would have automatically switched in relief circuits …’

  Atherton broke in: 'Yes, but not in this case – a logic gate fails and produces utter chaos – and, I might add, seven deaths.’

  Holland turned to Slayter: ‘What is your view about that, Dr Slayter?’

  ‘Mr Atherton is quite correct, there was no relief circuitry designed around this particular unit.’

  ‘Oh, and why was that?’ Atherton sensed an opening.

  ‘Because we had written assurance that failure probability there was negligible, we couldn’t duplicate all the systems because it would have been impossibly expensive.’

  ‘Mr Hinton, how far have you got with your investigations?’

  ‘The unit’s back in our clean room. So far there does seem to be a failure in one logic file.’

  ‘So there was a fault in the machine?’

  ‘Yes, one gate was on open circuit, but …’

  Slayter interrupted tensely: ‘But you told us it couldn’t fail.’

  ‘You told me it didn’t matter if it did!’

  ‘That’s absolutely untrue. What I said was that if the unit failed, we could take up the slack in the adaptive unit but only for a limited period.’

  Hinton flushed with anger: he picked out a letter from his file: ‘You stated here on – August tenth that you accepted the design spec of the arithmetic unit and you had – I quote you – made appropriate changes in the control fan-out!’

  Slayter broke in: ‘You know bloody well we talked about it later than that, you told me that we had to compromise, all you want to do is to …’

  Holland spoke firmly: ‘We’re not making any progress gentlemen …’

  Slayter and Hinton glared at each other furiously.

  ‘… I suggest we confine ourselves to properly documented fact. Professor Starr?’

  ‘I am running a computer simulation of Dr Slayter’s network on our own machine. We are injecting various artificial faults into the programme to measure their effect on the system as a whole. In a few days I should be in a position to give you more authoritative data.’

  Atherton grumbled: ‘I really don’t see how that will help when the entire concept is based on speculative maths.’

  As Starr spoke, his eyes gazing calmly away from the group, he appeared to be talking to himself: ‘I think it’s preferable to keep to measurements and data.’

  Atherton flushed and looked down.

  Holland turned to Hinton: ‘You spoke of a gate on open circuit, perhaps you could explain.’

  ‘Yes, we dismantled the various circuit boards. Only one was affected. For some reason we can’t yet explain – there appears to have been a localized but complete loss of insulation on one of them.’

  In a nearby office in the Board of Trade building, Tom Myers, an aircraft accident inspector, was correcting the first draft of his report on the Isleworth air crash. He altered a sentence which read: ‘The initial cause was a loss of reference voltage’ to: ‘The initial cause was a loss of reference voltage following localized insulation failure in a fuel pump monitor.’

  Later on that evening in the Red Lion on the other side of Whitehall, there was a noisy cluster of carbon copy civil servants jostling around the bar. Just time to get two Scotches in before the rush to Waterloo and the long journey home to dull wives, bleak, expensive houses and a bad replica of the latest Observer recipe.

  Holland sat by himself, morosely staring into his pint of special keg and wondering what the hell to do with the evening. His ulcer hurt. He reflected that a gaggle of experts, each sharing his own special point of view, was impossible to control peaceably. The day had been particularly weary, particularly with that sod Atherton trying to nail poor Lionel.

  ‘Solitary boozing, that’s the beginning of the end!’

  He looked up to see the friendly, grinning face of Tom Myers.

  ‘Tom! You’re a welcome sight. Sit down, what’ll you have?’

  ‘Got one thanks, what about you?’

  ‘No I’m all right.’

  ‘Where’s the usual scintillating wit?’

  ‘It’s this bloody Knightsbridge business.’

  ‘Ah yes, I forgot, you’re chairing the technical inquiry, aren’t you?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Experts!’

  Myers belched in sympathy.

  Holland went on: ‘You’d think they could at least agree on matters of fact, but they fall out like schoolboys. I try to make them conclude something sensible and they wriggle back on the fence and come out with some fantastic bit of jargon, which makes the
m sound wise, but actually just protects their own interest.’

  Myers laughed: ‘Yes I know the routine. They start off by saying “on the one hand”, and you know two minutes farther on they’re going to say “on the other hand” and end up by saying buggerall.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘What’s the particular issue? Who’s the villain?’

  ‘You know the story more or less, don’t you?’

  ‘Not really, just what I saw on the box, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got a systems analyst saying the computer failed, the computer man saying the system failed and an academic being extremely pure and honest about both sides.’

  ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘There was a computer failure. Well, a component failure anyway.’

  ‘What sort?’

  ‘A logic gate went on open circuit. It shouldn’t have failed at all according to spec, but it did – loss of insulation; all rather strange.’

  Myers put his beer down slowly. He thought for a moment before replying. ‘Insulation failure. That’s odd, that’s extremely odd.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Insulation failure. You know I’m on the Heathrow Isleworth crash, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well we haven’t got anything finalized – we know an engine caught fire and probably threw a turbine blade, but one of the control boxes back in the wing – it sensed and controlled fuel feed to number 2 engine.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘The makers have had it back for dissection. They said although the metal of the box had been subjected to a temperature of over a hundred and fifty C’ – he paused, thinking hard – ‘inside the box, the wiring showed no sign of insulation!’

  ‘Burnt away!’

  ‘No, the temperature wasn’t high enough, the particular plastic – this new Aminostyrene stuff – has a volatilization point of over three fifty C – higher than Teflon!’

  Holland frowned: ‘It’s a long one, can we chat about it?’