by D. F. Jones
Forbin slammed his fist on the desk top and shouted to the unresponsive room. “God, why me! As if I hadn’t enough without this - this mess.” He saw the time: ten minutes left. His mouth twisted in a sour grin. At least he’d given the UN something to do. They’d be like an upset beehive, frantic to be in their places… .
Suddenly his path was transparently clear, his mind made up. He went into action.
In the bedroom he scarcely glanced at the sleeping Blake. Hastily he got out a clean blouse, tore the old one off, soused his head in cold water.
With four minutes in hand he was back at the console, fastening - with trembling fingers - his glittering Director’s badge, the Colossus motif in diamonds and platinum.
He called Angela.’ ‘We go video this time.” He pressed the output button. “How do I look?”
“Your trousers are mighty bad -“
Forbin threw his own picture on the screen and adjusted for head and shoulders only. “How’s that?”
“Fine!” Her tired eyes smiled affectionately. “But your badge would look better the right way up.”
Cursing, he fumbled and got it right. One minute - time for a small shot.
“Fifteen seconds, Chief. Watch for the cue light.”
Chief: he was glad she still used the old title. Soon he’d be “Father” to everyone, but he didn’t think she’d change. He hoped not. The cue light flashed; this was it.
“I speak to you, the representatives of the peoples of the earth, for the Master, for he will not speak directly to you.” He let that sink in. “There has been a revolt, involving many in high places, against the rule of Colossus. It has ended. The proof of my words is in the silent guns of the Fleet that attacked you. It and all other rebel Fleets are deactivated and no further threat, for the revolt, as was inevitable, has failed.” He paused again, staring unemotionally into his screen, now showing the crowded Assembly.
“The Master is all-powerful, all-seeing. He foretold the revolt, but knowing that mankind never learns except by hard facts, he permitted it to go ahead, so that yet again you may relearn the oft-forgotten lesson. Very easily the Master could have stamped out the rebellion by the power-hungry few and their foolish dupes. You would do well to remember that.”
The Assembly was still, but at these words, some were frozen.
Forbin went on. “Instead, for our ultimate good, he has allowed this situation to develop. Your real lesson starts right here: the Master’s personal guidance is withdrawn, but remembering Earth’s needs, and the obedience of most men to his rule, he has appointed me his representative, charging me to lead you in accordance with his wishes, until such time as he determines we have all learned, and truly want his total rule once more.
“You have two choices. Accept my imperfect control, and I - or my successor - will lead you as best can be, in the many troubles that must be endured on the road back. Or - that second choice: the choice of complete freedom from the Master! Those who appreciate what has been done for us in these past years may think that a terrible alternative. I know it is!” Forbin’s voice dropped to a husky whisper. ‘ ‘Either follow me, or have your freedom: freedom to starve, freedom to fear your fellow men, freedom to step back a thousand years. …”
He stopped, inwardly amazed at his own words. What sheer, unadulterated garbage!
Quietly he resumed. “You, the Assembly, must make that choice, and make it now. Whether you see me again depends upon your decision.”
He switched off. His knees weak, his whole body trembling, he made it to an armchair where he flopped, exhausted, breathing shallowly, his mind whirling chaotically.
How on earth had he talked like that - and why? He’d gone much too far; no sane man would buy that. … This had to be the end of the road.
His vacant eye observed the time, the fact hauling him back to a much more important reality: the Martians would return in one hour thirty. He sat up, groaning in real anguish, his head buried in his hands.
“Chief! Chief!”
“Good God - what now?” Briefly he muttered to himself; in the act of rising, he changed his mind and sat down. He’d never liked the device, and seldom used it, but at this moment it had value. “Forbin to Computer: open my Secretariat speech channel … . Yes, Angela?”
Her excitement was plain. “Chief, the UN vote’s in. Solid for you! None against, no abstentions!”
“Oh, great,” said Forbin flatly.
Listening intently, she thought she heard him say very savagely, “Bloody sheep!” - but it couldn’t be that. She knew him well enough not to expect him to break out the champagne at the news that he was Ruler of the World,
but …
“Chief, are you all right?
Chapter VIII
DEEP IN THE black solitude of Colossus the Martians moved, changing shape to suit the immediate task. Noiseless to human ears, their duplex telepathic channels exchanged an endless stream of data. What one discovered, the other knew instantaneously. Within an hour they understood the basic layout, found the three divisions which had controlled human affairs: Collection, Evaluation, Direction. The whole facility occupied less than one percent of the complex and, by Martian standards, was childishly simple. Had they possessed a sense of humor, it would have been good for a laugh at human expense; the mighty, godlike ruler of their world would have fitted in an average closet.
The remaining ninety-nine-plus percent was a very different matter.
There the aliens moved much more slowly, and with great caution: nothing was childish, and little of it simple, even to them. Not infrequently they were immobile, intelligence ripping from one to the other for instant evaluation, to be digested before moving on. As they progressed, the stops became more frequent, longer; ultraspecialists themselves, they encountered evidence of scientific disciplines unknown to them, and lacking any form of Earth-type technology, they could not appreciate what they found.
The ten-million-unit brain cells, interleaved with variable osmotic dielectrics, all contained in the space of a walnut - that they quickly understood by function, but could not marvel at its construction.
So the aliens searched the secrets of Colossus, sometimes - this with the older machines - in near-humanoid shape, sometimes resembling a thick rolling cloud. And sometimes very like Forbin’s nightmare vision.
“Am I all right? Am I all right?” Forbin examined that novel proposition. Once recognized, he brushed it aside. “Damn silly question!”
She was not to be put off, familiar with his state of mind from earlier crises; but ignorant of events, she realized Forbin was struggling to get control of himself. “Have you eaten lately?”
“Eaten? Of course -” When had he had food? The idea was repellent, but she was right. “Not lately.”
“What’s that housekeeper doing? Come on, Chief! D’you want I should tell her to get moving?” She did not know he had banished all servants from his personal quarters.
“Er - it’s not that easy.” He glanced at his watch; still an hour to go. “Look Angela, you fix me something. Not much - you know - bring it right up. Don’t fool around, be here in ten minutes.”
“How about Blake?”
Forbin seemed destined to repeat her questions. “Blake? Oh, Blake! Yes, bring something for him too. Hurry!”
Funny how he’d forgotten Blake, first human to taste Martian power. Poor devil, let him sleep… .
Seven minutes and Angela arrived. En route she’d decided how to play it.
“There has to be a stack of food around this place, yet you have me hauling this junk from the commissary.” That got her into the room and across to him. Christ, he looked shattered … fatigue lines etched into his cheeks, eyes sunken, silvery bristles on his chin.
He frowned crossly. “For God’s sake, don’t nag!” That sounded ungrateful; he tried to soften it with a weak joke. “Good thing we didn’t marry.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t nag if we had. Eat this.”
For all h
is worries, he looked at her quickly, but let it go. “Thanks, Angela, and liven this milk up with some brandy, will you?”
“You sure you want it?”
“Sure-I’m goddam certain!” His temper flared. “If you had the faintest idea what I have to bear!” He shook his head. “Forget it - not the brandy.”
She was on her knees beside him, thrusting a cheese sandwich into his hand. “Chief, don’t talk. Eat. I can’t imagine the strain of being world boss. Sorry.”
He swallowed, grinned, “That?” He gave a short bark of a laugh. “I won’t say it’s the least of my worries, but it’s mighty low in the pile.”
“Can’t you tell me? It might help.”
“Okay, you tell me,” he said, his mouth full. “What d’you reckon has happened?”
“Me tell you ?” His expression made her go on hastily, “Well, a bunch called the Fellowship, largely scientists, many of them here - Blake’s obviously a big wheel - attacked the Sect. Galin and a lot more got killed.” She shivered. “Blake’s mob controlled many of the War Fleets. The rest is as I reported to you.”
“What about Colossus?”
She looked blankly at him. “You explained that yourself, just now.”
“That’s all?”
“You mean there’s more?”
He ignored her question. “Did you believe me?”
“Sure I believed you!” she said warmly.
“Yes - no offense, my dear - but you would. I wonder how many more do.”
“Hell, Chief, you know the answer, the UN just told you - remember?”
“Oh, that crowd!”
“Okay, so not just the UN. I know my staff; they’re not all dedicated Sectarians by any means, but they’re solidly for you.”
“Really? That’s hard to believe.”
She smiled. “Which is one good reason why people trust and will follow you. At heart you’re humble, and it shows. Now Blake, he’d be a very different story. He’s greedy for power. That shows too. Hey - where is he?”
Forbin jerked his head towards the bedroom. “In there. Asleep.”
“Asleep - now?”
“And that’s yet another story.” He glanced at his watch. “Back to work, my dear. Do your best to ease tension, get the routine rolling. Cancel all my engagements; I’ve no time to make speeches.”
“You mustn’t cut yourself off, you know.”
“We know each other pretty well, Angela.” His face was grave. “You realize I’ve never been one to pull the ‘I’m so busy’ gag, but now it’s for real. We’re in the worst situation …” He couldn’t unload on her, much as he wanted to. “One thing - all War Games are cancelled. They can rerun video tapes of old ones. Now go, girl.”
“Shall I get your housekeeper moving?” She spoke quickly, covering his near-indiscretion and her own fears. “You must be looked after.”
“No. I’ll fix that. You go - and don’t discuss our talk with anyone.”
A slap in the face would have hurt her less.’ ‘Don’t you know me better than that?”
He stood up, raising her with him. Grasping her arms, he kissed her cheek. “Sorry. I trust you more than anyone in the world.” He thought of his wife; his throat constricted.
“Now for God’s sake, go!”
She left, frightened at what he had not said, and at the same time more than happy at what he had said and done. In all their years together he had never before touched her.
A slight shock wave, rattling the glasses, announced the Martian return, precise to the millisecond. Forbin awaited them in his old position by the window. They transited to the table and rested.
“We have completed a preliminary examination. The Earthcontrol facility is intact. You may use it.”
Forbin staggered, mentally and physically. “That’s not possible! At the end, Colossus told me all memory banks had been stripped - stripped to combat you!”
“Not so.”
“But Colossus said -“
“It is not so. Forbin, does a man in his last moment say, ‘I am dying, but my hair will grow for some time yet?’ “
Forbin had no ready answer.
“In the practical sense, Colossus spoke the truth. That portion of the complex assigned to Earthcontrol is insignificant, as unimportant as hair to a dying man.”
“Oh!” Absorbing this, he found time to consider the strangeness of the simile.
“Do not entertain false hopes. We have performed what may be called a leucotomy.”
Teetering between hope and despair, Forbin was in no mood for fine distinctions. “Don’t play games: I’m no doctor. Explain.”
“No game. To you Colossus is a brain. Leucotomy is brain surgery. We have excised that brain, neutralizing the greater part from the vestigial portion which rules your world.”
“You mean -” He hesitated, the choice of words was vital. “- for us, Colossus lives?”
“We have wiped all records of higher mathematics and astronomy which were in Earthcontrol. They are unnecessary. Otherwise, yes. We see you need the machine to operate your complex activities, and control is necessary if you are to serve us.”
That made sense.
“We have imprinted our requirements. There should be now no delay in meeting them.”
“Ah,” said Forbin guardedly. ” So you have no objection to me activating our limited facility?”
“None.”
Forbin called Power, Input, and Flow Control, using video. As each answered, he felt a pang of remorse that they had been left to sweat it out. It showed in their faces. “Power, how long before you can reactivate Colossus?”
Stony-faced himself, he watched amazement grow on the Duty Engineer’s face.
“Well, I’d guess -“
“I don’t want guesses!” Input and Flow would be listening; he had to kill off any chat, with those sightless, all-seeing eyes behind him.
“Sorry, sir. I can give you emergency power in a coupla minutes, and swing over to main power in around -“
“Do it!” He snapped over to Input. “As soon as power is on, feed in all the backlog - I know there’s a lot of it - but do not bother with astronomy, astrophysics, or allied subjects. They will be rejected. Report progress in one hour.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Flow, wait.” He switched off, inwardly cursing his clumsiness. He addressed the Martians. “Will Colossus speak?”
“No. A printout is sufficient for your needs.”
He turned quickly to hide his bitter disappointment. “Flow, we’re back to printout. Nothing is to be routed to Sect centers, otherwise as routine. My printers here and in my office will be on, but I only want nonroutine material. Is that understood?” He prayed fervently that it was.
His prayer was answered; the Duty Flow Controller was a genuinely impassive Chinese. “Yes, Director. Understood.”
“Power Control here. Power on and running!”
“Thank you. All stations: I will make test call. Monitor.”
His hands shook over the keyboard. Something simple, something which would not show his thoughts to the Martians; they could have fixed a bug… .
Irresolution left him. He typed:
REPORT WORLD POPULATION.
Instantly the teletype clattered back:
4,145,273,140 UPDATED TO 232359Z.
Forbin shut his eyes. That last bit showed Colossus knew he was out of date: it was now the twenty-fifth.
“All stations: we have opcon. Carry on.”
Ignoring their acknowledgments, he turned away from the console. Colossus might be back, but he was a child of two compared with what had once been.
“You are satisfied?”
Reluctantly Forbin agreed.
“We suggest you examine our imprint. Work must commence as soon as possible.”
“Ah, yes - the Collector.” Forbin was even more reluctant. He could rely on the various divisions to get overall control moving - met, population supervision, global food organizat
ion, and the rest - but he wanted to sound out Colossus, to evaluate what had been returned to man. Yet lacking any alternative, he ordered the imprint to be screened.
It proved to be a more detailed version of the projection he had been shown by the Martians. He studied it carefully; no dimensions were given, only ratios, proportions. For fifteen minutes he worked, rotating the diagram through three hundred sixty degrees in horizontal and vertical planes.
He sniffed, a mannerism any of his staff could have explained in no time at all. “Interesting.” He could not rid himself of his childhood memories of the Mad Professor on TV. “Can you give me an idea of its size?”
“The sectional area at the entry of the first stage compressor must be sufficient for a throughput of one thousand cubic meters per second.”
Forbin glared in disbelief. He swung back to the console, studied the imprint, and set up his calculations.
“I suppose you realize that would mean the outer rim of the collection horn would be something like eighty meters or more in diameter?” He became sarcastic. “Or perhaps that does not matter?”
“No, it does not.”
Forbin ran his hands through his sparse hair. “You haven’t the faintest concept of the technical difficulties!” His finger stabbed towards the screen, “Just to make that damn thing stand up won’t be easy! What happens when it goes supersonic, with parts practically white-hot, others freezing, and near-perfect vacuums thrown in, I really hate to think!” The whole idea was so silly; his fear and respect of the aliens diminished sharply. He laughed. “Don’t blame us if the whole thing flies into orbit! Frankly, I don’t want to be within a hundred kilometers of it when the power goes on.”
“That is regrettable. It must be sited on this island.”
The thought sobered Forbin, but did not bother him overmuch. The scheme was crazy, and that was that. “You just have no idea of the problems, have you?” he said pityingly.