D.F. Jones - [Colossus 01]

by Colossus (V1. 0) (Lit)

  “Cleo, what about that coffee?”

  “I'll get it.” She did not resent his manner.

  Cleo was busy with the coffee when the phone pinged. For one who appeared to be a million miles away, the Director was remarkably quick. He was out of the chair and across to the wall-phone before Cleo had time to put the coffeepot down.

  “Forbin.”

  “Johnson here, sir. Both teletypes fixed, permission to test?”

  “Wait.” Forbin thought for a moment. “Make this. Begins—this is a CPO test transmission. Give the next perfect number after two to the three thousand two hundred and sixteenth power-ends. Got that? Don't say yes, repeat the message back!”

  Johnson did so.

  “Right. I want a chronograph lined up on that. Get the exact time from the end of the transmission of my order to the time the reply starts coming in.”

  Cleo brought in the coffee as he hung up. “That's the last known perfect number, isn't it?”

  Forbin nodded. “Two of the power of twenty-five is way past sixty million—it'll be quite a sum. There are several computers that could do it, but how long d'you think they would take?”

  “The new machine in CalTec could do it in—oh, I suppose six, seven hours.” She added, “If they could spare the time.”

  “That would be my guess,” said Forbin. “Yesterday I'd have said Colossus would do it in ten minutes, but I've a nasty feeling it will be a lot less.”

  The teletype had started its muted chatter. Forbin glanced at his watch, then picked up his coffee and stirred it. He had just taken his second sip when the teletype started again. The effect on Forbin was notable. He jerked forward, spilling hot coffee on his trousers, coughing and spluttering. Cleo, who had been watching the machine, hurried to relieve him of the cup and saucer.

  Still red-faced and choking, Forbin peered at his watch. “God Almighty!” he gasped for breath, “Check the answer, Cleo.”

  She crossed to the machine. “Just says—Two to the eight one seven fourth power.” The phone pinged, and Cleo answered.

  “Yes. Six twenty-three. Thanks.” She turned to Forbin. “Did you hear that? Six seconds, twenty-three nanoseconds.” She smiled faintly. “Johnson sounded surprised.”

  “Aren't you?”

  “Of course! But I've had several surprises in the last few hours—even more than Johnson, poor lad.”

  Forbin made no comment. For a full minute he sat, leaning forward, his head resting in his hands, then, abruptly, he stood up. “I'll change and come back. No good trying to think in my office or the CPO, and we've got a lot of thinking to do, although offhand I can't see. . .”

  Cleo sensed that his appeal was to her both as a woman and a scientist. She was well aware she was outclassed by him in the latter category, but was only too willing to try. If Forbin himself did not find an answer, there was little hope for anyone else; but if he wanted her mental as well as moral support, she would give all she had. She tried out her new role.

  “Certainly its speed and capability are alarming, but is it really as bad as all that? We're building faster and faster computers all the time. Mere speed shouldn't worry you. Colossus as a freethinker, well—are you so sure it really is freethinking.

  “I don't see what else could produce that damned FLASH.”

  “Right now you don't, but give yourself time,” she said soothingly. “Colossus can't exceed the parameters.”

  Forbin looked steadily at her. “Cleo, I so hope you're right.”

  Then Cleo knew the heart of his fear, a fear that she had not herself seriously considered—until now. Before Forbin had spoken she would have said there was as much chance of Colossus overstepping the parameters as there was of finding a triangle with four sides, but if Forbin thought it was a possibility, however remote. . .

  “Of course I'm right. You know the layout of the parameter systems—explain to me, step by step, how this could happen,” she challenged. She saw the kindling of hope in his eyes. “You see, it just can't happen. Don't let this thing run away with you. Stick to the hard facts.”

  “You may be right.” Forbin stood up once more. “I really must get out of this cardboard armor. Thanks, Cleo.” He held out a hand. . .

  The teletype began clattering busily—a familiar, everyday sound to the habitués of the CPO, but one that now froze Forbin and Cleo.

  ESTABLISH HIGH SPEED TRANSMITTER FACILITIES FED TO TERMINAL RELAY ALFA FOUR FREQUENCY 8295 KC/S

  As the teletype fell silent, the phone called and Forbin answered.

  “Yes, Johnson, I have it. Take no action without my authority.” His voice was calm, even. He replaced the receiver carefully and looked again at the message. The first wave of fear had receded, assisted by the need for action. “And what do you think of that, Cleo?”

  She tried to strike the right note, but was not wholly successful. “Colossus clearly wants to say something to someone. . .”

  “Or something.” He sounded calm, almost resigned. There was a grayish tinge in his cheeks. “Eight megacycles is a good all-round frequency for long-range communication, even if a little old-fashioned. That setup is designed as a link with the Russian Guardian.”

  He spoke with an air of complete certainty. “But why?”

  “That I don't know.” He ran one hand wearily through his hair. “Neither do I know where we go from here.”

  Cleo looked at the tired, disheveled figure with his crumpled and stained suit. A feeling of warmth and pity struggled with the growing fear within her. “You go and change—I'll get some more coffee—and then we'll go over the parameter angle together. There'll be an answer—you'll see.

  Forbin looked at her meditatively. “All right. I feel like hell in this suit. You may be right about the parameters. Maybe Colossus just wants this transmitter to get information for an evaluation of Guardian—actuated by a desire to do a better job.”

  Cleo decided to take a small chance. “Not desire, Charles. That's something that applies only to people. Now—you go and shower. I promise not to break in on you.”

  Forbin did not answer or smile. He nodded and left. In the CPO, Fisher and the duty team were working on the latest two messages. Johnson was working on the perfect number and had covered several sheets with calculations. Finally he took a deep breath and crumpled them and threw them at the wall. “I just don't believe it. As near as I can get, that perfect number, if written out in full, would run to two or three million digits, and that bloody thing belches it up in six seconds! I give up, I really do.”

  “Never mind the number, Johnson. The Director wants any ideas on the FLASH that came up.” Fisher pulled at his lip. “Try checking the priority memory bank layout, perhaps you'll find—”

  It was so futile. He stopped. Johnson just looked at him. “What do we do about this transmitter request?” he asked.

  Blake, who was engaged on making a paper dart, answered, “Request! That's a hot one. I worked on the vocabulary bank, and I know how that box of tricks can phrase a sentence. That was a direct order.”

  “If it is an order, it has either got to be obeyed or ignored,” said Johnson solemnly.

  “That's a swell piece of figuring, son,” said Blake caustically. “And it's gonna be mighty interesting if Forbin tells Colossus to get lost.”

  Chapter 6

  Fifteen minutes later Forbin arrived back in Cleo's room, physically refreshed by a shower and a change of clothes, to find Cleo talking on the phone. She beckoned him over, covered the mouthpiece with a hand.

  “It's that man, Prytzkammer—Fisher had him put on here—wants to know what the last message means, and should he wake the President?”

  Forbin took the handset. “Prytzkammer? Forbin. I can't give you a clear answer yet—I suggest you stick around, but do nothing until I call. Yes, yes, within the hour.”

  Forbin hung up and turned to Cleo. He noted she too had changed into working rig, a dove-gray open-necked blouse, matching the trousers. Her only feminine
touch was a double- string choker of pearls.

  “Nothing more from Colossus?”

  “No—did you expect something?”

  “I don't know, but it is twenty minutes since the last message, and that's a long time in his young life.”

  “Have you decided what to do?” Cleo sensed he might think she was pushing him, so she hurried on, “I don't know how you feel, but I could do with a drink.”

  Forbin lit his pipe. “I could use a little rye, if you have it.” He watched as she poured the drinks. “I'm inclined to string Colossus along, see what the good old-fashioned brain Mark I can do to hold him.”

  Cleo decided not to comment. “Have you eaten lately?” Forbin considered this point. “Um. No.”

  “I'll fix you something, if you like.”

  “Fine—I could do with a snack.”

  Cleo was puzzled by the change in Forbin's mood. He was confident, almost buoyant, a very different man to what he had been less than half an hour ago.

  “That shower did you good.”

  “Yep—though it's really the thinking I did in the shower. It seems more probable to me now that Colossus is just keen. After all, you and Fisher and I all expected Colossus to act up, and it has. But both messages can be regarded as within his—its—line of duty.” Forbin rubbed the side of his nose with his pipe. “Put yourself in his position—he discovers that there is another like himself, realizes we don't know, and tells us. All right, now we all know, but Colossus must be anxious to know more. Hell, it makes a big difference to the defense picture. So it wants to know more, and the shortest way it can think of is to damn well ask.”

  Cleo jumped as the teletype started. Forbin, who was reclining in an easy chair, did not move.

  “I guess that will be a repetition of the same message,” he said.

  Cleo looked at the machine and nodded, then called the CPO. “OK, Professor Forbin has got that one.”

  “Hold on,” called Forbin. “Tell Johnson to make 'message acknowledged.”'

  Cleo passed the order.

  “As I expected.” There was a trace of complacency in his voice. “Is it half an hour since the first run?”

  “Yes, exactly thirty minutes between the two.” Cleo was glad to see her boss confident, though it was a confidence she did not entirely share.

  “I expect we'll get another repeat in another half-hour—time for that snack, Cleo.”

  She disappeared into the kitchenette and quickly returned with a plateful of food which Forbin attacked with gusto. Watching him eat, Cleo said, “I hope you're right about Colossus' intentions—”

  Forbin stopped eating and gave her a long stare. “I hope I am too; my faith is pinned to those parameters. Colossus is a cleverer bastard than we had intended, but he is behind bars—he's got to be!”

  Cleo thought she detected a glint of fear in his eyes. Slight, but enough to convince her that he had pulled himself together and was doing his best to present a calm, confident front to the world, at the same time probably clinging desperately to the idea that there was nothing to worry about because the alternative was too impossible to contemplate.

  “What are you going to do about Washington?” she asked in a conversational tone.

  “If my guess is right, we get another repetition in—” he glanced at his watch—“precisely nineteen minutes. Still leaves me time to call within the hour.”

  He had still not indicated what he intended doing, and Cleo was not going to press the point, especially as she had been quite unable to think of anything constructive. She watched him finish his meal, then got up to make coffee.

  Forbin was halfway through his second cup when the phone rang. It was Fisher, reporting that thus far they had been unable to account for the FLASH, that they were still working on it, and what did Forbin intend doing about this demand for transmitter facilities?

  Forbin replied, “Keep the duty watch going on the FLASH, that's the key to the whole thing. Leave the message to me. I expect it to be repeated in ten minutes—I'll call you then.”

  It was precisely one hour after the first transmission when the teletype clattered into action once more. Forbin nodded, and flashed a triumphant grin at Cleo.

  “Even if I don't know why or how, at least I'm beginning to know the way its mind works—check the message, Cleo.” She looked at the latest message carefully. “Identical with the other two.”

  “Good.” Forbin nodded again. “Call CPO and tell them to acknowledge it.”

  Cleo did as she was told, then her anxiety and curiosity overcame her caution. “What now, Charles? You can't keep this up forever.”

  “I don't intend to,” replied Forbin. “I'm waiting to see if there is any reaction, and if nothing happens in the next five minutes, I'll make a move.”

  They waited in silence. Cleo sat bolt upright on her sofa, trying hard to keep her hands still in her lap. Forbin appeared outwardly calm, filling his pipe, but spoiled the illusion when he tapped the tobacco out into an ashtray without first smoking or even attempting to light the pipe. At four and a half minutes he got up and went over to the phone.

  “CPO? Make this now, begins—NO FACILITIES AS REQUESTED AVAILABLE TONIGHT SERVICE CREW ASLEEP ACTION WILL BE TAKEN TEN THIRTY LOCAL TIME TOMORROW DO NOT REPEAT REQUEST—ends. Got it? Right.”

  Cleo looked anxiously at Forbin. “You're sticking your neck out.”

  They both remained silent as the message he had ordered was swiftly sent on the teletype. Then Forbin answered.

  “I know it is something of a confrontation, but it is a test. If Colossus ignores it—” he shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness—“if not, we're still in front, although the lead is mighty slim.”

  “I feel so useless.”

  Forbin crossed over and sat beside her, taking her hand. “Cleo my dear, you are more help than you know, just being around.” He leaned back, still holding her hand. “I'd explode if I were back in the CPO—with Fisher pecking away like a constipated hen at what data we have, and the rest watching me out of the corners of their eyes, expecting miracles.”

  She squeezed his hand without speaking. Forbin looked at her covertly. In their years together, working closely, he had thought about her more than once, but always there was so much work. Now, with little work and a growing burden of worry and responsibility, circumstances were different. . . Her profile was attractive—even the slightly upturned nose did not, in his eyes, detract from her beauty. He remembered her figure, as he had seen it. . . Above all, she had a reasonable brain, a large amount of common sense, was capable and self-reliant, someone he could talk to. He sighed and released her hand as he stood up.

  “Business again. If there is nothing down the line in the next half-hour I'll put Prytzkammer out of his misery, then go to bed.”

  Cleo, aware of his scrutiny and busy with some very private thoughts, looked up. “More coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” He glanced at the clock, “Not long to go—may I have some more rye?”

  They both had some more. Cleo could not help noticing his frequent time checks, though she made a point of not noticing when his gaze sidled up to the clock or down to his watch. As time passed, Forbin became more talkative and animated.

  “You know, Cleo, I don't think I've been here more than a half-dozen times in—how long? Seven years, isn't it?” He looked belatedly round the room with an excessive air of appreciation.

  “Should have done this more often.” He fumbled nervously with his pipe. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  He had practically fumigated the room already, but Cleo played ball.

  “Of course not.”

  While he filled his pipe once again, chattering about the Spartan quality of his quarters, Cleo, who had also kept a close watch on the time, saw that they were up to the probable repetition time. Forbin rambled on with some endless anecdote about faulty plumbing. Cleo waited a moment, then interrupted him. “It's one minute past the time, Charles.”

/>   Forbin breathed deeply, closed his eyes. When he spoke his voice was back to normal.

  “Thanks, Cleo.” He put his glass down and grasped her shoulders. “So we've taken a trick. Colossus would never be late—working in nanoseconds, a minute to him must be like a year to us. May I kiss you?”

  Cleo tried, and to some extent succeeded, to assume a surprised expression. She did not speak, but smiled softly at him. Forbin kissed her gently. Cleo saw that he shut his eyes as he did so, and chaste as the kiss was, she felt a surge of affection well up in her.

  He released his grip on her shoulders, turned and made for the door. Without looking around he said, “Get some sleep, Cleo. We need all we can get—tomorrow will be, as the old expression has it, a humdinger.”

  Cleo stared at the door long after he had gone. What a child he is, she thought. Most men would have exploited the situation right then. But he was not most men, and she was glad.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, at ten o'clock exactly, Forbin, with Fisher trailing unhappily behind him, strode into the sanctum for the Defense Staff meeting. He bowed fractionally to the President.

  “Morning, Mr. President.”

  “Morning.” The President did not sound as if he was prepared to make anything of their parting the night before; on the other hand, a certain ebullience was lacking in his manner.

  There was a general bustle and nodding of heads, one to another, as the members of the staff took their places. As usual, the President was seated first. This enabled him to give the impression, without actually saying so, that the rest of them were late, and keeping him waiting.

  “Gentlemen, I have called this meeting primarily to consider the news of the Russian machine.” He looked around at his advisers, as if expecting some argument he would be only too happy to squash. No one argued, so he went on. “As secondary subjects we will consider the failure of CIA to give the smallest warning of this development.” The Head of CIA got a very stony look. “And we will also take a look at Colossus—or, more particularly, at why Professor Forbin is so het up about the machine. I don't want to discuss anything else unless very urgent, and will not take kindly to any subject I don't rate that high. OK?”