Barchek, clearly in awe of Torgan, bowed jerkily to the controller, then stepped forward to grab Cleo. She struggled as the guards freed her, but to Barchek she might have been no more than a chicken in his native Croatian village. He grinned at her, revealing far from perfect teeth, yet it was not a lecherous look; it was far more frightening than that. She did not seem to exist for him as a human. The essential Cleo, the woman, he clearly ignored. He wanted her body. Even when she scratched his cheek, there was no sign of anger. Who gets annoyed when a chicken flaps?
It could scarcely be called a struggle. In seconds he had her by her hair, and effortlessly forced her down on her knees, oblivious of her writhings. Now her resemblance was to a demented dog on a lead.
Barchek bowed again at Torgan, backing to the door, Cleo screaming, struggling, sliding on her knees along the floor.
A guard shut the door; her screams faded. Torgan spoke, choosing his words with care, for Colossus’ benefit. “It is unscientific to predict with insufficient data, but I suspect we will get little support for the Sabine theory from that case.” He waved the guards out. With elaborate unconcern he said to his silent assistant, “Do remind me to watch the playback of their tapes.”
Chapter Nine
Forbin got through the rest of the day by the simple expedient of getting blind drunk. He sat in his chair, drinking insanely. Only the empty bottle stopped him from acute alcoholic poisoning. By then, he lacked the ability to get up for more.
Each time Colossus tried to speak, Forbin screamed, “Shut up!” As time passed, his brooding silence was broken with wild, rambling fragments of his thoughts, some whispered, some shouted.
“Blake! That bastard … wait till I… . Blake!”
This phase passed as well, and he lapsed again into silence, not even bothering to shout at Colossus.
Colossus, by God knows what thought processes, finally concluded that this had to end. Thus it was that Angela, entirely ignorant of events—the Sanctum was soundproof—was the first human, after Forbin, to enter. Colossus instructed her to collect Forbin and take him home. Somehow she did. Fortunately she was a strong girl and made it without assistance. With the aid of a startled maid, she got him on his bed, called his doctor, and tactfully left, deeply worried. She knew of Cleo’s arrest: Colossus had told her.
The doctor, no less startled, correctly diagnosed Forbin’s condition, fed him a massive dose of alcohol neutralizer, and waited. In fifteen minutes Forbin was stone cold sober and less than grateful. The doctor left speedily.
Forbin’s first action was to move towards the nearest bottle, but then he hesitated; his good sense told him it was no way to meet anything, least of all this nightmare. Instead, he called Blake, and in an icy voice, said he wanted to see him at once.
Blake arrived, looking older, paler. There was no smile, no cigar. He waited for Forbin to speak; minutes passed, both men stood facing one another.
Finally Forbin spoke. “You bastard!” He compressed all the feeling in the world in that one word. “Jesus! I hope you’re satisfied—this is your doing!”
Blake said nothing, and there was another silence. “Yes. You think about it! Your fault!”
“Did Cleo say so?” The quiet voice was quite unlike Blake’s normal tone.
“Oh, no!” Forbin laughed bitterly. “No need for you to worry! Because she’s my wife, she’s not being interrogated. That gets you off the hook, doesn’t it? But let me tell you this: Colossus knows you’re at the bottom of this, this—madness, and Colossus will get you!” He grinned angrily. “And for the record, if I can help, I will!”
Blake shrugged that off. “What about Cleo? Remember, I don’t know more than that she’s arrested.”
Forbin looked away, his anger momentarily engulfed in grief. “Three months in one of those, those—emotional centers.”
Blake took a deep breath, but did not speak.
“You don’t care—do you?” Forbin, badly hit, wanted to hurt Blake, the cause of his wound.
Then Blake’s anger flared. “Sure I care! Maybe I care more than you think—but I’m not a fool! I can keep my head! Yeah, I care all right. Because I don’t live in Colossus’ pocket, I know what’s going on! I also know it could have been a helluva lot worse for Cleo! Boy, how Colossus could bend his own laws like that is fantastic!”
“I notice you’re certain of her guilt! Now tell me you’d nothing to do with it!”
“Aw, c’mon, Charles!” Blake was bitterly sarcastic. “She hasta be guilty—Colossus says so!”
Forbin jumped forward, grabbed Blake by the lapels of his blouse. Blake did not move. Forbin, whispering with savage intensity, shook his man. “What were you up to? Tell me!”
“Don’t try to involve me, Forbin.” Without undue effort he freed himself. “You know there’s not a shred of evidence against me. If there was, my head would be in a basket at this very minute, and you know it!” He glanced contemptuously at the glittering diamond and platinum Director’s badge on Forbin’s chest. “You’re crazy if you think I’d talk to you—you of all people!”
Forbin saw his look; in a mad frenzy he wrenched the badge off and threw it on the floor. “There! Now; man to man! You know this place isn’t bugged—tell me what you got my wife into!” A thought struck him, he gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “And to think I suspected you and her… .” He broke off, and when he resumed he was calmer, sadder. “The awful thing is, I don’t know if I’d have preferred that—or this.”
“What in hell got you thinking I was after Cleo? Sure, I’m very fond of her. We’ve been through a lot together, but what gave you the idea … ?”
“You’ve been here. Cleo wouldn’t admit it to me. Colossus saw.”
“Oh sure—your private eye!”
“Right! But one that can’t lie! I know about you on the beach and here last night.”
“Do you?” said Blake thoughtfully. “Can’t say it surprises me that much—but d’you know what we were doing?”
“Not yet I don’t, but that’ll come! I do know this: as of Cleo’s arrest you’re under maximum surveillance; you’re top of the list!”
“That also doesn’t surprise me much,” said Blake. “So if I’m to get the ax, how about calming down, being constructive about Cleo?”
His faintly contemptuous manner stung, but Forbin held himself back. He walked over to the long window; outside, rain was hammering down, bursting in a myriad tiny splashes. In three months it would be the beginning of winter; there’d be no more breakfasts on the terrace… .
“Tell me this: was there anything between you and Cleo?”
Blake laughed genuinely. “Really, Charles—don’t be such a goddamn fool! Do you really think we were conspirators and lovers at the same time? Use whatever brain your buddy has left you! Don’t think of me; I’m male, mostly unattached and totally unreliable with women. You just think of Cleo, your wife, Billy’s mother! Brother!” He spoke with deep feeling. “I’m glad for your sake that Cleo’s not around to hear you. If she was, I reckon you’d think the roof had caved in!”
Forbin was almost convinced. He passed a hand over his tired face. “But that doesn’t alter it; you got her into some crazy antimachine game.”
“You can think what you like. Thoughts are not yet, thank God, evidence—and Colossus has a mighty old-fashioned respect for evidence!”
“You fool! Both of you, mad fools—but you especially! Nothing can touch Colossus! If any two people know that, it’s you and Cleo. Why try?” Forbin was almost pleading. “Why? You can’t deny the good Colossus has brought to humanity.”
“Who’s denying it? Colossus has done so much good, the human spirit is crushed under the weight of it all! Yeah, it’s all lovely! We get free handouts of what is ours, and on top of being ruled by a tin brain, we have the Sect—and that bunch of creeps hasn’t even begun yet!”
Blake picked up the Director’s badge and tossed it casually to Forbin. “Go on, boss man! Go prod your flock of semi-morons; play your cards right and they won’t stop at making you Pope—you’ll end up a demigod!” He turned and walked towards the door. “So I’m a fool. Maybe. So is Cleo—but, like fools, we’re not impressed. I’ll tell you one thing that I hope is news: Cleo and I head the Fellowship! One more thing: whatever she’s enduring now, she wouldn’t—won’t—change her views! Right: we’re fools, a very select bunch of fools, undaunted by odds. We want a free humanity, free of monsters and the miserable creeps who worship them! Somehow, sometime… .” He broke off, aware he sounded theatrical. “Aw, why bother!”
Half out of the door he spoke again, his voice hard, “It may not be much, but the Fellowship will do all it can for Cleo. As for you, Forbin, go burn some incense!”
Torgan authorized the travel pass with his thumbprint and handed it to his assistant.
“Be sure you give my respects to Controller Galin.” He looked approvingly at his assistant. “It is good that you are visiting the Master’s temple.” He sighed. “I only wish I could go more often, but—work, work! Don’t forget to see Galin.”
“No, sir, I won’t.”
“One tiny word of advice; it would be just as well not to let your position, or your knowledge of, ah, events, reach Father Forbin.”
“No, sir,” said the assistant woodenly.
Torgan smiled again. He liked wooden assistants; they didn’t crab his act.
“No. Poor For—Father Forbin.” He coughed, not looking at the shining black eye of the camera. “A terrible burden for him to bear. To have such a woman as his wife.” He shook his head. “Of course, twenty-four hours is little to go by, but I fear we will have to terminate her experiment at least a fortnight earlier if events proceed as they have started. She will need time to recover.” He couldn’t resist the faintest suspicion of a smile.
“Yes, sir. That seems very probable.” The assistant remained wooden-faced. “She’ll need all that.”
“Indeed, indeed. Such spirit against such animal strength! Quite remarkable. I really must find time to study those first tapes again.”
Chapter Ten
For eighteen hours after the ever-faithful Angela had taken him home, Forbin remained there. What he did, or thought, was the subject of much conjecture, mostly unspoken. Certainly, there was an air of tension around the complex, for most knew of Cleo’s arrest, but how the individual felt about that particular item of news, most kept to themselves. Colossus was everywhere, and although it was widely accepted that Colossus could not—yet—interpret the finer, more subtle shades of human expression, vocal and facial, the Sect could. They, too, were everywhere.
And then, looking rather scruffy and somewhat older, Forbin stalked across the entrance concourse, oblivious to everyone and everything. The duty Guides bowed, but as far as Forbin was concerned, they might as well have been wall paintings. He walked past Angela, who was careful not to look at him, to his outer office, and there, door closed, he remained.
Angela, who had a stack of papers requiring his attention, spent two hours debating whether she should go in to him or not. On the one hand, he might be praying for her to go to him, but on the other… .
Her problem was solved by the arrival of Blake. He, too, looked rather different. There was a fine-drawn quality in his face, and although he tried to sound his genial self, inquiring after her love life and other personal matters, she knew him far too well to be fooled. He wanted to know if Professor Forbin was in, and she said yes, but… .
Blake nodded, said he also was in a “but” mood, and passed on to Forbin’s office. Angela waited apprehensively, for she had heard a rumor or two, but Blake firmly closed the door behind him, and as far as Angela was concerned, that was that.
Forbin, who was sitting at his desk doing nothing, looked up slowly when Blake entered.
“What d’you want?” He sounded very tired, detached, far beyond antagonism. His suit looked very dirty, and Blake saw the tear on the chest where he had ripped the badge off. It was pinned on again, but crookedly. He looked a mess; suits meant to last twenty-four hours look very bad after thirty-six.
Blake grinned, showing none of his inner tension. This scene had to be played right, Forbin not even knowing it was a scene. He attacked, hoping without conviction that Forbin would see the different expression he tried to put in his eyes.
“Do me a favor, willya, Charles?” He jerked an irreverent thumb at the holy of holies. “Try to calm down these brainstorms —huh?”
Forbin’s face was blank, drained of expression. “Brainstorms.” He thought about that. “What brainstorms?”
“Aw, c’mon, Charles! These power-sucks, dimouts—call ‘em whatever you like. These sudden overloads are wicked; they create unholy hell in my work.” He kept his tough and slangy image rolling. “And what’s it all for—or shouldn’t I ask?”
Forbin ignored the question, but he got the idea. “Overloading… . You have input trouble?”
“You may say that. You know as well as I do that the constancy of the carrier signal is critical. We can smooth out odd bits, but smoothers or not, we had a drop this morning that they couldn’t handle; lasted over forty milliseconds! You don’t need to spell that out.”
Forbin nodded. Now that his professional attention was engaged, he was less morose, withdrawn. “Um. Yes. I can see that. What are you doing?”
“As of now, we’re rerunning the lost material, but there’s a limit to the amount of backlog we can accept, and if we drop behind schedule, I only hope no one is going to blame me!”
“Yes, yes. I will mention it.”
“By the way,” desperately Blake tried to sound casual, “I’ve got a toy I promised young Billy on the beach the other day. Can I drop it by sometime?”
A toy? For Billy?” Forbin appeared to find that a strange and not very interesting idea. He was beyond caring. “Sure.”
Blake took a chance. “Cleo would like it, Charles.” He spoke gently.
“Yes… .” The tormented eyes turned away. “Yes. It might… .” His voice, unstable, trailed off.
“Fine!” Under the grin Blake was strained, watchful. “I’ll call around the young man’s bathtime. It’s a pretty smart duck!”
When Blake arrived at the Forbin residence he was indeed clutching a duck, a plastic duck, cast in the centuries-old image set by the dimly remembered Disney, the sort of toy that a small boy would love, even if he had never seen a real one.