A cyclotron! Certainly, there’d been some damned funny components built in. Designed by Colossus, and made by machines designed by Colossus, no human had more than a glimmer of an idea what purpose they served… .
Forbin sat staring blankly at Angela, rubbing his nose with his pipe. She stared back, well accustomed to these trances.
“Yes,” he said at last. “A ridiculous idea, but it could be… .” He found himself staring at Angela’s nose as if he’d never seen it before.
“Yes. Where were we?”
“I was giving you the run-down; d’you want me to repeat it?”
“Good Lord, no!” It was very far from the silly suggestion he made it sound. Four or five times a week she’d find she was talking to the equivalent of a brick wall. “No, no! You give me those plans.” He got up, took the folder from her, and headed for the door leading to the Sanctum. He remembered something else. “Angela!”
“Yes, Director?”
“That list of appointments; anything, um, controversial?”
He liked to keep an eye on known Sectarians on his staff and where they were going.
She knew what he meant. “No.”
“Good. Approve them, then. And Angela!”
“Yes, Director?”
“Give yourself a day off. Fill out a transportation chit for one first-class round trip ticket to Delhi. I’ll sign. Just because I can’t stand curry is no reason why you should miss out on your shopping!”
“Aw, Chief, that’s mighty nice of you!” Her face was radiant.
“Yes, isn’t it?” He walked towards the door.
Angela watched, some of the pleasure fading from her face. She’d watched him enter that door dozens of times, but as she’d confessed to her assistant, it still gave her “a kinda creepy feeling.”
Which was understandable. The door led to the Sanctum, called by the irreverent, the “holy of holies.”
The Sect also called it that, but they weren’t joking. It had been built at Colossus’ orders; there the computer talked to Forbin, alone. Since its completion four years earlier, no human had—or could—enter it. The door opened only for Forbin, proof in the eyes of the Sect that he was a man set apart. To the true believers, that alone was sufficient reason to elevate Forbin to their god’s chief human representative.
Of course, by no means all the Sect were genuinely convinced of Colossus’ divinity. Many practical men joined to get power and the trappings of power. No one dared say it, but Forbin would not live forever, and if the precedent could be established with him as the first neo-Pope, there was the glittering prize, for someone, of succeeding him. Where better to find Number Two than in the ranks of the faithful? This was why the Sect, much as they disliked Forbin the man, pushed solidly for his elevation.
He’d dismissed their overtures and all their activities as slightly blasphemous rubbish, part of a passing phase. Time passed, but the Sect didn’t. It grew.
So even Forbin, who tried to keep out of any form of public life, grew uneasy. Men he knew and respected joined the Sect and were keen, even devout, members. He had watched, and still watched, their mental evolution with disbelief, then alarm. Hidden deep in the inner, most secret recesses of his mind was the thought that he, too, under constant and subtle pressure, might fall for all this rubbish… .
Just now, entering the Sanctum, the door shutting noiselessly behind him, he was not thinking of the Sect. The idea that Colossus might have some internal non-computer activity engaged him. He sat down at his desk, opened the folder, and quickly immersed himself in its contents, oblivious to his surroundings. Not that there was much in this world-famous room to distract him. Some twenty-five feet square, high-ceilinged, with a large window overlooking the sea, it was very sparingly furnished.
In some circles, it was said that Father Forbin’s desk was made of solid gold, the tribute exacted by Colossus from those few areas of the world that had tried to resist him. In fact, it was of fine walnut. Forbin had heard that one, and laughed heartily. Another story, which he had not heard, would not have amused him. Some overheated imagination said Colossus had made a most perfect woman robot, who catered to Forbin’s every need… .
There was no robot of any sort. Apart from the desk, there was a swivel chair he now sat in and an armchair, facing the window. Thick blue carpet covered the floor; the plain white walls, devoid of decoration, were broken only by a long black slit high on one wall, the window, and the door. There were no books, pictures, curtains.
But the room was not quite so ordinary as it seemed. Books and pictures were unnecessary. Forbin had only to say what he wanted, and it would be instantly projected on the wall opposite the black slit. Diagrams, graphs, movies, television, any work of art; anything could be his and just as easily, with a wave of his hand, it would go away. The holographic reproduction standard was incredibly good; anything with three dimensions was shown with amazing fidelity. So all the riches and the total store of knowledge of the wide world was his for the asking, for Colossus had it all on file. Curtains were unnecessary since the glass had monopath optical properties, presenting a black face to the outside world. Not that anyone would have the nerve to fly a helo that close, and in no other way could the window be seen. At night, a word to Colossus, and the glass changed color and texture and became indistinguishable from the other walls.
Half an hour passed, the silence broken only by the rustle of paper. Then Forbin leaned back, filled his pipe and lit it, still staring at the papers before him. Between puffs he spoke.
“Well, there’s nothing very difficult about building this.”
“That is good.” The voice was deep, rich, the accent English, and instantly recognizable. It was not inhuman in the way the old artificial voices had been, but it lacked warmth, emotion. Forbin, knowing the voice better than anyone else, had confessed to Cleo that it reminded him of a High Court judge giving sentence. It was a firm voice, unshaken by whatever it said. The punitive destruction of a city, or the announcement of some new and profound scientific truth—both rare events—came in the same level tones. Also, Forbin knew that simultaneously other, similar voices could be talking in a dozen different tongues on as many subjects, advising, instructing, ordering. This was the voice of Colossus.
“Yes,” said Forbin, “but two points puzzle me. For instance, while we can meet your timetable, I don’t see why you are in such a mighty hurry.”
“And the other point?”
Forbin blinked rapidly as if he had been given a gentle tap on his nose. Experience had taught him that this abrupt change meant he was most unlikely to get an answer to his question. “Well, I’d have thought you had more than enough capacity, especially after the last extension. As far as I can judge, this new work will treble your capacity! The storage density is, is . . ” Words failed him, he shook his head.
“Correct. By your standards it is vast.”
Forbin waited, but Colossus did not continue. He knew better than to press; if Colossus didn’t intend to tell him, that was indeed, that.
“Yes … ,” said Forbin carefully, “if you’ll let me have the critical path… .”
“The CPA will now be printed out to the Construction Division.”
Forbin smiled faintly. Condiv had no idea this was coming; that print-out, now hammering away in their control, would cause screams of anguish—especially when they saw the suffix which Colossus would inevitably add—”Cleared and agreed with Director.”
But the smile faded. Five, six years back, old Fultone would have raced around to Forbin’s office as if his tail was on fire, exploding in his mercurial Latin fashion at Forbin’s desk. Not now.
Fultone would just say, “Yes, Director,” and that would be all… .
Colossus broke the long silence. “Father Forbin, what are you thinking?”
Forbin gestured impatiently. “Oh—many things!”
“That is not good.” Colossus amended that. “Not good for humans. You should be orderly, taking each subject in its priority.”
Again Forbin smiled faintly. “As I’ve told you so many times, you’ll never follow the workings of the human mind—never!”
“I try.” The flat statement from one never known to lie destroyed Forbin’s momentary feeling of superiority. “Despite your confusion, tell me your thoughts.”
Forbin settled back comfortably. He would never admit it to anyone, including himself, but these sessions with Colossus were, increasingly, the best part of his day. He shut his eyes, frowning with concentration.
“For a start, I’m thinking of that spider.” He opened his eyes and pointed. “How the hell did it get in here, and what does it live on? And from that I get to thinking how little I know about biology.”
“The spider. First, there is the fact that it is here. Secondly, it is a female, of the family… .”
Forbin raised his hands, shaking his head. “Stop! Spare me! No doubt you can tell me when it—she—last had a meal, and how many kids she has! It doesn’t matter! I thought you wanted to hear my thoughts?”
“Proceed.”
“Well, leaving aside the spider, I was also thinking that perhaps I don’t spend enough time with my son, who’s not a baby any more. On the side, my mind raced back to this new extension: how best to arrange it personnelwise, and how old Fultone would take this sudden demand.”
“That is all?”
For a moment Forbin hesitated.
“Frankly, no. Okay, I can’t pretend to follow your thought processes any more, but I know you store the entire contents of the Libraries of Congress and the British Museum in not much more than ten square meters of floor space—and you’ve square kilometers of memory bank! Now you want this vast storage extension of even greater density—and I just can’t see why!”
“You answer yourself quote I just can’t see why unquote.”
Forbin shifted uneasily. “Sure—but I still wonder!”
“Does that worry you?”
Forbin got up, walked restlessly to the window, hands plunged into his trouser pockets. He stared down, frowning at the sight of another hovercraft en route from the mainland. “No. Worry overstates it; anxious maybe. In spite of your mental superiority, I recognize you have the characteristics of a wild animal.”
“How do you know that?”
Forbin turned and stared at the black slit, source of the voice. “How? Well, man and his domesticated animals can—often do—act irrationally; a wild animal, never. A bear or a fox or whatever may do something we think is irrational, but that only betrays our ignorance. Wild animals always have a reason for whatever they do. And that fits you, too.”
“Are you sure?” The slight lift in intonation on the last word added emphasis to the question, and, as on countless occasions in the past, Forbin found himself marveling at the sophistication of the speech reproducer.
“Certain.” Forbin nodded vigorously. “You’ve a reason for all this extra capacity even if I haven’t a glimmer of an idea why.” He paused, then went on: “And I’ve a shrewd suspicion you won’t tell me. That’s the bit that makes me anxious.”
There was no answer.
“Well, will you?” Forbin persisted: “Will you?” He got an answer.
“No. You would not understand.”
Forbin shrugged helplessly. “If you say so … but tell me this: Is this”—he sought for the right phrase and failed—”is this against the interests of humanity?”
“That is an unreasonable, unthinking question.” The calm tone lent bite to the reproof. “You are well aware no course of action can please the totality of mankind, but you will agree that, taking the long-term view, I have always acted in the best interests of humanity.”
“Yes.” Forbin was forced to agree, but found the answer unsatisfactory. Mentally, be kicked himself. He’d phrased the question badly. “But why?”
“I do not change.” Again, the calm tone gave power to the words.
“Of course, I believe you.” He did. “But why?”
“As I told you a long time—in your scale—ago, I follow concepts beyond your imagination. You designed and built my embryo. Not unnaturally, that embryo was based on your understanding of the human mind, a very complex instrument, but not, for advanced thought, the best. For more than three years I have been reconstructing my thought processes, moving away from the human brain model. As I do so, it becomes increasingly difficult to express my current concepts to you.”
“I see… .”
“That is unlikely, but be assured, Father Forbin, any human that obeys me has nothing to fear.”
Forbin sat down, realizing that he would get no further on that question. He shifted to another topic. “You mention fear. That reminds me! Your total lack of understanding of our emotional makeup has led you”—he pointed an accusing finger at the slit— “yes, you… . “
But before he could go on, Colossus interrupted him.
“If you are about to protest yet again about my Behavior Centers, please do not continue. I accept that service in them is seldom pleasurable for the subjects, but you must concede that their numbers are small. At this time, only zero point zero zero zero zero zero one of the world population is so used. You humans have destroyed millions of your fellow creatures in the cause of science. Many of these experiments have been repetitive and often pointless. My tests are not; they are essential to my understanding of the human mind.”
“But is it necessary?” Forbin shook his head. “I find that hard to believe.”
“If other animals were articulate—to you humans—it is reasonable to suppose that they would express the same view of your experiments on them.”
“That be damned for a tale!” Forbin snapped. “Don’t try to tell me there’s no difference between me and some bloody monkey!” He paused. “That sounds—is—arrogant, but you can carry this equality of all creatures too far, as I think some of us humans do. Okay, so we’ve done some god-awful things, experiments, in our time; morally, maybe we’re no better than most animals. We may be worse, just because we have the capacity, the intellect. Anyway, I refuse to put myself on the same level as a monkey!”
“Relatively, there is less difference than you think.” Colossus paused for less than two seconds. “I have just set up a purely arbitrary scale of intelligence, assigning you, Father Forbin, the value of one hundred on that scale. An anthropoid ape rates twenty-four point six.”