Read Fall of Colossus Online

Authors: D. F. Jones

Tags: #Science Fiction

Fall of Colossus (4 page)

“There you are,” cut in Forbin triumphantly, “I’m surprised the ape gets that high!”

“Allow me to conclude. On that same scale, my present rating, constantly increasing, is in excess of ten thousand.”

Again Forbin interrupted: “Ten thousand?” He gulped; the figure staggered him, although it never crossed his mind to doubt its accuracy. He rallied: “Well, that’s as it may be, but you yourself support my contention of man’s superiority in relation to other animals!”

“Once more, allow me to conclude. Your brain, Father Forbin, is exceptional. The average human rating is ninety-four point one, which is one point nine below Tursiops truncatus.”

That really shook Forbin. “Below what?”

“Tursiops truncatus, a delphinid. You may know it better as a dolphin.”

“You mean to tell me we rate below dolphins?” This was the real fascination in these conversations. Colossus would calmly state truths that had eluded man all down the ages. And Colossus never lied.

“In intelligence, yes. Intellectually, no. There is a difference.”

Forbin was the first man to be told, authoritatively, that man was not the most intelligent creature on earth. He took it very well, lighting his pipe, puffing great clouds of blue smoke, but the hand that held the match shook slightly. “Pha!” He retorted angrily between puffs: “I’d like to see your evidence and calculations for that!”

“Even if you had the data, the training, and skill, it would take you eight point nine years to reach a rough approximation.”

“Pha!” said Forbin again, and retreated from the subject. “Anyway, I find it hard to believe that your experiments in these Behavior Centers are necessary.”

“You must admit that any area of ignorance presents a challenge to a brain. For me it is more than that. To rule, ignorant of the most powerful emotive forces in my subjects, means that I must, at times, be in error. That cannot be good for those I rule.”

“But you don’t begin to realize the problems you face! Human emotion cannot be pinned down! It just can’t!”

“Tentatively, I assign the motivation of that remark to human vanity rather than practical experience of emotional analysis.”

Forbin waved his pipe irritably at the black slit, spilling ashes. “Okay Go ahead! Waste your time—I can’t stop you!” His own words made him pause in the act of brushing off the ashes. It was true, neither he nor anyone else could stop Colossus… .

“It is not time wasted. Some progress has been made in certain fields. For example, many different types of love have been isolated, some basic characteristics established. An example: Group Four… .”

“Group Four?” Forbin gave a half-strangled snort of disbelief. “Group Four—what in hell’s that?”

Colossus went on calmly. “It is heterosexual carnal love. An important characteristic is its ephemerality.”

Forbin grinned. When Colossus talked this way, he experienced a feeling of relief. It was like a professor solemnly discussing the tactics of a kid’s game of marbles. “You mean it doesn’t last?” he said.

“Correct. Although this is the common experience of humanity, their passing from this state still gives rise to disappointment, frustration, and other conditions.”

“Oh yes, very true—but you can’t measure it, pin it down electronically!” Forbin waved his pipe at the slit. “And if you say you can, tell me how!”

“Many ways: observation, tests, inference. You, Father Forbin, although you are not under normal surveillance, still provide material for inferential work.”

“Oh?” Forbin’s smile vanished. “How?”

“Simple analysis of the time you spent with your wife over the past five years shows a steady diminution.”

“That’s crazy! It proves—damn all—there’s a dozen factors that affect the situation!”

“Perhaps, although most have been taken into account. But there are other, more subtle tests. I have no data on your private life since you were established here, but what is available to me, seeing you in this complex daily, indicates that your passage through Group Four conforms to the standard profile.”

Forbin stared, half-angry, half-thoughtful, and for a long time he did not speak. When he did, his voice was firm.

“Now I know you’re talking garbage!”

But an acute human ear, used to subtle inflections as yet still beyond the computer’s aural system, would not have been entirely convinced.

Chapter Three

The Forbins lunched, as usual, together. While there was nothing tangible, it was plain to Cleo that behind that affable, smiling exterior, her husband was preoccupied, not with her.

The general cause was obvious. Increasingly, he was withdrawn from her after these sessions with Colossus, and that she resented bitterly.

She knew better than to chat about the weather or, at the other end of the conversational spectrum, to ask him about his talk with Colossus. All the same, to have to ask practical questions, such as would he be late that evening, twice, three times… .

“I thought stewed eggs topped with fried mud would be nice for supper.” Her voice was dangerously calm.

“Yes, dear. I’m sure you’re right.” He smiled faintly and muttered something to himself.

It sounded like “dolphins” to her. That was crazy. She twisted her napkin, tossed it on the table. “Well, I’m off. Going to clear a few papers, then I’m taking Billy to the beach this afternoon.”

“You off, honey?” Hastily Forbin got up, pulled her chair back as he always did. They smiled at each other.

Cleo returned to her office, seething with jealousy. Damn damn, damn Colossus! By two thirty she had finished and left for home.

En route she encountered Galin, senior member of the Sect’s Central Committee. She had never liked him, even when his name had been Alex Grey, and he was no more than an efficient administrator. He’d been a founder-member of the Sect and, as was fashionable, had changed his name to a single two-syllable word, chosen at random by Colossus.

Galin, alias Grey, was a career boy. Greed for power shone like twin neon signs from his sharp, ever-watchful eyes, set in a white, flabby face.

Of course, he was polite to Forbin’s wife, extremely polite, and they both knew why. Equally, both recognized their dislike was mutual. Cleo loathed everything about the man, from his overclean well-manicured nails to his honeyed voice. Galin was a clever man, one who set the pace for the Sect, responsible for many of the innovations that at first made him and his fellows the object of ridicule. Galin accepted the laughs, farsighted enough to see that as the Sect grew in power, laughter would die away, and the humorists would come to regret it. Time had proved him right.

So the derision, the witty cracks had faded. The ceremonial robes, the strange names, and all the rest were less and less funny. Nonmembers began to feel the pressure, gentle at first, but evergrowing… . If the boss of your division was a Sectarian, doing his stint in his own time as a Guide, you began to notice that your fellow subordinates who were Sect members got the good jobs, the promotions… .

So the Sect had grown, and the pressure with it. It was a long time since Cleo had found Galin funny. He scared her, and they both knew that, too.

The real shock had come with the case of Mel Jannsen, a young, brooding Swede technician. His close associates knew he hated the whole concept of Colossus, but they had no idea his hatred extended to action. The security police jumped him and found him in possession of anti-Colossus literature. He was tried by Colossus, convicted of antimachine activities, and beheaded. Jannsen was only the second staff member to be caught, and although Forbin had protested, no one else said much. In any case, it was a waste of time, for Colossus always acted, literally, with superhuman speed. Arrest, trial, and execution took less than fifteen minutes. Whatever Forbin said wouldn’t help Jannsen. He was dead before Forbin even knew he had been arrested.

But there was more to his case, a great deal more. The few in the know realized that it had to be a Sect member who had informed on the Swede. The word got around—as it was intended to—that Sect members were dangerous, not to be trusted. Suspicion hardened further when, a week after the Jannsen incident, Colossus ordained that the security police should integrate with the Guides, thus giving power and official status to the latter. Within a month the merger was completed—except that the Sect had their own ideas of what “integrate” meant. By then, all the security police were also reliable Sect members… .

So Cleo and Galin might smile at each other, but there was fear in her eyes as his gaze, unsoftened by his facial expression, bored deep into her, stirring that fear.

“Ah, dear lady!” He bowed very slightly, his manner theatrical, his words banal, but the sinister undertone made him anything but a figure of fun. “What a truly glorious day!” He looked away from her to the brilliant sun beyond the entrance hall. “Glorious. Glorious.”

“Yes,” said Cleo, forcing herself to speak. “I’m off to the beach.” He looked again at her, nodding gently. “Of course, your beautiful child. How wonderful to be a child—in all things.”

“Yes,” said Cleo again. Experience had taught her that “wonderful,” “glorious,” and “beautiful” were all okay Sect words. When Galin said it was a “glorious” day, implicit in his words was the rider: “glorious, because we enjoy all this through our Master.” Cleo shivered as she hurried on, uncomfortably aware that Galin would watch her until she was out of sight.

Still, in whatever sense the poisonous man used the word, it was a glorious day. Quickly she changed into a swimsuit and wrap, put a few things including a radio into her basket, and went down the winding path which led to the Forbins’ private beach.

At this time of year, before the supercomputer took over the island, the beach would have been crammed with holidaymakers. People of all ages would have been taking a traditional British seaside vacation: the older ones dozing in deckchairs; the youngsters paddling, splashing, eating ice cream; teen-agers horsing around, tentatively paddling in the sexual shallows.

Not for the first time had this occurred to Cleo as she chose a spot to sunbathe. To have the entire beach to herself made her feel guilty. She wondered what had happened to all those people, amazed that there had been so little protest. Would the clearance of, say Miami, raise so little argument? Backed by the authority of Colossus, Yes. Cleo sighed. It was senseless to go over it all again; might as well enjoy it. At least she had the illusion that, as one of the Fellowship, she was doing her best to find some end to the nightmare. But was that all it was—an illusion? What possible chance had the Fellowship? Very true, answered the other side of her mind, but if we, those closest to Colossus, don’t try, what hope is there?

All these thoughts vanished when the nurse arrived with young Billy. After admonishing the child to be “a guid bairn” and checking that his mother was moderately competent to look after her own child for an hour or so, she left.

For ten, fifteen minutes mother and child played, and Cleo, lost in that most powerful, secret relationship, forgot all about Colossus, the Sect, and Galin.

The happiness her child brought her was still in her eyes when young Billy toddled off to new and exciting pursuits in a nearby rock pool. His mother spread her towel and lay down, radio on, basking sensuously in the hot sun, stretching her long limbs, relaxing.

She half-shut her eyes, vaguely aware of the redness of her eyelids in the strong sunlight, the strange magnification of her eyelashes… . Lazily, she thought about putting on suntan oil, and—and then—what? Drunk, drowsy with sun, her mind drifted, dimly aware of the soft sound of the sea, the music on the radio… .

Every now and then she glanced across to young Billy. He didn’t need sun lotion. For perhaps the ten thousandth time she inspected his sturdy legs, good arms… . Yes, there was much to be thankful for; even to a less biased eye he was a fine child; beautiful… .

The word struck like the first chill gust of an approaching squall, matting the smooth water, herald of the storm. Beautiful, a word marred forever by Galin… .

That was the moment. Life, for Cleo, was never to be the same again.

Against her will, she found herself thinking of Galin. The sun seemed to have lost some of its power. Instinctively, she glanced again at her child. He was all right, intent upon his pool. Before her bead touched the ground, she heard it; faintly at first, then louder.

“Cleo Forbin. Cleo Forbin. Cleo Forbin.”

She sat up, surprised. Eyes narrowed against the glittering glare of the sea, she looked around. No one. Now fully alert, she looked sharply around her again.

“Cleo Forbin. Cleo Forbin. Cleo Forbin.”

With the first repetition of her name she got it. The soft, dreamy music had gone, replaced by a faint background mush. The voice came from the radio.

For a moment she stared at it, unbelievingly. It was the dry, rustling voice of an old man, sexless with age, drained of emotion.

Again her name was repeated three times in that desiccated voice, overlaid by a faintly Bostonian academic accent.

… Cleo Forbin.”

She was startled, puzzled, not yet afraid. Was this some sort of joke? But who—what?

“Cleo Forbin. Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid. Only you can hear this transmission. Only you. Colossus cannot hear. Do not be afraid.”

At the mention of Colossus, she was deeply fearful. Thoughts of some practical joke, however improbable, faded. She reached for her wrap.

“Cleo Forbin. Do not be afraid. We can see you; we think you hear us. You cannot answer, but if you do hear this message, please walk once, slowly, in a circle around your radio, then resume your present position and wait.”

Cleo sat, frozen, frightened to act, yet too frightened not to. The message was repeated. Slowly, reluctantly, she got up, glancing quickly, apprehensively, at the cliffs behind the beach, the empty sea, the sky. Pretending, half to herself, that she was looking for seashells, she made the circuit, fighting down the impulse to snatch up Billy, and run, run…

.

Time dragged by. She watched Billy, waiting… .

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