by D. F. Jones
Briefly, they stared at each other, but Forbin, having lost the first and most important battle, could not win this one. He got up, trying to appear disinterested, casual, and crossed to the large window.
Outside was the landing place. There was some sort of commotion down there, figures running, but that was surely trivial stuff. Forbin looked at the empty, sunlit sea, the distant hills, the sky. As far as he could see, it looked, apart from that small disorder in the foreground, very much as it had always looked. He said so.
“You are not,” said Blake reprovingly, “using your eyes, Charles. I suggest you look again.”
It was not a suggestion, but a command, and Forbin, with a shrug, did as he was bid. Once more he scanned the sea, land, and sky, then shook his head.
“It’s no good, Blake. Apart from that disturbance among the visitors, there’s nothing to see.” He looked around. “You don’t mean you find any serious significance in that small riot?”
“None, as far as I know. Maybe some of the angry faithful are killing Galin and a few of his buddies! I sure don’t mean that!”
“Stop playing, Blake,” snapped Forbin with some of his lost authority. “I’m too tired, too old, for games!”
“You see nothing strange about the sea?”
“No,” replied Forbin, “nothing. It’s calm, hardly anything in sight… .”
His voice wandered off into silence; he realized there was one change since he last looked with a relatively sane eye.
The fleet had gone.
He swung around to face Blake; his startled expression said it all.
“D’you mean the fleet?”
Blake nodded, holding himself in. This was the big moment that would really show Forbin his true caliber.
Forbin was looking again at the empty sea, as if not crediting what he saw. Forbin turned back to Blake.
“You know, Blake”—he tried to sound normal, but the slight shake in his voice belied his conversational manner—”I realize that neither you nor I are, right now, quite normal. Frankly, I begin to think I am a lot more normal than you are, despite your repeated injunctions for me to take it easy!”
Blake nodded approvingly. “Good stuff, Charles! Back in Harvard—Princeton it’d flatten ‘em! But not me—I know what I’m doing. Right now, I’m gauging your reaction, surprise. That way I get an idea what sort of surprise it will be to other, lesser men!”
Forbin kept hold of his temper. “You grow tiresome, Blake!”
“Sorry—Prof!”
Forbin felt the sting of that demotion, but his expression remained unaltered.
Blake resumed. “A little earlier I mentioned that the one-eyed man was king. I—we,” he amended quickly, “are the king—kings. Just think, Charles! Colossus scrapped war and all the implements of war, retaining only the power of total annihilation for himself to keep us in line. Apart from that—what? A few ancient automatics, rifles, mostly in police or Sect hands—and that’s the lot! You just think of that, Charles; at one end of the scale, total destruction now locked up in the dead Colossus, and at the other, a few popguns!”
Forbin did not answer. Blake had to be mad, unhinged by events.
“Like I told you, outside your own field, you’re a very ordinary guy! You still don’t see what I’m driving at! Between those two extremes there’s one source of military power—the War Game fleets!”
Now Forbin was sure Blake was mad; his thoughts showed in his expression.
Blake laughed and shook his head. “No, I’m not crazy, very far from it! Okay, we lost out by losing control of the security police to the Sect, and it’s been a mighty close—fought tussle in communications, but—and I’m very glad to be able to say it—they, devoted to the Master, never saw the potential of the fleets if Colossus fell! Even now,” he said, pointing an accusing finger, “you don’t see it!”
“No,” said Forbin stonily, “I don’t!”
Blake leaned back, enjoying himself. “Put it this way. Madrid, Brasilia, Moscow, Berlin, and Delhi have got one thing in common—d’you know what?”
“No. But I’m sure you’ll tell me!”
Blake nodded. “I don’t say it is a complete list, but it’ll do. They are the only important capital cities that sea power would have difficulty in reaching! Now d’you get it?”
Dimly, Forbin did.
“You mull it over, Charles.” He held up one hand, fingers splayed. “I’m good at this—God knows I’ve studied the maps enough!” He counted rapidly on his upheld hand. “Quebec, New York, Washington, Rio, Buenos Aires, London, Paris, Oslo, Stockholm, Lisbon, Athens, Cairo, Kenyatta Town, Tokyo, Djkarta, Bangkok!” He beamed triumphantly. “I could go on with others —Sydney, Bombay, Sluvotingrad, Calcutta, Wellington—boy, I know ‘em all!”
“You’re mad. You must be!”
“Oh, no, Charles. I’m not mad! We don’t control all the fleets, but we’ve got enough! The English Royal Navy, which you finally noticed has gone, is going like a bat outa hell for the Thames and London—minus those detached to lean on Rotterdam! But the main and most important move is the good old US Navy, which, any time now, will be off Sandy Hook—hell—I’ll show you!”
He fumbled among the unaccustomed buttons and finally got the right one. In a sharp, peremptory voice he said, “Gimme the projection of the war fleets’ positions—yeah, in the Sanctum—where else?”
In seconds the projection was up. Forbin stared in unbelieving horror. Livid red dots clearly marked the fleets. Dots were approaching London, Rotterdam, Washington, New York, Sydney, and Tokyo.
“The really important one of that lot is this.” Blake stabbed towards New York. “The guns may be ancient in design, but a few fifteen-inch shells tossed into the United Nations should convince those comics—just supposing the sight of them guns don’t make ‘em run!”
“But why—what are you trying to do?”
Blake was standing in line with the projector; one fleet showed as a vivid red splash on his face. At that instant he looked like the devil.
“Everything you say shows how out of touch you are! Man has tried all sorts of goddamn systems of government or control: soldier-kings, ego-mad dictators, people’s-politicians,” contempt was strong in his voice, “and, to this moment, a transistorized tyrant! Now it’s our turn. Ours!”
He pointed dramatically at the projection. “That’s for real, Charles—for real! And bear one other, leetle point in mind: we hold most of the world’s communications, including the mass media! This is the beginning of the rule, the only possible sane rule; of the scientist!” He walked slowly over to Forbin and tapped his chest with one forger. “That’s us, Charles—you and me.”
Forbin’s reaction was surprising. He laughed; an unsteady and disturbing sound in the silent room.
“You seem to be forgetting some things—and some you don’t even know!”
“What are you getting at?” Blake was suddenly still. His mouth clamped down on the cigar.
“What am I getting at … ?” Forbin considered the question. “Frankly, I don’t know with certainty, but take one factor you appear to completely ignore: the Martians.”
Blake heaved a sigh of relief. “The Martians? Hell—surely that’s clear to you? Like the guy said, Colossus posed a threat to them, and they wanted to stop it. You know as well as I that that could figure; we both wondered what Colossus wanted with all that extra capacity. Now we know.”
“I wish I could be so sure.”
“Waddya mean?”
Forbin stared at the silent black slit. “Just before the end, Colossus told me that he knew the proposition fed in was of extraterrestrial origin, and that Mars was the most probable originator.”
Blake laughed admiringly. “You haveta hand it to the old tin brain!”
“There’s more. Colossus warned me that the Martians were a danger to us.”
Once more, Blake was uncertain. He flung his cold, chewed stub of cigar away and produced a fresh one. For a ti
me he fingered it thoughtfully, not looking at the silent Forbin.
“Aw, c’mon, Charles—you can’t believe that! What danger?”
“I don’t know, but that’s what Colossus said.” Forbin’s scientific honesty asserted itself. “To be precise, his exact phrase was ‘You and I are in danger. If he was speaking with his customary precision—and I’m not sure about that, either—he meant himself and me.”
Blake visibly brightened, and lit his cigar. “Well, sure! That figures! Colossus was right—dead right! The Martian proposition was deadly for him. And you—because you were tied to him! Yes, it was curtains for the machine and its human representative. But that’s past. Once we’ve got the UN to see the light, we rule—you and I—using, I admit, much of the old tin brain’s technique!” He was full of ideas. “Maybe a lotta the world needn’t even know there’s been a change of management!”
Forbin had the insight to see that the “you and I rule” would be a passing phase. Once firmly in the saddle, Blake would relegate Forbin; already he’d used the word “figure head.” Not that the idea bothered him. Colossus might, in those last closing minutes, have been talking of him, personally, but there was something else at the back of his mind that still refused to emerge, hidden in dark clouds of foreboding. Against that somber background, the antics of Blake were no more than black comedy.
Through a haze of smoke, Blake was watching him keenly, even anxiously. Forbin might be washed up, but he was a queer cuss. In some ways as soft as an overripe tomato, and as green as grass, but… .
Finally, Forbin spoke. “No. I’m sorry, Blake, but I say once more I think you’re crazy—like most of your kind. You’re so mad for power, you even ignore hard, unpalatable facts which don’t fit your dreams!”
This was not what Blake wanted to hear. He sneered. “Like what?”
“For a change, you think! Never mind what Colossus said, recall what he did! Remember? All astronomical observation to Input One—the highest priority. And while you’re at it, remember that that order was given very early on before the proposition really got working!”
If not shaken, Forbin’s words made Blake very thoughtful. “Yeah… . At the time I reckoned it was a sign of mental decay.”
“Typical! You thought that because you wanted to think it! It should have scared the hell out of you! Colossus was on the right track and on the side might have uncovered our treachery—and acted!”
“You think Colossus was on to something?”
Forbin gestured helplessly. “How can I—or anyone else—know?” He pressed his hands against his eyes. “There’s something else. My mind’s so muddled … yet I know… . Anyway, factually and instinctively, I find this situation very frightening.”
“You sure are a bright ray of sunshine!” Blake laughed, a strained, unconvincing sound. For a time he walked up and down, hands thrust in his pockets, shoulders hunched, cigar drooping. He came to a decision and strode over to the desk, not looking at Forbin. He called his office.
“Blake here. Anything on that astro stuff channeled to Input One?”
“Wouldn’t know, boss. It comes in and gets plugged straight through. No change since you left. As ordered, we’re carrying on until you give the word to stop.”
“You mean there’s no print-out?”
Forbin gave a faint, wintry smile. That was a damned silly remark, and if Blake hadn’t been way up in the clouds he wouldn’t have made it.
“No, sir.” The voice was rightly reproachful. “We had no orders to fix it—anyway, if we had the print-out… . “
“Okay-okay! I’ll call back.”
Blake resumed his pacing, puffing furiously, and apparently oblivious of Forbin. Abruptly he turned and hurried back to the intercom.
“Call all major observatories. Tell ‘em to concentrate on Mars.”
“Mars, boss?”
“That’s what I said. I want to know—fast—of any unusual activity—don’t ask me what, I’m no stargazer! Any goddamn activity—got it? Right. Flash all reports on receipt to the Sanctum!”
“There’s just one point.” Blake’s assistant paused. “Er—who’s the order from?”
“Like all orders around here until I say so—Colossus!”
“Okay”
Blake flung himself in the desk chair and stared with faint hostility at Forbin, who was being no help at all. Forbin’s detached manner was beginning to disturb Blake.
“Well, Forbin, does that satisfy you? I reckon the whole idea’s pure hogwash! It must be!”
“I’ve remembered,” said Forbin with deceptive calm. “It was not Colossus, but what that Martian voice said when I received the proposition. Can’t think why I did not think about it before. Too much going on… . “
Well, come on, damnit—out with it!” Blake was shouting, red-faced.
His flare of rage left Forbin totally unmoved. “Yes. Very strange.” He stared directly at Blake. “When explaining that Colossus would have no option but to tackle the proposition, the voice added that “they knew this, because they were akin to Colossus.” Blake’s anger had evaporated. “Yeah … still I don’t see that that points any particular way… .” Some of his old, indestructible spirit showed. He grinned at Forbin. “Y’know, Charles, if you’re trying to throw a scare into me—you’re succeeding!”
Forbin was not to be won over. “The situation is sufficiently scary without any help from me!”
“Aw… .”
Whatever Blake had in mind he instantly forgot. The projector had flared into life, showing a big blowup of a teletype hammering frantically.
FROM NIVERS FRANCE NIL REPORT ENDS
Blake nodded, looked inquiringly at Forbin who remained impassive. Blake shrugged and pressed the cancel button.
“Well, that’s a hopeful start.”
“It’s only a start.”
“Sure it’s only a start!” Blake snarled. “You are a miserable… .”
The teletype was on again.
FROM JODRELL BANK ENGLAND NO ABNORMAL ACTIVITY
And fast on its heels, another.
FROM MOUNT WILSON CALIF USNA NOTHING UNUSUAL OBSERVED ALL FACILITIES MAINTAINING CONSTANT WATCH ENDS
“Well,” observed Blake more cheerfully as he canceled the projection, “trust our fellow countrymen to use ten words when one would do!” He grinned at Forbin. “It begins to look as if your late, unlamented buddy was slipping a cog or two!”
“I hope to God he was!”
FROM MOUNT PALOMAR CALIF USNA NIL UNUSUAL ACTIVITY
FROM ARECIBO PUERTO RICO USNA NOTHING TO REPORT ENDS
“You must feel mighty disappointed, Charles!”
That revived Forbin. “Get one thing straight; I hope I am wrong! Try not to be such a bloody fool! All I want…
Once again the projector interrupted.
FROM LUNAR OBSERVATORY ONE NOTHING OBSERVED
Blake could contain himself no longer. He wheeled around. “Jesus, Charles—how much more do you want?”
Forbin had not taken his eyes from the projection. His expression made Blake look again at the message.
FROM LUNAR OBSERVATORY ONE NOTHING OBSERVED SINCE LAST REPORT
Blake tossed his cigar away and bent over the intercom. “Where’s Lunar One’s previous report?”
Blake’s assistant was feeling the strain. “Inside Colossus, I expect!”
Blake’s clenched fist crashed in impotent rage on the desk. “Well—flash ‘em! Get a repetition—fast!”
“Could mean nothing,” he said to Forbin. But, once again, all his bright confidence had gone. “Couldn’t it?”
Forbin retained the calm of one who has seen and felt the sky fall on him and is beyond care.
The intercom called.
“Yes, waddya want?”
“We’ve a call on line from Tahiti, boss. It’s Mrs. Forbin.”
Forbin raised his voice. “Put her on.”
“Yeah,” agreed Blake, “put her on—but override if you g
et hot news on Mars or if that repeat comes in from Lunar One.”
Forbin walked quickly to his desk, pushing Blake gently aside, and sat down facing the projection. The colors blinked once or twice, then the picture settled down. The holographic projection was good; Cleo might have been in the room.
In a way, Forbin was glad Blake was present, for he did not know what to say or how to begin. He looked avidly at her. At first glance, she looked fine, sunburned, her face a little fuller, and her hair bleached to a golden brown by the tropical sun.
Her eyes told a different story.
For a few brief moments even Blake forgot his worries. As for her husband.
…
Her eyes said it all: dull, lifeless, red-rimmed. Her mouth, devoid of makeup, quivered.
“Cleo!” cried Forbin. His throat was constricted; he was barely able to speak. “Cleo!”
She was so still. Could she hear him? “Cleo!”
“Charles.” Her voice was flat, bringing him no comfort. “How is Billy?”
Blake turned away, staring out of the window.
“Billy’s fine, darling!” Her husband’s voice was near breaking. “He—he—we, want you back!”
She nodded. “He really is okay? I mean, McGrigor’s caring for him?”
Forbin tried to sound on top of the world. “You know her! She’s doing the finest job—but he—we need you!”
Her mouth was trembling, but there was no sign of tears in those dead eyes. “I need rest; time.”
“Come back quickly, darling. I’ll look after you—we’ll… .”
She was shaking her head. “No. I need time. They—they killed the—the man, Barchek.” She was unable to go on.
“Thank God!” cried Forbin fervently. “If I could have got my hands on him.
…”
Surely she was not smiling?
“Give me time. I’ll call you. Give my love to Billy.” Slowly, aged before her time, she got up from the desk and moved out of sight.
