“President speaking.”
“The Chairman of the USSR speaking. As this is a matter of urgency, I will speak in English. Mr. President, I am informed by my advisers that both Guardian and Colossus are exchanging data which our experts do not understand—and which they believe your experts will not understand either. The matter is made more serious by the sudden increase in the speed of transmission. I believe this situation is not in your interest, or mine, and I propose to you that we both stop these transmissions as soon as our experts can arrange it.”
Prytzkammer, listening in his own room, recalled the President's view that Forbin was “all shot.” If he was, it looked as if it was catching.
“What is your objection to these transmissions, Mr. Chairman?” said the President.
“To be frank, at this speed we cannot be sure what our machine may reveal of our defenses. Equally, if we stop ours, and you do not stop yours, it is possible yours may influence or even inhibit our Guardian.” He paused to let that sink in. “You will appreciate that you are also in exactly the same position.”
“You consider this is urgent, then?” temporized the President. He was busy recalling what Forbin had said; as far as it had gone, it was clearly on the same lines as the Reds. Damn and the hell with Forbin, thought the President, conveniently forgetting he had hung up on his adviser.
“Yes, Mr. President, I do. I am informed that these machines are now sending at a rate of more than a thousand words a minute.”
“A thou—” The President managed to strangle some of his surprise. “Yes, I see what you mean.”
It was not lost on the Chairman. “Perhaps you have not been kept fully informed, Mr. President?” he said smoothly. “I have all the information I require,” retorted the President sharply.
“Of course, Mr. President, I am sure you have.” The Chairman's tone was soft and mollifying, yet still contained a streak of unbelief.
The President thought quickly. “Very well, Mr. Chairman. I agree. We will stop both machines as soon as our experts have arranged a time, both to go off at the same time, and neither to be switched on for transmission without prior agreement or at least consultation with the other.”
“You do not wish to consult your experts?” queried the Chairman.
“No,” said the President firmly. He would show this Russian bastard who was the boss in the USNA.
“Very well, Mr. President, let me congratulate you on your speedy decision. When can you have your expert available on this line?”
“Ten minutes,” said the President promptly. Beat that.
“That will do excellently. I will see that my man is waiting. He will be Academician Vlassov Kupri; may I know the name of your expert?”
“Forbin, Professor Charles Forbin.”
“Thank you, Mr. President, for your cooperation.”
“Thank you for yours,” replied the President guardedly, and hung up.
He thumbed the button for his aide, but Prytzkammer was already halfway through the door.
“Did you get that, P? These cotton-picking computers talking at a thousand words a minute! I will have a few things to say to Forbin when he gets here.”
Prytzkammer was feeling rather daring that morning. “If you will pardon me saying so, sir,” he watched the frown gathering on the President's brow, “I think you should remember that Forbin did try to tell you this morning. . .”
“Yeah, I know,” snarled the President. It was not much of a snarl; the aide knew his boss, and that if you had a watertight case and stood up to him, he would quickly subside. “Anyway, get Forbin here fast.”
Prytzkammer nodded and headed for the door.
“And get some more coffee sent up!” the First Citizen hurled at his aide's retreating back. He thought of something else. “And tell my wife I can give her ten minutes at eight”
At eight-ten Forbin was ushered into the PPA's office. He looked tired, and none too sweet-tempered.
“Morning, Professor,” said Prytzkammer advancing with outstretched hand. “Forgive me for not arranging transportation from the terminal, but—'
“Oh, that.” Forbin dismissed the matter with a shrug as he shook hands briefly. “President ready?”
“I think you'd better let me give you the rundown first,” and with Forbin seated, Prytzkammer brought him up to date. He had not expected his news of the President's action to be welcome; it would be a blow to the Professor's pride. But he hardly expected the reaction he got.
“The bungling, stupid, ignorant clown!” Forbin spoke with great intensity, his teeth clenched. Prytzkammer glanced anxiously at the doors to the Presidential Sanctum. Fortunately Forbin's voice was not overloud—yet.
“Now, now, take it easy, Forbin.”
Forbin did not take it easy, he swore. It was a long, involved and comprehensive swear.
“OK, Forbin, I know how you feel, but the old man did not mean to hurt your pride, the way he was fixed—”
“What in tarnation has pride to do with it?” Forbin looked genuinely puzzled. “Really, you people here are so far from reality. Prytzkammer, let me get it across to just one person in this freak show.” He leaned over the aide's desk until his face was only inches from Prytzkammer's.
The aide looked startled and drew back slightly. Forbin smiled, but there was no humor in his eyes. “Get this: out there in the big wide world beyond those doors there are two machines. Less than twenty-four hours ago they were busy proving to each other that twice two equaled four; now they have progressed way past where we can hope to be in a hundred years' time. They think better, bigger and faster than we, and I believe our control is very tenuous—but this I am very unwilling to try and prove—”
The President's voice broke in. “Is Forbin there yet?” Prytzkammer flashed a warning look at Forbin, “Yes, sir, just this moment arrived.”
“Send him in.”
“Yes, sir.” Prytzkammer, now a very thoughtful man, jerked his head at the Presidential doors.
Forbin opened the door for himself and found the President in his picture postcard pose at his desk. Hard of eye, no glad hand and motionless. Forbin, his temper rising, a bitter taste in his mouth, was neither impressed nor frightened by the sight.
“Sit down, Forbin.” The tone was brusque, cold.
Forbin sat down; just for the hell of it, he took out his pipe and lit it. The President said nothing, but his expression spoke volumes.
“I've had a call from the Russians. They don't like the way these machines are talking to each other—it has them worried security-wise. There is a lot in what they say, and I have agreed with their proposal. There will be a simultaneous shutdown on both sides as soon as you and their expert can arrange it. Their man is some jerk called Kupri—he'll be on the phone in,” he glanced at his watch, “three and one half minutes. The Chairman and I have agreed this shutdown shall be done with all speed, and to my mind that's practically right now.”
Forbin took a deep breath. While the President was speaking he had realized that nothing would be gained by losing his temper.
“I'm not at all sure an immediate shutdown is a good idea.”
“Why?” barked the President.
“Well, as you may recall, once or twice I have tried to explain that we have built better than we knew. I can't prove it, but I sense that our control of these machines—it's evident that Guardian is much the same—is by no means strong—”
“You've said all that before. I don't deal in half-baked feelings—give me facts!”
“I can't prove anything,” said Forbin heatedly, “but I suggest you let me and my fellow jerk, Kupri”—the sarcastic note was strong—“work out some way of inhibiting the machines. It'll take time, but with care we might insert fresh parameters to remove their power—”
“You're crazy!” The President did nothing to conceal his anger. “I'm not worried about Colossus as a power! OK, so it's a damned clever piece of work, I'm not denying it! Amazing, stupendou
s—anything you like—but when you get down to hard cases, it's nothing more than a souped-up adding machine! I'm not running the risk of Colossus being seduced by Guardian—and that's all I'm worried about. You've played too long with it, you're obsessed. You go ahead and close down. Agree on a time, and pull the transmitter power lead out at that time—that's all—no scientific mumbo jumbo needed. And that's an order!”
Forbin was white with anger. “That's the way you want it?” His voice was husky, barely controlled.
“Not only that, Professor—it's the way I'm going to have it!” He looked at his watch. “You'd better take that call in my aide's office—in two minutes' time.” The President picked up a document and appeared to be reading, an indication that the interview was over.
Forbin stood up slowly. For a moment he felt he would explode, and then the sheer hopelessness of it overwhelmed him. He felt spent, empty, and beyond care. He shook his head.
“Oh, brother,” he said quietly.
The President looked up sharply. “What was that?”
Forbin smiled contemptuously. “I merely said, 'Oh brother.' ”
“I think you need a long vacation, Forbin.”
Forbin's expression did not change. He relit his pipe, tossed the match at the Presidential ashtray, and missed. “That's an interesting thought, Mr. President. I wonder who will get the longer vacation—you or me?”
“Get out!” thundered the President, jumping up and pointing to the door. “I'll deal with you later!”
But Forbin was already halfway to the door. Academician Kupri was on the line on the dot. “Academician Kupri? My name is Forbin. We've not met, but I've always respected your work.”
“You are kind, Professor. I too am familiar with your work—that small part that has been published, of course.”
“Well, we're both in the same boat. We'd better get on with this matter. I am ordered to make a rapid shutdown—how do you propose we do it?”
“Naturally, I am not familiar with the control details of Colossus,” said Kupri, “but it seems probable that you have a link with the machine for the alteration of parameters—”
Forbin had to be careful with this point. Any information that might help an enemy to alter parameters was clearly vital. The talk was technical and highly abstruse, and ended with Forbin agreeing that, with safeguards, parameters other than very basic ones, could be altered.
“We too have our arrangements in this respect,” Kupri replied. “We could, therefore, instruct the machines to stop feeding material to the transmitters—or we can cut the transmitters off. We must use the same method, I think, to avoid any argument later. If we use the first, and the machines, ah, fail to understand—”
Forbin felt a cold chill down his back. For all his smooth cool manner, Kupri had the same doubts. Forbin was certain of it.
“I agree entirely,” he said slowly. Security might not like it, but Forbin had to know. “Particularly as the machines are. . . not quite the same as they were when started up.”
“That is a valid point, Professor.” Kupri's tone was just too smooth and controlled.
“So we switch off—and hope we can contain the machines' disappointment.” Forbin tried to sound jocular, but it was a miserable failure.
“I understand perfectly,” said Kupri ambiguously. “I think we should do it at once, every second. . .”
“I know,” said Forbin with feeling. “I can shut down at—say, 1330 Greenwich Mean Time—about fifteen minutes' time. How does that suit you?”
“That is convenient. It would be a wise precaution if we speak again. I suggest at 1400 GMT.”
Forbin agreed, and felt it was strange that the first man who seemed to feel exactly as he did should be a Russian. Forbin replaced the handset and stared thoughtfully at Prytzkammer. Then he roused himself. “Do you mind if I use one of your phones?”
“Sure, go right ahead.” The aide added in a more diffident tone, “Are you sure you need the hot line for that 1400 call? The President will have to know, and I don't think he will like it being used without his express authority.”
“The President,” said Forbin crisply, “can go to hell! I'm using that line and no other, and if he doesn't like it, he can take over right now!”
Forbin glared at the aide, who retired into some paperwork. Forbin called Fisher at the CPO and made the necessary arrangements for the shutdown, making it very clear that this was a Presidential decision. He ended by saying he was going to stay where he was until at least an hour after the shutdown, and that no other action was to be taken without his prior agreement. Then he sat back, outwardly calm, but with a cold impalpable fear gripping his stomach. Prytzkammer took in his set, strained expression, and ordered coffee. It was 0820 EST, 1320 GMT.
Forbin walked to a window and became aware of the outside world. There had been so little time to consider the matter, but he felt that the President might have done something—he was not sure what—to warn the people. Still, if the President was not worried, why should he be? It was a bright, clear morning, holding promise of a fine day. On the vast lawn a computer- controlled lawn mower was silently cutting the grass. Forbin watched it listlessly, his mind far off. Again he roused himself.
“When we cut off, Prytzkammer, I want to be in there with the direct link to Colossus.”
“Well, I'm not sure, Professor,” said Prytzkammer doubtfully, “the President has an appointment at that time.”
Forbin spun round, his keyed-up temper rising fast. “Listen, you may think the most important man in the USNA right now is in that room, but ” he glanced at the clock—“you can stand by for a slight shift in power in seven minutes' time. The most important man as of that time will be me, and you needn't think I am nuts.” He went on slowly, with great emphasis. “I must have contact with Colossus for the first half-hour at least, and if the President does not like it, he can—”
The arrival of the coffee stopped him. Prytzkammer got up from his desk. “OK, Professor, I'll go talk to the old man—help yourself to some coffee.”
“Thanks—and don't hang around, there are only six and one half minutes now.”
Prytzkammer tapped on the door of the sanctum, was bidden to enter, and did so. As the door shut, Forbin poured some coffee and drank it; it did nothing for his queasy stomach. The only thing that helped at all was to let fly with his temper, and that, he realized, was dangerous. He refilled his pipe, and made a resolution not to look at the clock until he estimated that it was four minutes to the cutoff time. He forced his mind to think once more of possible action he could take, but nothing came to him, nothing. He stole a half-glance at the clock. Four minutes, fifty.
The President's voice suddenly flooded out from the hi-fi speakers.
“Forbin, come in here.” It was cold, flat and peremptory. Forbin compressed his lips, his eyes hardened. He shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other, and strode straight into the sanctum.
“Yes?” Forbin knew he was utterly in the wrong in his manner, but he did not care; he felt a wild, destructive elation.
The President's eyes, fixed on Forbin, were like marbles. “Forbin, I have had just about enough of you. Prytzkammer tells me you have booked a call on the hot line without reference to me. That line is for heads of state only, and I will not have you or—”
Suddenly Forbin felt good; no sickness, no fear. He snatched his pipe from his mouth and pointed it at the President. “Oh yes, you will, and for one good reason! That is the only line which is not tapped by some fool intelligence outfit—so it's the only secure line to talk to Kupri on without a fair chance Guardian or Colossus will know! So never mind your status symbol! And another thing—if you stop me being beside that teletype in four and one half minutes from now, you will make the biggest mistake of your life! Sort that out with your ego!”
The President had sprung to his feet halfway through Forbin's outburst. Amazement fought with rage for possession of his face. “Never, never has
a President been treated like this!” His voice rose almost to a shriek. “If you think you can get away with it—”
“Don't worry, Mister President, as soon as I can, I'll resign. I'd do it right now, if I did not know—know, damn you—” he banged his fist on the Presidential desk—“that right now you cannot do without me! In less than four minutes, all this,” he waved a frantic arm at the White House in general, “all this won't be worth a nickel if I am not able to hold Colossus! I! Me! A lousy scientific jerk!”
He stopped for breath, trembling. Both men stood glaring for fully ten seconds, aware that they had gone too far to turn back, that this was a major and irreparable break. On Forbin's part, he did not care—the event paled into insignificance alongside his fears.
The President, shocked and furious at being insulted in this way in his own office, did not bother to consider why Forbin should have blown his top like this. His mind was already at work, planning how to show the dismissal of Forbin—he was determined that it would be dismissal, not resignation—in the best light for himself. Perhaps a vague hint about a leakage of information leading to the Soviet development of Guardian—a leakage from a high level in the staff of project Colossus. . . That would fix Forbin. . .
The third man in the room, Prytzkammer, stood stock-still, frightened even to breathe. He wondered desperately if he should try to intervene, yet feared that it might do no good, above all to himself. He was about to make a gallant attempt when the door opened, and the First Lady sailed in. With one quick comprehensive sweep of her eyes she took in the tableau. Ignoring both the President and Forbin, she addressed herself to the pale and shaken aide.
“Mr. Prytzkammer! What is the meaning of this?” There was a rasping quality in her voice that made the aide wince, and visibly cooled the President. Prytzkammer did his best; he hastened over to her.
“May I suggest we check over one or two points in my office?”
“No, you may not. I want to know the meaning of this?”
D.F. Jones - [Colossus 01] Page 11
