element—initiative.”
“But, Doctor, how can it? There’s only a finite amount of potential, and it can’t physically alter its guts—so how can it get very far out of line?”
“Johnson, do you realize that even twenty-four hours ago the mere idea of its getting out of line at all would have been laughed at? Now, we accept that it can—we have to—and comfort ourselves with the thought that it cannot go far. If you care to think of the hardware that thing has under its command—” Fisher stopped, staring blankly at the wall charts, “It’s just too awful.”
“What do you want me to do, sir?”
“Do? Oh yes. Get Blake and all the rest of Group A—and I don’t care if they are asleep.”
Johnson dialed the code number on the internal call transmitter which would trigger the personal receivers carried by all members of Group A. Instantly, his, and Fisher’s, began their plaintive bleating. Fisher visibly jumped. They both canceled their own receivers, and stood silent, waiting. Forbin was the first to call in.
“Yes, what now?” His voice was brusque, tight with tension. Fisher answered.
“I was calling all the Group to the CPO for briefing. I thought you might want to give the rundown on the position—”
Forbin cut in. “No, you can do it. Cleo and I won’t be there.”
“Very well, Professor.” Fisher was by no means happy at the prospect and it showed in his voice.
“You can do it as well as I could, Jack.” Forbin’s tone softened, trying to infuse confidence into Fisher. “I don’t have to emphasize how important it is for us not only to keep up, but to get ahead in this situation; time is very short. I suggest you break the Group into two watches and dig away at that FLASH angle. One thing for Johnson. I want teletype repeaters hooked to Colossus’ output installed in my room and in Cleo’s. Fix Cleo’s first—I’m going there now, and will be staying there for the time being.”
He switched off without waiting for an answer. Johnson grinned at Fisher.
“I guess the old man is going to define love to Cleo.” Fisher, plucking nervously at his lower lip, did not even hear him. There was a burst of noise as the rest of the Group called in.
“All of you, come on in—at the rush, Director’s orders,” Johnson told them. “We have a little trouble to sort out.”
Even that master of the understatement, Plantain, would have been proud of that one.
Cleo Markham, thirty-five and a leading cyberneticist of Project Colossus, was wearing a shower cap, and nothing else, when Forbin burst into her sitting room without knocking. She was among the brighter minds produced since women became first-class citizens. She also had that rare quality among the female intelligentsia, femininity. Her reaction to Forbin’s sudden entry was to whip off the shower cap.
“What the hell are you doing?” snapped Forbin unreasonably.
Several answers crossed Cleo Markham’s mind, but from the look of the Director this was no time to be smart or coy. In fact, she had dashed from the shower to answer the call put out by Johnson.
“You’d better sit down,” she said, turning away from him in search of a dressing gown.
Forbin stared at her long, well—shaped back and her ample but firm buttocks, pink and gleaming from the shower. It would be untrue to say he did not notice, but any thoughts her form conjured up were instantly dismissed as irrelevant. “Have you heard about the Russians?”
“No—what?” Cleo grabbed her dressing gown off the back of a chair.
“They have a Colossus too—activating the thing tomorrow.
Whatever thoughts were having a good time in Cleo’s mind vanished. She swung round, one hundred per cent scientist. “What!” Her voice rose the best part of an octave as she uttered the single word.
Some obscure but scientific corner of Forbin’s mind took time out to observe that, although her face was white with shock, the rest of her remained pink, that her
“But, Doctor, how can it? There’s only a finite amount of potential, and it can’t physically alter its guts—so how can it get very far out of line?”
“Johnson, do you realize that even twenty-four hours ago the mere idea of its getting out of line at all would have been laughed at? Now, we accept that it can—we have to—and comfort ourselves with the thought that it cannot go far. If you care to think of the hardware that thing has under its command—” Fisher stopped, staring blankly at the wall charts, “It’s just too awful.”
“What do you want me to do, sir?”
“Do? Oh yes. Get Blake and all the rest of Group A—and I don’t care if they are asleep.”
Johnson dialed the code number on the internal call transmitter which would trigger the personal receivers carried by all members of Group A. Instantly, his, and Fisher’s, began their plaintive bleating. Fisher visibly jumped. They both canceled their own receivers, and stood silent, waiting. Forbin was the first to call in.
“Yes, what now?” His voice was brusque, tight with tension. Fisher answered.
“I was calling all the Group to the CPO for briefing. I thought you might want to give the rundown on the position—”
Forbin cut in. “No, you can do it. Cleo and I won’t be there.”
“Very well, Professor.” Fisher was by no means happy at the prospect and it showed in his voice.
“You can do it as well as I could, Jack.” Forbin’s tone softened, trying to infuse confidence into Fisher. “I don’t have to emphasize how important it is for us not only to keep up, but to get ahead in this situation; time is very short. I suggest you break the Group into two watches and dig away at that FLASH angle. One thing for Johnson. I want teletype repeaters hooked to Colossus’ output installed in my room and in Cleo’s. Fix Cleo’s first—I’m going there now, and will be staying there for the time being.”
He switched off without waiting for an answer. Johnson grinned at Fisher.
“I guess the old man is going to define love to Cleo.” Fisher, plucking nervously at his lower lip, did not even hear him. There was a burst of noise as the rest of the Group called in.
“All of you, come on in—at the rush, Director’s orders,” Johnson told them. “We have a little trouble to sort out.”
Even that master of the understatement, Plantain, would have been proud of that one.
Cleo Markham, thirty-five and a leading cyberneticist of Project Colossus, was wearing a shower cap, and nothing else, when Forbin burst into her sitting room without knocking. She was among the brighter minds produced since women became first-class citizens. She also had that rare quality among the female intelligentsia, femininity. Her reaction to Forbin’s sudden entry was to whip off the shower cap.
“What the hell are you doing?” snapped Forbin unreasonably.
Several answers crossed Cleo Markham’s mind, but from the look of the Director this was no time to be smart or coy. In fact, she had dashed from the shower to answer the call put out by Johnson.
“You’d better sit down,” she said, turning away from him in search of a dressing gown.
Forbin stared at her long, well—shaped back and her ample but firm buttocks, pink and gleaming from the shower. It would be untrue to say he did not notice, but any thoughts her form conjured up were instantly dismissed as irrelevant. “Have you heard about the Russians?”
“No—what?” Cleo grabbed her dressing gown off the back of a chair.
“They have a Colossus too—activating the thing tomorrow.
Whatever thoughts were having a good time in Cleo’s mind vanished. She swung round, one hundred per cent scientist. “What!” Her voice rose the best part of an octave as she uttered the single word.
Some obscure but scientific corner of Forbin’s mind took time out to observe that, although her face was white with shock, the rest of her remained pink, that her
Similar Books
