areolae had contracted, the nipples prominent, and that there were goose pimples on her thighs.
“Hadn’t you better get some clothes on?” He sat down heavily. “God, I’m tired.”
Cleo shook her head angrily. “It’s impossible, how could they—”
Forbin waved his hand impatiently at her. “The Russian Ambassador called the President while I was there. That was obviously the “mechanism” Colossus was talking about in the message. Have you got any coffee?”
Cleo, who had been clutching her dressing gown, slowly put it on. She did not bother to turn away; about the only part Forbin had not seen were the soles of her feet. She said, “But the coincidence in activation times! Washington must be livid.”
Forbin blinked at her. “Science is littered with coincidences —not that it matters. It’s the power of Colossus I want to talk about.”
He stood up and searched his jacket for pipe and tobacco. “This lousy suit!” he said savagely, then continued. “Frankly, Cleo, I’m scared. I must talk to someone, someone who will listen and may be able to help. Fisher is the obvious choice, but he …” Forbin groped for a suitable phrase, gave it up and went on. “He told me you too had a feeling that Colossus might act up.”
Cleo nodded and was about to speak when there was a tap on the door. It was a couple of technicians with the teletype Forbin had ordered. He explained their presence to Cleo and lapsed into a sombre silence while the machine was fitted.
“OK to test, Professor?”
“No!” Forbin said sharply. “Fix the other one in my room, then report to the CPO when ready to test. No keyboards are to be pounded without my order.”
“OK, Professor.” The senior man eyed Forbin curiously. He had been on the Project for years, but had never seen Forbin like this. He jerked his head towards the door and his assistant preceded him out.
Forbin stared blankly at Cleo’s taste in pictures. Cleo had taken advantage of the diversion to slip into her minute bedroom and dress. She had no real objection to Forbin seeing her undressed—she knew she had a good figure, and given the right circumstances … but uppermost in her mind was the news of the Russian machine. All the same, the woman in her got uppermost long enough to allow a long appraising stare at herself in the mirror.
“Cleo, what about that coffee?”
“I’ll get it.” She did not resent his manner.
Cleo was busy with the coffee when the phone pinged. For one who appeared to be a million miles away, the Director was remarkably quick. He was out of the chair and across to the wall-phone before Cleo had time to put the coffeepot down.
“Forbin.”
“Johnson here, sir. Both teletypes fixed, permission to test?”
“Wait.” Forbin thought for a moment. “Make this. Begins—this is a CPO test transmission. Give the next perfect number after two to the three thousand two hundred and sixteenth power-ends. Got that? Don’t say yes, repeat the message back!”
Johnson did so.
“Right. I want a chronograph lined up on that. Get the exact time from the end of the transmission of my order to the time the reply starts coming in.”
Cleo brought in the coffee as he hung up. “That’s the last known perfect number, isn’t it?”
Forbin nodded. “Two of the power of twenty-five is way past sixty million—it’ll be quite a sum. There are several computers that could do it, but how long d’you think they would take?”
“The new machine in CalTec could do it in—oh, I suppose six, seven hours.” She added, “If they could spare the time.”
“That would be my guess,” said Forbin. “Yesterday I’d have said Colossus would do it in ten minutes, but I’ve a nasty feeling it will be a lot less.”
The teletype had started its muted chatter. Forbin glanced at his watch, then picked up his coffee and stirred it. He had just taken his second sip when the teletype started again. The effect on Forbin was notable. He
“Hadn’t you better get some clothes on?” He sat down heavily. “God, I’m tired.”
Cleo shook her head angrily. “It’s impossible, how could they—”
Forbin waved his hand impatiently at her. “The Russian Ambassador called the President while I was there. That was obviously the “mechanism” Colossus was talking about in the message. Have you got any coffee?”
Cleo, who had been clutching her dressing gown, slowly put it on. She did not bother to turn away; about the only part Forbin had not seen were the soles of her feet. She said, “But the coincidence in activation times! Washington must be livid.”
Forbin blinked at her. “Science is littered with coincidences —not that it matters. It’s the power of Colossus I want to talk about.”
He stood up and searched his jacket for pipe and tobacco. “This lousy suit!” he said savagely, then continued. “Frankly, Cleo, I’m scared. I must talk to someone, someone who will listen and may be able to help. Fisher is the obvious choice, but he …” Forbin groped for a suitable phrase, gave it up and went on. “He told me you too had a feeling that Colossus might act up.”
Cleo nodded and was about to speak when there was a tap on the door. It was a couple of technicians with the teletype Forbin had ordered. He explained their presence to Cleo and lapsed into a sombre silence while the machine was fitted.
“OK to test, Professor?”
“No!” Forbin said sharply. “Fix the other one in my room, then report to the CPO when ready to test. No keyboards are to be pounded without my order.”
“OK, Professor.” The senior man eyed Forbin curiously. He had been on the Project for years, but had never seen Forbin like this. He jerked his head towards the door and his assistant preceded him out.
Forbin stared blankly at Cleo’s taste in pictures. Cleo had taken advantage of the diversion to slip into her minute bedroom and dress. She had no real objection to Forbin seeing her undressed—she knew she had a good figure, and given the right circumstances … but uppermost in her mind was the news of the Russian machine. All the same, the woman in her got uppermost long enough to allow a long appraising stare at herself in the mirror.
“Cleo, what about that coffee?”
“I’ll get it.” She did not resent his manner.
Cleo was busy with the coffee when the phone pinged. For one who appeared to be a million miles away, the Director was remarkably quick. He was out of the chair and across to the wall-phone before Cleo had time to put the coffeepot down.
“Forbin.”
“Johnson here, sir. Both teletypes fixed, permission to test?”
“Wait.” Forbin thought for a moment. “Make this. Begins—this is a CPO test transmission. Give the next perfect number after two to the three thousand two hundred and sixteenth power-ends. Got that? Don’t say yes, repeat the message back!”
Johnson did so.
“Right. I want a chronograph lined up on that. Get the exact time from the end of the transmission of my order to the time the reply starts coming in.”
Cleo brought in the coffee as he hung up. “That’s the last known perfect number, isn’t it?”
Forbin nodded. “Two of the power of twenty-five is way past sixty million—it’ll be quite a sum. There are several computers that could do it, but how long d’you think they would take?”
“The new machine in CalTec could do it in—oh, I suppose six, seven hours.” She added, “If they could spare the time.”
“That would be my guess,” said Forbin. “Yesterday I’d have said Colossus would do it in ten minutes, but I’ve a nasty feeling it will be a lot less.”
The teletype had started its muted chatter. Forbin glanced at his watch, then picked up his coffee and stirred it. He had just taken his second sip when the teletype started again. The effect on Forbin was notable. He
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