Colossus by D. F. Jones

equations by Colossus.” The mention of Fisher was too much; they all laughed, including Cleo, until they literally cried. Forbin watched, glowering, but in the end he too joined in, although by no means all that heartily. It was a welcome ease of the tension, sometimes clear and stark to all, sometimes present in Forbin only, but never far away.
    “Come on, Cleo,” Forbin stood up, “let’s go get something to eat.”
    “We could raid the icebox here if you like,” said Cleo, hoping he would not agree. They had had far too many steaks on the office infra-grill.
    “No, not that. The commissary isn’t all that hot, but it does a shade better than that. Johnson,” he gave the young assistant an encouraging grin, “don’t beat your brains out, but do the best you can. Let me know if anything comes up.”
    Johnson stared after them as they left. Then he yawned, scratched his stubby hair, and picked up his slide rule with an expression of distaste on his face.
    In the commissary Forbin and Cleo collected trays and studied the selection board. They made their choice, pressing the appropriate buttons on the board. Within seconds their orders were ready at the auto-serve hatches. They ate in silence, Cleo taking her time over her food while Forbin made short work of his. The commissary was, as usual, very quiet, the soft-topped tables deadening any sound, and in any case the plastic cutlery and paper-thin plastic containers made little noise. At one time there had been piped music, but the nationwide revulsion a few years before had not missed the Secure Zone, and there had been unanimous relief when the system was ripped out.
    “How much longer do you think Colossus will go on like this?”
    “Who can say?” Forbin deftly stripped the plastic wrapping off a grilled chop.
    “Are you going to let it run?” “Have you any suggestions?”
    “Well,” said Cleo, picking her way carefully, “do you think Washington—”
    But not carefully enough.
    “I don’t give a damn what they think!” Forbin’s voice was very loud and clearly audible clear across the commissary. He paused, realizing that the few people in the room were listening intently, and lowered his voice. “Sorry, but the mere mention of that crew—” Cleo was glad to get off the subject. “Don’t look now, but I think we are being followed.”
    Forbin looked round and saw Fisher crossing towards them. “He looks excited,” said Forbin, implying that he, for one, was not.
    Fisher certainly did. His eyes were bright, what hair he had was disarrayed. He sank gratefully down in a chair beside Forbin.
    “Johnson said you were here, although how you can eat—” “Yeah, I know—at a time like this—if you must know it stops me smoking, and I need the food.” He spooned grated carrot into his mouth. “It also occurred to me that I’m known as a good eater, so if I’m seen to be off my feed, morale around here is going to take a knock we can’t afford.”
    “Quite, er—yes.” Fisher gave up trying to answer that one. He blinked at Forbin, thought for a moment, then—”You know, it’s really most remarkable. Colossus has now moved on to calculus, and while it’s all good sound stuff, it is most oddly expressed. I don’t know what to think, but I’m sure we have never fed this stuff in—at least, not in the way it is coming out.”
    “You mean Colossus has rethought calculus?”
    “Yes, in a way. The differential calculus is really very odd indeed, yet I can’t see where the twist is. It’s absolutely fascinating, but it frightens me.” He plucked nervously at his lip.
    Cleo poured a beaker of wine and passed it to Fisher. “Drink this, Doctor.”
    “Thank you, Doctor Markham. Normally I don’t drink, but perhaps it is justified.” He gulped at the wine, and immediately coughed. “Sorry, I—” he gasped, and coughed some more. Forbin stifled a surge of impatience, and thumped his colleague none too softly on the