back.
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” Watery eyes blinked at Forbin. “I think we must watch the output very carefully. I suggest we drop the FLASH investigation—you must accept it, Charles, we’re getting nowhere—and put a full-time mathematical watch on the Colossus transmission. Johnson would be invaluable, and that young fellow with him is by no means bad, and I could take a watch—”
“OK, Jack, we can work out the details in a minute. Why do you want to watch it as it comes? You could arrange a team for the morning, get a good night’s sleep, and start then, fresh.”
“No.” Fisher was unusually firm. “In not much more than an hour Colossus has gone from multiplication tables to calculus. I hate to think where he will be by morning.” He repeated, more to himself, “I hate to think.”
Forbin thought for a moment, moodily eating cheese and biscuits. “OK,” he said at last, “drop the FLASH assignment. We don’t know the answer, and short of asking Colossus I don’t suppose we will. And that’s one question I am not keen to feed in.”
“Why?” said Cleo, and immediately regretted it.
“Because,” said Forbin, giving her a hard stare, “I don’t think Colossus would like it.”
Cleo nearly did it again by saying “So?” but his tone made her pause. She looked at him, then at Fisher, then back to Forbin. There was something in their expressions which was the same, a something that chilled her and kept her silent.
They left the commissary and moved to Forbin’s office, two blocks away. It was dark, a few stars intermittently visible among low black clouds driving silently, endlessly north. Cleo shivered in the cold air, yet was glad to escape, if only for a moment, from the potted atmosphere and the increasing tensions of the Zone. She zipped her blouse up tight and stepped out smartly to keep up with the men. Their feet crunched crisply on the gravel. Frost tonight, thought Cleo, concentrating on the night around her, keeping her mind firmly off Colossus. She took deep breaths of the cold dry air.
In the outer office Forbin’s secretary was still working. She brightened as he entered, and stood up with an armful of paper work. But Forbin brushed past her and stumbled into his office, cursing as he fumbled in the darkness for the oil lamps. Fisher stood uncertainly in the doorway.
“Don’t stand there! Come in and sit down. Angela! Where’s the damned taper?”
Angela did not answer. She came in, pushed the Director gently aside, and quickly lit the lamps—without a taper. Still silent, she marched out, shutting the door only fractionally louder than usual.
The soft light illuminated only Forbin’s desk and the immediate surroundings, leaving the rest of the room shadowy and insubstantial; there was a faint and not unpleasing smell of lamp-oil. To Fisher and Cleo, more accustomed to the luminescent ceilings, there was a warmth and intimacy quite unique in the Zone—and in most places outside as well.
Forbin reached for his tobacco jar and leaned back, filling his pipe, his face in shadow. Fisher, emboldened by his anonymity in the shadow beyond the bright ring of light, spoke up firmly. “Charles, we are all being less than honest with each other; it is quite plain that, as individuals, we are nursing our own private fears about Colossus. We’ve hinted as much to each other, yet never openly expressed exactly what those fears are. This is unscientific—and we are scientists. I’m certain we all fear the same thing, but I think it should be said, the area of the problem defined, so we can approach it in a proper scientific manner.”
It was quite a speech for Fisher. Forbin did not comment, but looked enquiringly at Cleo.
“I’m happy to play it any way you decide, but I agree with Doctor Fisher that if you are— frightened—’ she hesitated over the word—”you should tell us, if only to share the burden with someone else.”
Forbin, who had sat quite
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” Watery eyes blinked at Forbin. “I think we must watch the output very carefully. I suggest we drop the FLASH investigation—you must accept it, Charles, we’re getting nowhere—and put a full-time mathematical watch on the Colossus transmission. Johnson would be invaluable, and that young fellow with him is by no means bad, and I could take a watch—”
“OK, Jack, we can work out the details in a minute. Why do you want to watch it as it comes? You could arrange a team for the morning, get a good night’s sleep, and start then, fresh.”
“No.” Fisher was unusually firm. “In not much more than an hour Colossus has gone from multiplication tables to calculus. I hate to think where he will be by morning.” He repeated, more to himself, “I hate to think.”
Forbin thought for a moment, moodily eating cheese and biscuits. “OK,” he said at last, “drop the FLASH assignment. We don’t know the answer, and short of asking Colossus I don’t suppose we will. And that’s one question I am not keen to feed in.”
“Why?” said Cleo, and immediately regretted it.
“Because,” said Forbin, giving her a hard stare, “I don’t think Colossus would like it.”
Cleo nearly did it again by saying “So?” but his tone made her pause. She looked at him, then at Fisher, then back to Forbin. There was something in their expressions which was the same, a something that chilled her and kept her silent.
They left the commissary and moved to Forbin’s office, two blocks away. It was dark, a few stars intermittently visible among low black clouds driving silently, endlessly north. Cleo shivered in the cold air, yet was glad to escape, if only for a moment, from the potted atmosphere and the increasing tensions of the Zone. She zipped her blouse up tight and stepped out smartly to keep up with the men. Their feet crunched crisply on the gravel. Frost tonight, thought Cleo, concentrating on the night around her, keeping her mind firmly off Colossus. She took deep breaths of the cold dry air.
In the outer office Forbin’s secretary was still working. She brightened as he entered, and stood up with an armful of paper work. But Forbin brushed past her and stumbled into his office, cursing as he fumbled in the darkness for the oil lamps. Fisher stood uncertainly in the doorway.
“Don’t stand there! Come in and sit down. Angela! Where’s the damned taper?”
Angela did not answer. She came in, pushed the Director gently aside, and quickly lit the lamps—without a taper. Still silent, she marched out, shutting the door only fractionally louder than usual.
The soft light illuminated only Forbin’s desk and the immediate surroundings, leaving the rest of the room shadowy and insubstantial; there was a faint and not unpleasing smell of lamp-oil. To Fisher and Cleo, more accustomed to the luminescent ceilings, there was a warmth and intimacy quite unique in the Zone—and in most places outside as well.
Forbin reached for his tobacco jar and leaned back, filling his pipe, his face in shadow. Fisher, emboldened by his anonymity in the shadow beyond the bright ring of light, spoke up firmly. “Charles, we are all being less than honest with each other; it is quite plain that, as individuals, we are nursing our own private fears about Colossus. We’ve hinted as much to each other, yet never openly expressed exactly what those fears are. This is unscientific—and we are scientists. I’m certain we all fear the same thing, but I think it should be said, the area of the problem defined, so we can approach it in a proper scientific manner.”
It was quite a speech for Fisher. Forbin did not comment, but looked enquiringly at Cleo.
“I’m happy to play it any way you decide, but I agree with Doctor Fisher that if you are— frightened—’ she hesitated over the word—”you should tell us, if only to share the burden with someone else.”
Forbin, who had sat quite
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