Fall of Colossus by D. F. Jones

Author:D. F. Jones [Jones, D. F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780425043264
Google: qYhfPgAACAAJ
Amazon: 0425043266
Barnesnoble: 0425043266
Goodreads: 515451
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 1975-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Unusual for him, Colossus spoke first when Forbin entered the Sanctum, a trifle unsteadily, the next morning.

“How are you, Father Forbin?”

Forbin jumped visibly and clutched his head. “God—I wish you wouldn’t do that! No need to shout! If you must know, I feel terrible.”

This was very largely true. After Blake had gone over the Martian instructions, the locations, and times, they had got down to serious drinking, partly because that had been Forbin’s avowed intent, partly because they wanted to. For one of them it was to get some relief for his mind; for the other, sheer relief. Blake had left in a fairly shattered condition—but not so shattered that he did not know what he was doing. Back in his quarters, he had stared glassily at himself in a mirror.

“Blake, my boy, you’re drunk. Very drunk,” he had told his swaying reflection, “but you’re not as drunk as poor old For—Forbin! Boy! Is he—is he… .” At this point he had swayed a fraction further and collapsed conveniently on his bed and remained that way for the rest of the night.

If Colossus wanted collateral intelligence at his meeting with Forbin, he had done his best to provide it. So Forbin just sat, feeling terrible, but not all of his mental state was attributable to drink.

“Would it not be better if you went to bed, taking neutralizers?”

“I’ve just bloody well got up! And keep your damned advice!” Forbin lapsed into brooding silence.

“You cannot go on like this. Your health will be impaired.”

“So I impair my health! God!” He rubbed his face wearily. “Yes. You’re right. I can’t go on like this.” He tried to look up, but couldn’t do it. No matter what, there are some things very difficult to do. “Maybe I should take a vacation.”

“It might be advisable. If you like, I will clear a suitable residence for you. The meteorological conditions are very favorable for the next ten days on the western side of the Black Sea.”

“Goddamnit, no!” Forbin shouted, then winced. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “I want to get away on my own. I want to think, away from all—all this.”

“As you wish. What would be the duration of your vacation?”

“I’m not one of your damned predictable circuits! I don’t know. A week—ten days.” He wanted to shout “forever,” but that would not do. He was embattled with a brain that, but for its lack of emotional understanding, would be unbeatable.

“Whatever you wish. Say what you desire, and it is yours.”

Forbin, an honest man, felt shame. Colossus, being Colossus, meant exactly what he said. Forbin wondered, not for the first time, if it was possible that Colossus had developed some rudimentary emotions; was the machine, in some fantastic way, fond of him? Ridiculous! Anything he desired—except that one, unmentioned, and unmentionable: Cleo. Blake had been right when he pointed out the staggering ability to bend the unbendable: the machine’s own laws. Forbin saw that it was not a question of Colossus wanting Cleo to be punished; Colossus had no other option.

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