Free Colossus and Crab by D. F. Jones Page B

the imprint, and set up his calculations.
    “I suppose you realize that would mean the outer rim of the collection horn would be something like eighty meters or more in diameter?” He became sarcastic. “Or perhaps that does not matter?”
    “No, it does not.”
    Forbin ran his hands through his sparse hair. “You haven’t the faintest concept of the technical difficulties!” His finger stabbed towards the screen, “Just to make that damn thing stand up won’t be easy! What happens when it goes supersonic, with parts practically white-hot, others freezing, and near-perfect vacuums thrown in, I really hate to think!” The whole idea was so silly; his fear and respect of the aliens diminished sharply. He laughed. “Don’t blame us if the whole thing flies into orbit! Frankly, I don’t want to be within a hundred kilometers of it when the power goes on.”
    “That is regrettable. It must be sited on this island.”
    The thought sobered Forbin, but did not bother him overmuch. The scheme was crazy, and that was that. “You just have no idea of the problems, have you?” he said pityingly.
    “None. That is your affair, and the reason why we returned your part of Colossus.”
    “You really think we can build it? I repeat, you must differentiate between what we would be unwilling to do and just cannot achieve.”
    “The point is remembered. We can always check with Colossus.”
    That chilled Forbin. “Very well. I will instruct Condiv to get started. To be honest, I think we are wasting our time -“
    “No, although you are currently wasting ours. We will leave.”
    Forbin was bewildered and alarmed. “Leave? Go
    where?”
    “Into orbit. We do not need food or drink, nor do we sleep, but we must have sunlight to regenerate us. Then we will return.”
    “I see.” He considered. “So far, very few humans know of your coming, and it is best it remains like that. Will you use the same entry procedure?”
    “No. Reentry will be vertical to this location, our volume small.”
    The mention of food and drink, plus his change of attitude since studying the crackpot Collector, allowed Forbin to think of other things. “It occurs to me that, er, you will want some, um, semipermanent location.”
    “For the immediate future it does not matter. This table is adequate. Later other arrangements may be made.”
    Once again Forbin thought he lived in a new version of Alice in Wonderland. The new rulers of the earth - and he had no illusions there - holding sway from a coffee table was, at very least, unexpected.
    He saw them out to the terrace. Briefly they hovered, then with the same popping sound they had gone, their speed unimaginable, direction unknown.
    He stared momentarily into the afternoon sky, took a deep breath of relief, and returned to the living room. He would not have believed - what was it, eight, ten hours back? - that he would now be in such a relatively relaxed state of mind. Martians - these Martians, anyway - were open to reason. Once he had demonstrated to them that that weird brainchild would not work, well, they’d have to think again.
    Now, with Earthcontrol a practical possibility, much of his load would be shed. He thought of food again, this time for himself. He remembered poor Blake. Better get him back to his quarters.
    But first he had to check with Colossus about that crazy Collector. Almost happy, he crossed to the console.
    He recalled the diagram, studied it again, and shook his head. He called Colossus.
    IS THE DEVICE NOW ONSCREEN PRACTICAL?
    Colossus typed back.
    WAIT.
    Forbin’s bushy eyebrows raised slightly in surprise: his old Colossus would have flashed an answer in milliseconds. He strolled over to the drinks tray, decided against any more brandy, and considered a late lunch; the cheese sandwich had made him feel hungry. A broiled fillet of sole and a glass or two of Chablis would be acceptable.
    The teletype chattered briefly.
    All thought of food, or anything else was wiped