Free Fall of Colossus by D. F. Jones Page A

him. Certainly, it was magnificent stuff; far better than Forbin appreciated. He was not to know that Colossus analyzed one bottle in every dozen to make sure the standard was maintained. This was hardly necessary, for the order from Colossus had said that any complaint from Forbin would incur Colossus’ displeasure with the suppliers… .
    This evening, it was a somewhat larger drink than usual. Forbin had a good deal on his mind and needed the extra lift to talk to Colossus. Even now, stiffened by the brandy, he was in no hurry to start. He stared out at the panoramic view. Dimly, very dimly, he could make out the long black hulls of the British battle fleet anchored off Spithead. Here and there, on the decks of some ships, repair parties were working, the men invisible at that distance, but their activities revealed by their brilliant lights. He thought about the ships for a while, postponing his session with Colossus.
    As he would readily admit, outside his work he was a simple man, and his pleasures matched. It never crossed his mind that he could have anything within—or without—reason. A word to Colossus, and anything would be his, but he never gave the word. He wanted very little, and like most men—and many women—he was fascinated by the Sea War Game.
    Colossus had invented it, although the underlying theory was as old as the Roman “bread-and-circus” policy, designed to keep the plebeians happy. It certainly did that.
    The basic idea was simple. Any state, or combination of states, whose total population exceeded twenty million was allowed its own fleet. This fleet fought others in regional, zonal, and global leagues, culminating in the World Final. It served as an outlet for man’s aggressiveness, local pride, and desire for spectacle. Tens of millions watched local battles, and the annual final had hundreds of millions glued to their TV screens. Baseball, football, tennis, golf, and their electronic variants were virtually swept into oblivion. Given near-perfect TV coverage from ships and satellites and cameras unhampered by poor visibility, it was practically the ultimate in mass entertainment.
    But Forbin wasn’t so simple that he did not see the reasons behind the game. Colossus was the final arbiter, referee, and judge; the masses could never forget him. Also it channeled man’s hero-worship towards the ships, and the more humanity identified with machines, the better.
    In detail it was a very complicated game. All ships were, of course, fully automated, controlled from the shore by the state’s “Admiral” and his staff, but although they were largely responsible for the success of their fleets, they did not get the masses’ adulation. When a fleet failed, however, it was a different story.
    To ensure that no one had a technological advantage, ship design was frozen as of May 31, 1916, the date of the Battle of Jutland, the last real clash of those ancient monsters, the battleships. Few people had any idea what the war had been about, who had fought in it, or were even dimly interested; but the ships, that was another matter. States were allowed to choose the design they liked. Those who long ago had a seafaring history tended to choose their own traditional styles. The rest selected whatever they thought best for their local conditions. So there were replicas of the old USN with their strange wicker basket masts, chunky German battleships, many-funneled French, pagoda-like Japanese, as well as Russian, Italian, and British. All, externally, were exact copies, but there were differences. Shells had reduced explosive charges—except for the annual finals, when full charges were permitted—torpedoes were similarly treated, and all ships had nuclear power plants and no human crews.
    Forbin, although a citizen of the USNA, had, by association, become a supporter of the British fleet and knew every detail and characteristic of every ship. When he could, he followed their fortunes, but as each