Free Colossus by D. F. Jones

get some more coffee—and then we’ll go over the parameter angle together. There’ll be an answer— you’ll see.
    Forbin looked at her meditatively. “All right. I feel like hell in this suit. You may be right about the parameters. Maybe Colossus just wants this transmitter to get information for an evaluation of Guardian—actuated by a desire to do a better job.”
    Cleo decided to take a small chance. “Not desire, Charles. That’s something that applies only to people. Now—you go and shower. I promise not to break in on you.”
    Forbin did not answer or smile. He nodded and left. In the CPO, Fisher and the duty team were working on the latest two messages. Johnson was working on the perfect number and had covered several sheets with calculations. Finally he took a deep breath and crumpled them and threw them at the wall. “I just don’t believe it. As near as I can get, that perfect number, if written out in full, would run to two or three million digits, and that bloody thing belches it up in six seconds! I give up, I really do.”
    “Never mind the number, Johnson. The Director wants any ideas on the FLASH that came up.” Fisher pulled at his lip. “Try checking the priority memory bank layout, perhaps you’ll find—”
    It was so futile. He stopped. Johnson just looked at him. “What do we do about this transmitter request?” he asked.
    Blake, who was engaged on making a paper dart, answered, “Request! That’s a hot one. I worked on the vocabulary bank, and I know how that box of tricks can phrase a sentence. That was a direct order.”
    “If it is an order, it has either got to be obeyed or ignored,” said Johnson solemnly.
    “That’s a swell piece of figuring, son,” said Blake caustically. “And it’s gonna be mighty interesting if Forbin tells Colossus to get lost.”

Chapter 6
    Fifteen minutes later Forbin arrived back in Cleo’s room, physically refreshed by a shower and a change of clothes, to find Cleo talking on the phone. She beckoned him over, covered the mouthpiece with a hand.
    “It’s that man, Prytzkammer—Fisher had him put on here—wants to know what the last message means, and should he wake the President?”
    Forbin took the handset. “Prytzkammer? Forbin. I can’t give you a clear answer yet—I suggest you stick around, but do nothing until I call. Yes, yes, within the hour.”
    Forbin hung up and turned to Cleo. He noted she too had changed into working rig, a dove-gray open-necked blouse, matching the trousers. Her only feminine touch was a double-string choker of pearls.
    “Nothing more from Colossus?” “No—did you expect something?”
    “I don’t know, but it is twenty minutes since the last message, and that’s a long time in his young life.”
    “Have you decided what to do?” Cleo sensed he might think she was pushing him, so she hurried on, “I don’t know how you feel, but I could do with a drink.”
    Forbin lit his pipe. “I could use a little rye, if you have it.” He watched as she poured the drinks. “I’m inclined to string Colossus along, see what the good old-fashioned brain Mark I can do to hold him.”
    Cleo decided not to comment. “Have you eaten lately?” Forbin considered this point. “Um. No.”
    “I’ll fix you something, if you like.”

    “Fine—I could do with a snack.”
    Cleo was puzzled by the change in Forbin’s mood. He was confident, almost buoyant, a very different man to what he had been less than half an hour ago.
    “That shower did you good.”
    “Yep—though it’s really the thinking I did in the shower. It seems more probable to me now that Colossus is just keen. After all, you and Fisher and I all expected Colossus to act up, and it has. But both messages can be regarded as within his—its—line of duty.” Forbin rubbed the side of his nose with his pipe. “Put yourself in his position—he discovers that there is another like himself, realizes we don’t know, and tells us. All right, now