Free Colossus by D. F. Jones Page B

sticking your neck out.”
    They both remained silent as the message he had ordered was swiftly sent on the teletype. Then Forbin answered.
    “I know it is something of a confrontation, but it is a test. If Colossus ignores it—” he shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness—”if not, we’re still in front, although the lead is mighty slim.”
    “I feel so useless.”
    Forbin crossed over and sat beside her, taking her hand. “Cleo my dear, you are more help than you know, just being around.” He leaned back, still holding her hand. “I’d explode if I were back in the CPO—with Fisher pecking away like a constipated hen at what data we have, and the rest watching me out of the corners of their eyes, expecting miracles.”
    She squeezed his hand without speaking. Forbin looked at her covertly. In their years together, working closely, he had thought about her more than once, but always there was so much work. Now, with little work and a growing burden of worry and responsibility, circumstances were different … Her profile was attractive—even the slightly upturned nose did not, in his eyes, detract from her beauty. He remembered her figure, as he had seen it … Above all, she had a reasonable brain, a large amount of common sense, was capable and self-reliant, someone he could talk to. He sighed and released her hand as he stood up.
    “Business again. If there is nothing down the line in the next half-hour I’ll put Prytzkammer out of his misery, then go to bed.”
    Cleo, aware of his scrutiny and busy with some very private thoughts, looked up. “More coffee?”
    “No, thanks.” He glanced at the clock, “Not long to go—may I have some more rye?”
    They both had some more. Cleo could not help noticing his frequent time checks, though she made a point of not noticing when his gaze sidled up to the clock or down to his watch. As time passed, Forbin became more talkative and animated.
    “You know, Cleo, I don’t think I’ve been here more than a half-dozen times in—how long? Seven years, isn’t it?” He looked belatedly round the room with an excessive air of appreciation.
    “Should have done this more often.” He fumbled nervously with his pipe. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
    He had practically fumigated the room already, but Cleo played ball.
    “Of course not.”
    While he filled his pipe once again, chattering about the Spartan quality of his quarters, Cleo, who had also kept a close watch on the time, saw that they were up to the probable repetition time. Forbin rambled on with some endless anecdote about faulty plumbing. Cleo waited a moment, then interrupted him. “It’s one minute past the time, Charles.”
    Forbin breathed deeply, closed his eyes. When he spoke his voice was back to normal.
    “Thanks, Cleo.” He put his glass down and grasped her shoulders. “So we’ve taken a trick. Colossus would never be late—working in nanoseconds, a minute to him must be like a year to us. May I kiss you?”
    Cleo tried, and to some extent succeeded, to assume a surprised expression. She did not speak, but smiled softly at him. Forbin kissed her gently. Cleo saw that he shut his eyes as he did so, and chaste as the kiss was, she felt a surge of affection well up in her.
    He released his grip on her shoulders, turned and made for the door. Without looking around he said,
    “Get some sleep, Cleo. We need all we can get—tomorrow will be, as the old expression has it, a humdinger.”
    Cleo stared at the door long after he had gone. What a child he is, she thought. Most men would have exploited the situation right then. But he was not most men, and she was glad.

Chapter 7
    The next morning, at ten o’clock exactly, Forbin, with Fisher trailing unhappily behind him, strode into the sanctum for the Defense Staff meeting. He bowed fractionally to the President.
    “Morning, Mr. President.”
    “Morning.” The President did not sound as if he was prepared to make anything of their