“What chap?”
He nodded in the direction of the computer, the new computer which he had made.
“He hasn’t a body, not an organic body that can breathe and feel like ours. But he’s a better brain.”
“It’s not a person.” She pulled Fleming down on to the bed so that they were sitting side by side. She felt, for once, much older than him.
“We don’t know what it is, do we?” said Fleming. “Whoever sent ye olde message didn’t distribute a design like this for fun. They want us to start something right out of our depth.”
“Do you think they know about us?”
“They know there are bound to be other intelligences in the universe. It just happens to be us.”
Judy took hold of one of his hands.
“You needn’t go further with it than you want.”
“I hope not.”
“All you’re doing is building a computer.”
“With a mental capacity way beyond ours.”
“Is that really true?”
“A man is a very inefficient thinking machine.”
“You’re not.”
“We all are. All computers based on a biological system are inefficient.”
“The biological system suits me,” she said. Her speech and vision were beginning to blur.
Fleming gave her a short, bear-like hug.
“You’re just a sexy piece.”
He got up, yawned and stretched and switched on the light. Feeling a sudden loosening of tension, she lolled back on the bed.
“You need a holiday,” she told him, slurrily.
“Maybe.”
“You’ve been at it for months now without a break. That thing.” She pointed towards the window.
“It had to be ready for his Ministership.”
“If it did get out of control, you could always stop it.”
“Could we? It was operational over a month ago. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“We’ve been feeding in the order code so that the data can all be in by the time the gentry arrive.”
“Did anything happen?”
“Nothing at first, but there was a small part of the order code I ignored. It arranged things so that when you switch on the current the first surge of electricity automatically sets the program working: at its own selected starting point. I deliberately left that out of the design because I didn’t want him to have it all his own way, and he was furious.”
Judy looked at him sceptically.
“That’s nonsense.”
“All right, he registered disturbance. Without any warning, before we’d even started putting in data, he started to print out the missing section of the code. Over and over and over—telling me to put it in. He was very cross.” He gazed earnestly into her unbelieving face. “I switched him off for a bit and then started feeding in the data. He was quiet after that. But he was designed to register disturbance. God knows what else he was designed for!”
She lay looking at him, not focusing.
“We shall put the last of the data in to-morrow,” he went on. “Then heaven knows what’ll happen. We get a message from two hundred light-years away—do you think all it gives us is a handy little ready-reckoner? Well, I don’t. Nor do the people who killed Harries and shot at you and are probably tailing Dennis and me.”
She started to interrupt him, but thought better of it.
“Remember?” he asked. “Remember I talked about a breakthrough?”
“Distinctly.” She smiled.
“The kind of breakthrough you get once in a thousand years. I’ll lay you any odds...”
He turned to the window and looked out, lost in some unthinkable speculation.
“You could always switch it off.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps we could switch it off.”
It was pitch black outside, with driving rain, and the wind continued to howl.
“It’s dark,” he said. He drew the curtain across and turned back to her with the same haunted look in his eyes that she had seen before.
“That makes two of us who are scared,” she said.
“I’ll see you back to your hut if you like.” He looked down at her and smiled. “Or you could spend the night here.”
Five
Atoms
Judy left him at first light and went back to her own chalet. By midday the first contingent from London had arrived and was being entertained in the mess. She moved between the charcoal-grey suits distributing information sheets and feeling fresh and alive and happy. Fleming was at the computer building with Bridger and Christine, inputting the final section of data. Reinhart and Osborne were closeted with Geers.
Vandenberg, Watling, Mrs. Tate-Allen and the faithful and unspeaking Newby came on the two o’clock train and were met by the two best cars. The Minister was due to arrive by helicopter at three—a typically odd and showy whim which was politely passed over without comment by the rest of the party.
By that time the rain had cleared and a guard of honour was drawn up beside the parade-ground in the middle of the camp. Reinhart and Major Quadring waited with them, Quadring wearing his best battle-dress with clean medal-ribbons, Reinhart clutching a bedraggled plastic mac.
The other guests and hosts assembled in the porch of the new computer building and looked hopefully at the sky. Osborne made whinnying, diplomatic conversation.
“I don’t expect you knew the British Isles extended so far north, eh General?” This to Vandenberg, who showed signs of restlessness and potential umbrage. “Eh Geers?”
Geers wore a new suit and stood unyieldingly in front of the others, very much the Director.
“Have they hatched a swan or an ugly duckling?” Mrs. Tate-Allen asked him.
“I wouldn’t know. We only have time for practical work.”
“Isn’t this practical?” Osborne enquired.
Watling said, “I used to fly over here in the war.”
“Really?” said Vandenberg, without interest.
“North Atlantic patrols. When I was in Coastal.”
But nobody heard him: the helicopter had arrived. It hovered like a flustered bird over the parade-ground and then sank down on its hydraulic legs. Its rotors sliced the air for a minute and then stopped. The door opened, the Right Honourable James Ratcliff climbed down, the guard presented arms, Quadring saluted and Reinhart tripped forward on his dainty feet, shook hands and led the Minister to the assembled company in the porch. Ratcliff looked very well and newly bathed. He shook hands with Geers and beamed and smirked at the rest.
“How do you do, Doctor? It’s very good of you to harbour our little piece of equipment in your midst.”
Geers was transformed.
“We’re honoured, sir, to have work like this,” he said with his best smile. “Pure research among us rude mechanicals.”
Osborne and Reinhart exchanged glances.
“Shall we go in?” asked Osborne.
“Yes, indeed.” The Minister smiled on all. “Hallo Vandenberg, nice of you to come.”
Geers stepped forward and grasped the door handle.
“Shall I?” He looked challengingly at Reinhart.
“Do,” said Reinhart.
“It’s this way, Minister.” And Geers shepherded them in.
The lights were all working now in the computer room and Geers did the honours of display with some pride. Reinhart and Osborne left him to it and Fleming watched sourly from the control desk. Geers introduced Bridger and Christine and—quite casually—Fleming.
“You know Dr. Fleming, Minister, who designed it.”
“The designers are in the constellation of Andromeda,” said Fleming.
Ratcliff laughed as if this was a very good joke.
“Well, you’ve done a pretty big job. I see why you all wanted so much money.”
The party moved on. Mrs. Tate-Allen was much impressed by the neon lamps; the men in charcoal suits studied blue-painted cabinets of equipment with baffled interest, and Fleming was forced to fall in at the rear with Osborne.