VI

Froelich drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch and tried to keep his eyes from the steadily changing seascape that occupied the far wall. As usual, Oristano’s office was an island of peace and tranquillity in the Colligatarch Complex, a mirror image of the Chief Programmer himself. Despite what they’d been told, he could see no outward difference in Oristano, could detect no ruffling of that grandfatherly exterior.

Dhurapati sat in the other chair, her white duty suit immaculate, diffused light setting the small ruby in her nose asparkle. She looked as confused as Froelich felt. It was good to know he had some emotional company.

“I’d like some details,” he murmured.

Oristano laughed softly. The Third Programmer’s first request was always for more information. “I’d like some myself, Emil. So would the machine.”

“What I don’t understand,” Dhurapati Ponnani said in her diminutive but unwavering voice, “is why it refuses to implement extraordinary security procedures if it thinks there’s an extraordinary threat.”

“I tried to explain,” Oristano replied patiently. “It is so uncertain about the precise nature of the threat, where and when it will manifest itself, that it believes implementation of unusual procedures could be more damaging than helpful. It doesn’t want to alarm whoever’s behind this.”

Froelich shrugged, the soft flesh of his shoulders and upper arms quivering. He was fond of fried foods, wurst, and dark beer. He coped by taking no exercise whatsoever. All his muscle had gone to his brain.

“I’m not going to argue with the machine, but you must understand our feelings, Martin. On the one hand we have this melodramatic threat, on the other a refusal to do anything about it.”

“Not ‘anything.’” Oristano gestured at the sheaf of printouts each of them had received. “Those are the measures.”

Froelich shifted his bulk uneasily, didn’t glance at the papers. He’d already memorized the contents. “It hardly seems sufficient.”

“I know, but I’ve queried until I’m sick of it, and that’s what it recommends we do.” Taking note of their continued unease he added, “I don’t mind saying that this business frightens and confuses me as much as it must both of you.”

“Confusing, yes,” said Dhurapati. “I’m not convinced there’s fright involved. Not yet.”

Oristano pressed a finger to his lips. “Are you suggesting that the Colligatarch is having delusions? That there is no threat?”

“Hasn’t that occurred to you?” She stared hard at him.

“I had considered it,” he admitted. “I discarded it after running backchecks to my satisfaction. I can show you the records. The Colligatarch can simulate many emotions. Paranoia is not among them.”

“How do we know?” asked Dhurapati. “There’s never been a machine like the Colligatarch before. We all are subject to regular stability checks. Who checks the machine? A hundred years of changes and modifications, two hundred years of steady operation trying to solve all of mankind’s daily problems: who’s to say it’s not subject to mental breakdown?”

“The technicians and monitors and stability programs,” Oristano replied, “and they all say there’s nothing amiss, nothing wrong, nothing even to hint at such a collapse of reasoning facilities. Since there is no sign of cyberchosis, it follows that the propounded threat exists.”

“I’d just like more information,” said Froelich.

“If such information were available, this little meeting wouldn’t be necessary, Emil. Nor would the measures specified in your handouts. You know that.”

“I know.” Froelich stifled a belch. “But it’s hard to get used to all this, Martin. It’s very hard to get used to the idea of the Colligatarch’s being scared. We’re so used to thinking of it as allgegenwartig … omnipotent.”

“It would be the first to deny that, Emil. And it’s not scared. Concerned, yes. Fright is reserved for those of us who employ less linear modes of thought.”

“We’ll do as it suggests, of course.” Froelich lifted himself off the couch. “We always do as it suggests, and it always works out for the best.”

“That’s what it’s designed to do. Make things work out for the best.”

“Asks a lot of us, it does, sometimes.” Froelich ruffled his sheaf of printouts. “Tells us there’s some kind of apocalyptic threat, then tells us to carry on with business as usual. We’re only human.”

“The Colligatarch always takes that into consideration, Emil. You know that.”

“Sometimes I wish we could give it artificial humanity to go along with its artificial intelligence,” said Dhurapati. “It might make some things easier.”

“We’re not there yet. Someday, Dhura.”

“Always someday. There are so many possibilities.” She eyed the wall pickup, wondering if the machine was staring back at them even though Martin had activated all privacy circuits. “There’s still so much we don’t know about our own creation. It’s too big to understand anymore. There could be things going on in there we know nothing of.”

“And yet it has never failed us, has yet to make an incorrect or harmful decision.”

“No problem with these instructions,” said Froelich. He disliked philosophical speculation, placing it just below boiled cabbage in his catalog of aversions. “This is little enough to implement. If the machine doesn’t want to give any alarms, it’s taken good care to see that we don’t. You’re sure it’s not underestimating this threat?”

“No,” said Oristano. “I assure you it regards it with utmost seriousness, hence the classification of your instructions.”

“High priority for such limited actions,” Dhurapati observed. “It seems so contradictory.”

“I’m sure the machine knows what it’s about. It always does,” Oristano reminded her.

“I know. That can be frustrating when you don’t.”

“You think it’s holding information back?”

“Nahin, of course not. That makes even less sense.”

“Better get on these,” said Froelich. “I’ve plenty of other things to do.”

“And I. You’ll keep us informed as this business progresses, Martin?”

He nodded, following them to the door. “As soon as I know anything, you’ll know it.” He added offhandedly, for the benefit of the psych monitors, “You can check on me any time, of course.” Neither of them commented. They knew that already. The system of checks and balances insured that no one, not even the Chief Programmer, could utilize the system for personal ends. The machine itself wouldn’t allow it. It could recognize imbalance in its attendants as quickly as it could in its own circuitry. Designed to ensure mankind’s welfare, it would not allow itself to be misused. It would shut itself down first.

It had taken a hundred years to perfect such safeguards. They were changed constantly and checked daily. Deliberate attempts to misuse the facilities were attempted at irregular intervals. The machine always detected them, alerted the requisite watchdogs, and refused compliance.

Still, the words of his colleagues lingered. Oristano respected both Froelich and Ponnani. Could she be right? Might there be some undetectable dysfunction within the machine? Could it be seeing threats where none existed? As Dhurapati had pointed out, the machine was vast and constantly changing. Could it possibly suffer a breakdown, delusions? Not true paranoia, of course, but something less radical?

For so information-rich a device, the absence of details was disturbing. The key question was, was its vagueness due to genuine ignorance or overcautious uncertainty? If it was afraid to admit to that, it could lead to all sorts of problems.

If there was something seriously wrong with the Colligatarch itself, if the threat arose from within instead of from mysterious outside sources, then they had a problem on their hands far more serious than anything the machine had hinted at.

It would be up to him to find out if that was the case and, if so, to do something about it.

What if that turned out to be the case? How would the Colligatarch react to the revelation that the problem lay within itself?

The machine was moving in a cautious, careful manner in dealing with the “threat.” Oristano intended to be equally cautious. It was hard to play chess when you couldn’t see your opponent’s pieces.

Where was the real danger? To the Colligatarch, or from the Colligatarch? Each presented different problems. Neither would let him sleep peacefully. But that was what he was there for.

Disdaining verbal control, he applied himself to the keyboard with a vengeance. Despite the high degree of perfection achieved by the engineers in voice recognition and reply, there were still occasional difficulties with ambiguities, with differences in inflection and tone. When his fingers raced across the keys there was no chance of misinterpretation, no uncertainty between man and machine. His work was as precise as Froelich’s, as extensive as Ponnani’s.

He wondered how the dinner with the Italian ambassador had gone, wondered about his granddaughter’s birthday party. Now was not the time to think of such pleasant, domestic matters. One way or the other, there was a danger here.