The Cosmic Computer - H. Beam Piper (best black authors txt) 📗

it was the first thing he spoke of when Conn and Flora and Sylvie met him as he got off the ship.

“There isn’t anything we can do, Father,” Flora said. “They’ll call us when there’s any change.”

He said the same thing Sylvie had said. “The only thing we can do is get that infernal thing uncovered. Once we do this, everything’ll be all right. We’ll show your mother that it isn’t a fake and it isn’t anything dangerous; we’ll put a stop to all these horror-stories about mechanical devils and living machines⁠ ⁠…”

Conn drew his father off where the girls couldn’t overhear.

“This is something worse,” he said. “This is a bomb that could blow up the whole Federation.”

“Are you going nuts, too?” his father demanded.

Conn told him about Shanlee; he repeated, almost word for word, the story Shanlee had told.

“Do you believe that?” his father asked.

“Don’t you? You were in Storisende when the Travis statement came out; you saw how people acted. If this story gets out, people will be acting the same way on every planet in the Federation. Not just places like Poictesme; planets like Terra and Baldur and Marduk and Odin and Osiris. It would be the end of everything civilized, everywhere.”

“Why didn’t they use Merlin to save the Federation?”

“It’s past saving. It’s been past saving since before the War. The War was what gave it the final shove. If they could have used Merlin to reverse the process, they wouldn’t have sealed it away.”

“But you know, Conn, we can’t destroy Merlin. If we did, the same people who went crazy over the Travis statement would go crazy all over again, worse than ever. We’d be destroying everything we planned for, and we’d be destroying ourselves. That bluff young Macquarte and Luther Chen-Wong and Bill Nichols made wouldn’t work twice. And if they weren’t bluffing⁠ ⁠…”

His father shuddered.

“And if we don’t, how long do you think civilization will last here, if it blows up all over the rest of the Federation?”

The big machine cut on, a little spot of raw energy grinding away the collapsium, inch by inch; the undulating curtains of colored light illuminated the Badlands for miles around. Then, when the first hint of dawn came into the east, they went out. The steady roar of the generators that had battered every ear for over twenty-four hours stopped. There was unbelieving silence, and then shouts.

The workmen swarmed out to man lifters. Slowly the heavy apparatus⁠—the reactor and the converters, the cutting machine, and the shielding around it⁠—was lifted away. Finally, a lone lifter came in and men in radiation-suits went down to hook on grapples, and it lifted away, carrying with it a ten-foot-square sheet of thin steel that weighed almost thirty tons.

When they had battered a hole in the vitrified rock underneath, guards brought up General Shanlee. Somebody almost up to professional standards had given him a haircut; the beard was gone, too. A Federation Army officer’s uniform had been found reasonably close to his size, and somebody had even provided him with the four stars of his retirement rank. He was, again, the man Conn had seen in the dome-house on Luna.

“Well, you got it open,” he said, climbing down from the airjeep that had brought him. “Now, what are you going to do with it?”

“We can’t make up our minds,” Conn said. “We’re going to let the computer tell us what to do with it.”

Shanlee looked at him, startled. “You mean, you’re going to have Merlin judge itself and decide its own fate?” he asked. “You’ll get the same result we did.”

They let a ladder down the hole and descended⁠—Conn and his father, Kurt Fawzi, Jerry Rivas, then Shanlee and his two guards, then others⁠—until a score of them were crowded in the room at the bottom, their flashlights illuminating the circular chamber, revealing ceiling-high metal cabinets, banks of button- and dial-studded control panels, big keyboards. It was Shanlee who found the lights and put them on.

“Powered from the central plant, down below,” he said. “The main cables are disguised as the grounding-outlet. If this thing had been on when you put on the power, you’d have had an awful lot of power going nowhere, apparently.”

Rodney Maxwell was disappointed. “I know this stuff looks awfully complex, but I’d have expected there to be more of it.”

“Oh, I didn’t get a chance to tell you about that. This is only the operating end,” Conn said, and then asked Shanlee if there were inspection-screens. When Shanlee indicated them, he began putting them on. “This is the real computer.”

They all gave the same view, with minor differences⁠—long corridors, ten feet wide, between solid banks of steel cabinets on either side. Conn explained where they were, and added:

“Kurt and the rest of them were sitting here, all this time, wondering where Merlin was; it was all around them.”

“Well, how did you get up here?” Fawzi asked. “We couldn’t find anything from below.”

“No, you couldn’t.” Shanlee was amused. “Watch this.”

It was so simple that nobody had ever guessed it. Below, back of the Commander-in-chief’s office, there was a closet, fifteen feet by twenty. They had found it empty except for some bits of discarded office-gear, and had used it as a catchall for everything they wanted out of the way. Shanlee went to where four thick steel columns rose from floor to ceiling in a rectangle around a heavy-duty lifter, pressing a button on a control-box on one of them. The lifter, and the floor under it, rose, with a thick mass of vitrified rock underneath. The closet, full of the junk that had been thrown into it, followed.

“That’s it,” he said. “We just tore out the controls inside that and patched it up a little. There’s a sheet of collapsium-plate under the floor. Your scanners simply couldn’t detect anything from below.”

Confident that Merlin would decree its own destruction, Shanlee gave his parole; the others accepted it. The newsmen were admitted to the circular operating room and encouraged to