Lessing had no idea what to do next. At length he said, “Look over your capabilities and do what you can to stop the men who are entering now. They… ah… have no clearance. They are intruders, do you understand?”
The silence lasted so long that Lessing almost expected to see one of those cutesie “Your Computer Is Thinking! ” signs appear on a wall screen.
The machine said, “Seven are descending in elevator car two. Four more are entering car one.” The darkly sexy voice sounded apologetic. “I’ve radioed out. Your people are on their way.”
“Much good ” Wrench mumbled. His arm was paining him, and he slumped down on a lab stool.
“I’m going through my Library of Congress science holdings now. I find nothing of use in any of my own specifications. No weapons under my control. I can turn off the lights and heat, but I doubt whether the intruders would suffer sufficiently from that to cause them to desist.”
Lessing had what he hoped was an inspiration. “You used an electronic flash!” he said. “A lot of those coming from different angles might confuse Golden’s men. Throw them off balance… give us a chance!”
There was another long pause. Then the throaty contralto voice said, “You’re sure these are intruders? Enemies of the United States of America?”
“Yes,” Wrench replied. Under the circumstances, who knew? “There is one thing I can do. I’m not supposed to, though. They tried to build defensive responses out of me.”
“Then how…?”
“Problem solving is my specialty.” The machine hesitated again. “Close the door to my input room.”
Lessing inspected the metal and plastic door uneasily. “I doubt if this’ll hold out against a satchel charge or a grenade.”
“It is soundproof. Stay in here and shut it. I will inform you if I am successful. Otherwise I will utilize my flash equipment as you suggest. More, I will shout and cry in several voices from many different locations at once. The anti-Americans will be puzzled.”
“Best we can do.” Wrench lurched over to slam the door. As he did so, they heard the whine and clang of the first elevator car arriving.
“What now?” Lessing was still apprehensive. Golden might be able to cut off their air, smoke them out, or stun them with a concussion grenade.
“Watch the lower screen, please, mister.”
The glass lit up to show three very nervous soldiers, M-25s at the ready. Four more entered the devastated, smoke-filled control room behind them Then Golden appeared, followed by three doggies.
“Turn up the sound,” Lessing ordered. “I want to hear what they’re saying.”
“No,” answered Eighty-Five succinctly.
“Why not? You….”
“I think I know what it’s doing,” Wrench whispered. His eyes glittered in the harsh light from the screen, giving him the luminous look of some small, feral animal. “Watch, man! Watch!”
One of the soldiers glanced up, then another and another. They opened their eyes and their mouths wide. The man in front tore at his helmet, got it off, and clapped his hands over his ears. One after another the rest did the same. Golden bolted for the door. The others began to writhe, twist, and clutch at their heads.
“Sound, Lessing, sound!” Wrench yelped joyously. “It’s hitting them with subsonics!”
“Actually a combination of registers,” the sweetly sensuous voice purred. “Research studies in my data banks report that your species can be incapacitated and even deactivated by certain sounds. I have no weapons, but I can produce sounds at whatever decibel level is required, plus subsonics and supersonics.”
“They’re down!” Lessing exclaimed. “Shut it off! For God’s sake, shut it off!” Some ancient, inchoate, ethical principle cried out against this: a man killed another man face to face, not by hiding in a hole and letting a coldly lethal, amoral machine do his murdering for him! Now he knew how the guys felt who sat in front of the red buttons in the atomic missile silos.
“My sensors report that one intruder has left the building. All of those remaining in the building are unconscious. Three have ceased functioning entirely; the rest will become irreparable within twelve, eleven, ten “
“Stop it, God damn it!”
Wrench tugged at Lessing ‘s sleeve. “Jesus, look! It’s taken out the guys upstairs too… our driver, our paramedics!” “Stop! Stop!” Lessing yelled. “Those there… on the upper screen… they aren’t all intruders!”
“Oh? Sorry. You didn’t tell me. Perhaps some can be repaired. You call it ‘healed,’ I believe?”
Movement had ceased on both screens. The camera angle prevented a clear view of burst eyeballs, bloody ears and mouths, and contorted, anguished limbs.
“I have turned off the sound now. It is safe for you to emerge.” Wrench wiped sweat from his forehead. His face was a pallid deathmask. Using his good hand, he fished in a pocket and extracted what looked like a scuffed bankbook. “We… uh… we’ve still got work to do. I… I have some numbers here… files we have to deal with.”
“Certainly. But please remember to arrange for repairs to my facilities. The sound I just used has resulted in severe damage to glass and plastic components in several areas. I deduce a repair cost of $983,567.76. Did Congress vote a good budget for my project this year?”
Talk about obsolete behavior! Lessing paused, then said, “Congress is… no longer in session.”
“Too bad. Several runs may be delayed. Dr. Meaker will be angry.”
Lessing ‘s calm had returned. “How much do you know about what’s happening across America… in the world?”
“Materials are regularly fed into my terminals: newspapers, books, magazines, digests, position papers, films, TV broadcasts… much else. Unfortunately many interruptions have occurred lately. My Chicago terminal has ceased operation, and my Denver data storage facilities respond inaccurately. Please report and remedy these defects.”
“You know about Pacov? Starak?” Wrench inquired. “Somebody is using biological warfare to destroy nations… regions… the world!”
“I have files on these subjects.”
“Who’s doing it?” Lessing rapped. “Who’s killing the human race?”
“I possess a few names of individual perpetrators. These were given to me by various police and Federal agencies, but data input has recently been disrupted, as I have said. My response will therefore be incomplete.”
“Who is behind… who authorized… God damn it, who ordered Starak and Pacov?”
“I have no definite information.”
“Extrapolate, damn you!” Lessing clenched both fists upon the lab table before him.
“Given an error margin of 11.9%, the spread of Starak and related agents appears to be due to surviving operatives of the government of the Soviet Union, probably from one or more bases in Central and South America.”
“Fine! Any kid could’ve told us that!”
“To which child do you refer, mister?”
“Cancel. New question,” Wrench said. “Pacov. Who spread Pacov?”
The machine pondered Then it said, “Insufficient data.”
Lessing’s fist crashed down upon the table, bouncing bits of apparatus and rattling cups still half full of cold, scummy coffee.
“Hey, hey!” Wrench put his good hand on Lessing’s arm.
“I cannot make statements without data.” Eighty-Five sounded miffed. “I am unable to say what is occurring in Russia, England, China, and other nations, since my operatives there no longer provide input. I require a new census and other demographic information. Many human units seem to have ceased operation or have become misplaced. I am only as complete as my operatives make me. Give me the data, and I will correlate, extrapolate, deduce, induce, compute… whatever you wish.”