"You can see that our real problem is another thing entirely. The
machines only do figuring for us in a few minutes that eventually we
could do for our own selves. They're our servants, tools. Not some
sort of gods in a temple which we go and pray to. Not oracles who can
see into the future for us. They don't see into the future. They only
make statistical predictions--not prophecies. There's a big difference
there, but Reinhart doesn't understand it. Reinhart and his kind have
made such things as the SRB machines into gods. But I have no gods. At
least, not any I can see."
Cole nodded, sipping his coffee.
"I'm telling you all these things because you must understand what
we're up against. Terra is hemmed in on all sides by the ancient
Centauran Empire. It's been out there for centuries, thousands of
years. No one knows how long. It's old--crumbling and rotting. Corrupt
and venal. But it holds most of the galaxy around us, and we can't
break out of the Sol system. I told you about Icarus, and Hedge's work
in ftl flight. We must win the war against Centaurus. We've waited and
worked a long time for this, the moment when we can break out and get
room among the stars for ourselves. Icarus is the deciding weapon. The
data on Icarus tipped the SRB odds in our favor--for the first time in
history. Success in the war against Centaurus will depend on Icarus,
not on the SRB machines. You see?"
Cole nodded.
"However, there is a problem. The data on Icarus which I turned over
to the machines specified that Icarus would be completed in ten days.
More than half that time has already passed. Yet, we are no closer to
wiring up the control turret than we were then. The turret baffles
us." Sherikov grinned ironically. "Even _I_ have tried my hand at the
wiring, but with no success. It's intricate--and small. Too many
technical bugs not worked out. We are building only one, you
understand. If we had many experimental models worked out before--"
"But this is the experimental model," Cole said.
"And built from the designs of a man dead four years--who isn't here
to correct us. We've made Icarus with our own hands, down here in the
labs. And he's giving us plenty of trouble." All at once Sherikov got
to his feet. "Let's go down to the lab and look at him."
They descended to the floor below, Sherikov leading the way. Cole
stopped short at the lab door.
"Quite a sight," Sherikov agreed. "We keep him down here at the bottom
for safety's sake. He's well protected. Come on in. We have work to
do."
In the center of the lab Icarus rose up, the gray squat cylinder that
someday would flash through space at a speed of thousands of times
that of light, toward the heart of Proxima Centaurus, over four light
years away. Around the cylinder groups of men in uniform were laboring
feverishly to finish the remaining work.
"Over here. The turret." Sherikov led Cole over to one side of the
room. "It's guarded. Centauran spies are swarming everywhere on Terra.
They see into everything. But so do we. That's how we get information
for the SRB machines. Spies in both systems."
The translucent globe that was the control turret reposed in the
center of a metal stand, an armed guard standing at each side. They
lowered their guns as Sherikov approached.
"We don't want anything to happen to this," Sherikov said. "Everything
depends on it." He put out his hand for the globe. Half way to it his
hand stopped, striking against an invisible presence in the air.