Congo - Crichton Michael (читать книги полностью без сокращений бесплатно TXT) 📗

2. B-8 Problems

“YOU WANT ME TO WHAT’?” TOM SEAMANS SAID, cradling the phone in his shoulder and rolling over to look at his bedside clock. It was 3 A.M.

“Go to the zoo,” Elliot repeated. His voice sounded garbled, as if coming from under water.

“Peter, where are you calling from?”

“We’re somewhere over the Atlantic now,” Elliot said. “On our way to Africa.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” Elliot said. “But I want you to go to the zoo first thing in the morning.”

“And do what?”

“Videotape the gorillas. Try to get them in movement. That’s very important for the discriminant function, that they be moving.”

“I’d better write this down,” Seamans said. Seamans handled the computer programming for the Project Amy staff, and he was accustomed to unusual requests, but not in the middle of the night. “What discriminant function?”

“While you’re at it, run any films we have in the library of gorillas-any gorillas, wild or in zoos or whatever. The more specimens the better, so long as they’re moving. And for a baseline, you’d better use chimps. Anything we have on chimps. Transfer it to tape and put it through the function.”

“What function?” Seamans yawned.

“The function you’re going to write,” Elliot said. “I want a multiple variable discriminant function based on total imagery-”

“You mean a pattern-recognition function?” Seamans had written pattern-recognition functions for Amy’s language use, enabling them to monitor her signing around the clock. Sea-mans was proud of that program; in its own way, it was highly inventive.

“However you structure it,” Elliot said. “I just want a function that’ll discriminate gorillas from other primates like chimps. A species-differentiating function.”

“Are you kidding?” Seamans said. “That’s a B-8 problem.” In the developing field of pattern-recognition computer programs, so-called B-8 problems were the most difficult; whole teams of researchers had devoted years to trying to teach computers the difference between “B” and “8’ ‘-precisely because the difference was so obvious. But what was obvious to the human eye was not obvious to the computer scanner. The scanner had to be told, and the specific instructions turned out to be far more difficult than anyone anticipated, particularly for handwritten characters.

Now Elliot wanted a program that would distinguish between similar visual images of gorillas and chimps. Seamans could not help asking, “Why? It’s pretty obvious. A gorilla is a gorilla, and a chimp is a chimp.”

“Just do it,” Elliot said.

“Can I use size?” On the basis of size alone, gorillas and chimps could be accurately distinguished. But visual functions could not determine size unless the distance from the recording instrument to the subject image was known, as well as the focal length of the recording lens.

“No, you can’t use size,” Elliot said. “Element morphology only.”

Seamans sighed. “Thanks a lot. What resolution?”

“I need ninety-five-percent confidence limits on species assignment, to be based on less than three seconds of black-and-white scan imagery.”

Seamans frowned. Obviously, Elliot had three seconds of videotape imagery of some animal and he was not sure whether it was a gorilla or not. Elliot had seen enough gorillas over the years to know the difference: gorillas and chimps were utterly different animals in size, appearance, movement, and behavior. They were as different as intelligent oceanic mammals-say, porpoises and whales. In making such discriminations, the human eye was far superior to any computer program that could be devised. Yet Elliot apparently did not trust his eye. What was he thinking of?

“I’ll try,” Seamans said, “but it’s going to take a while. You don’t write that kind of program overnight.”

“I need it overnight, Tom,” Elliot said. “I’ll call you back in twenty-four hours.”

3. Inside the Coffin

IN ONE CORNER OF THE 747 LIVING MODULE WAS A sound-baffled fiberglass booth, with a hinged hood and a small CRT screen; it was called “the coffin” because of the claustrophobic feeling that came from working inside it. As the airplane crossed the mid-Atlantic, Ross stepped inside the coffin. She had a last look at Elliot and Amy-both asleep, both snoring loudly-and Jensen and Irving playing “submarine chase” on the computer console, as she lowered the hood.

Ross was tired, but she did not expect to get much sleep for the next two weeks, which was as long as she thought the expedition would last. Within fourteen days-336 hours- Ross’s team would either have beaten the Euro-Japanese consortium or she would have failed and the Zaire Virunga mineral exploration rights would be lost forever.

The race was already under way, and Karen Ross did not intend to lose it.

She punched Houston coordinates, including her own sender designation, and waited while the scrambler interlocked. From now on, there would be a signal delay of five seconds at both ends, because both she and Houston would be sending in coded burst transmissions to elude passive listeners.

The screen glowed: TRAVIS.

She typed back: R OS S. She picked up the telephone receiver.

“It’s a bitch,” Travis said, although it was not Travis’s voice, but a computer-generated flat audio signal, without expression.

“Tell me,” Ross said.

“The consortium’s rolling,” Travis’s surrogate voice said. “Details,” Ross said, and waited for the five-second delay. She could imagine Travis in the CCR in Houston, hearing her own computer-generated voice. That flat voice required a change in speech patterns; what was ordinarily conveyed by phrasing and emphasis had to be made explicit.

“They know you’re on your way,” Travis’s voice whined. “They are pushing their own schedule. The Germans are behind it-your friend Richter. I’m arranging a feeding in a matter of minutes. That’s the good news.”

“And the bad news?”

“The Congo has gone to hell in the last ten hours,” Travis said. “We have a nasty GPU.”

“Print,” she said.

On the screen, she saw printed GEOPOLITICAL UPDATE, followed by a dense paragraph. It read:

ZAIRE EMBASSY WASHINGTON STATES EASTERN BORDERS VIA RWANDA CLOSED / NO EXPLANATION / PRESUMPTION 101 AMIN TROOPS FLEEING TANZANIAN

INVASION UGANDA INTO EASTERN ZAIRE / CONSEQUENT DISRUPTION / BUT FACTS DIFFER / LOCAL TRIBES {KIGANI} ON RAMPAGE / REPORTED ATROCITIES AND CANNIBALISM ETC / FOREST-DWELLING PYGMIES UNRELIABLE / KILLING ALL VISITORS CONGO RAIN FOREST / ZAIRE GOVERNMENT DISPATCHED GENERAL MUGURU (AKA BUTCHER OF STAN- LEYVILLE) / PUT DOWN KIGANI REBELLION ‘AT ALL COSTS’ / SITUATION HIGHLY UNSTABLE / ONLY LEGAL ENTRY INTO ZAIRE NOW WEST THROUGH KINSHASA / YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN / ACQUISITION WHITE HUNTER

MUNRO NOW PARAMOUNT IMPORTANCE WHATEVER COST / KEEP HIM FROM CONSORTIUM WILL PAY ANYTHING / YOUR SITUATION EXTREME DANGER / MUST HAVE MUNRO TO SURVIVE /

She stared at the screen. It was the worst possible news. She said, “Have you got a time course?”

EURO-JAPANESE CONSORTIUM NOW COMPRISES MORIKAWA (JAPAN) / GERLICH (GERMANY) / VOORSTER (AMSTERDAM) / UNFORTUNATELY HAVE RESOLVED

DIFFERENCES NOW IN COMPLETE ACCORD / MONITORING US CANNOT ANTICIPATE SECURE TRANSMISSIONS ANYTIME HENCEFORTH / ANTICIPATE ELECTRONIC

COUNTERMEASURES AND WARFARE TACTICS IN PURSUIT OF TWO-B GOAL / THEY WILL ENTER CONGO (RELIABLE SOURCE) WITHIN 48 HOURS NOW SEEKING MUNRO /

“When will they reach Tangier?” she asked.

“In six hours. You?”

“Seven hours. And Munro?”

“We don’t know about Munro,” Travis said. “Can you booby him?”

“Absolutely,” Ross said. “I’ll arrange the booby now. If Munro doesn’t see things our way, I promise you it’ll be seventy-two hours before he’s allowed out of the country.”