Here Be Monsters

assuming her ignorance of mid-twentieth-century history. 'Because the Russians couldn't ship in their top brass, to Debrecen, without going through the motions of trusting Rakosi, who was their front- man. Uh-huh?' Pause. 'So he was there with the red carpet, first for Shelepin, and then for Zhurkin, and also for Semichastny - all future KGB

bosses, but also all top Komsomol youth leaders. And two of them genuine war heroes -

Shelepin was a Hero of the Soviet Union, for his partisan work behind the German lines, and Zhurkin had flown Russian fighters all the way from the Spanish Civil War to Korea -

he was a sort of 'Red Douglas Bader', with his tin legs… But they were all real heroes of the people's revolution - even Semichastny, who was trained as a chemical engineer in the Ukraine - son of an illiterate mill worker, pre-revolutionary, whose umpteen children had all made the grade under the new regime: getting a handshake from them, and a pat on the back, and a 'Right trusty and well-beloved' commission - which was to be filed in the archives of Dzerinsky Street, never to see the light of day - all that would have been like being tapped on the shoulder by Her Majesty, and blessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury… Or by the President of the United States - or bussed on each cheek by the President of the Republic - do you see, Elizabeth?'

Or touched lightly by the Chancellor of the University, and gowned colourfully for excellence? Touched in the remote hope that the twin evils of ignorance and intellectual arrogance might forever be expelled?

'You mean, it was just a morale-raiser?' She heard her incredulity. 'All that trouble? And dummy2

the risk - ?'

'Ah…' The long legs bent again, and the knees came up for massage. 'There was another reason - or two reasons… Because there was another name. And, if the Wise Men of Research and Development and the Pentagon had it right, it was the big name - the Name of Power, Elizabeth. Although you'll never even have heard of it. Because if you punch the name on that wretched Beast of ours the thing will perform its two favourite actions: first, it will not answer your question, but will request your authorization instead; and second, it will sneak on you to the head teacher and master-at-arms, whether you have clearance or not.' He let go of his knees and smiled at her. 'But I am a different sort of beast. A human beast, am I. And I spit on the new beast - may it be visited with sudden extreme variations of temperature and floods of water from the sewers, and electronic illnesses hitherto unknown. And, most especially, I spit on the memory of its prophet and servant, Comrade Professor Kryzhanovsky - Kryzhanovsky.' He pronounced the Name of Power without benefit of Russian sound, syllable by syllable, much as a Russian might have attempted Worcestershire. 'Vladimir Ivanovitch Kryzhanovsky, Elizabeth.'

This, again, was the authentic Audley: the Audley whom Paul loved to imagine-as casting himself as one character after another out of his beloved Rudyard Kipling.

'I've never heard of him, David,' she said meekly.

'No, you wouldn't have done. He's long dead, thank God. And… hmm… and since it was natural causes maybe we should thank Him, blasphemy or not - ' He stopped suddenly.

'Yes, David?'

' Hmm …' He growled the sound from the back of his throat. 'I was just thinking that maybe the blighter's had the laugh over us after all these years. Or, if he hasn't, he has now, anyway.'

If this was the authentic Audley, she might get more by letting him simply think aloud than by prodding him with questions. But the miles were slipping away towards their destination, and time with them. 'Who was he, David?'

'He was a psychologist, and by all accounts a damn good one. Moscow-trained, but cut his teeth in the Ukraine. Which was where he got to know Semichastny - and that was where Semichastny got in with Khrushchev, of course. But we didn't get a line on him until '54, when the Petrovs defected - at least, not a line that put him right in the heart of the KGB

reorganization, anyway… But he wasn't just a psychologist, he was big on the whole new technology scene. Like, he was in on the beginning of the personnel selection in the space programme. One of the first papers of his we got was entitled The Symbiosis of Man and dummy2

Machine: Future Trends - or something like that.'

Elizabeth's chuckle was only half-forced. 'I can see why you don't - or didn't - like him, David. If he was a computer psychologist -'

'Ah - now that's just where you're wrong, Miss Clever-Clogs,' Audley interrupted her quickly. 'Or… not quite right, anyway. Because I think he was even more shit-scared of the computer than I am - or of its Fifth Generation, which he foresaw thirty years ago.

Although he called it 'The Fourth Evolution' - 'evolution' was his codename for revolution, which caused him to skate very gingerly and obtusely round its edges, with impenetrable clouds of jargon.'

A road sign arrested her attention momentarily. They were off the motorway now. The miles had flown, and time had flown with them.

'When the machines start thinking for themselves - what a brave new world it will be,'

murmured Audley. 'All the right answers supplied without asking! Our old capitalism will be in serious trouble - but his old Marxist/ Leninist-Communism will be a ridiculous, incompetent, irrelevant joke… that's what he foresaw, I shouldn't wonder. But he didn't say so. He was sitting much too pretty for that.'

The turn-off was only a few miles away. 'What did he do at Debrecen, this…

Kryzhanovsky, David?'

'Season your impatience, Elizabeth. The one thing leads to the other. What Comrade Professor Kry-zan -off- sky saw was the rise of information technology. He was one of their experts on Bletchley Park, he made a study of it. Knew all about Ultra, he did - and said what idiots we were, not to build on it. He'd have made them all Heroes of the British Empire, with special perks and privileges. And kept 'em all behind the wire for the rest of their lives.'