Project Pope

by Clifford Simak

  On the front of the table stood the large topaz crystal, and there had been some progress in its shaping since the day before, although he never had been able to catch the actual shaping of anything that Whisperer did. In each instance, the piece changed from time to time and that was all. It wasn't carving, for there were no chips, no material that had been cut away to effect the shaping, and yet, despite this, it was not molding either, for the finished parts had sharp lines as if the material had been cut away — not rounded edges as if it had been molded. Whisperer used no tools, of course — there was no way in which he could use tools. He was as close to nothing as one could imagine. And yet he got things done. He talked mind to mind, he changed the shape of gems, he slithered in and out; he was, seemingly, everywhere at once.

  Watching, Decker saw the slight flicker of the diamond dust that was Whisperer, hovering above the topaz crystal.

  — You're hiding again, he said in his mind to Whisperer.

  — Decker, you know well I do not hide from you. It's that you do not see.

  — Can't you occasionally brighten up a bit? Can't you shine a little more? You're always sneaking up.

  — Now you needle me, said Whisperer. I never do any sneaking up. You are aware of me. You know when I am here.

  And that was right, thought Decker. He did know when he was here. He sensed him, although how he sensed him, he had no idea. It was just knowing he was there. An impression, knowing that this little puff of diamond dust (although he was certain there was much more to Whisperer than a puff of dust) was somewhere very close.

  And the question — always the question — of what he was. He could have asked him, Decker thought, could even ask him now, but somehow it had always seemed a question that was inappropriate. He had wondered at first if his simply thinking it, wondering about it, might not be equivalent to asking, speculating that whatever lay in his mind might be apparent to Whisperer. But over long months, it had become apparent that it was not, that this strange being either could not, or would not, read his mind. To communicate with Whisperer, he had to bring the words up into a certain segment of his mind and there expose them to Whisperer. This constituted talking to him; thinking was not talking. But how he talked with him, how he communicated with Whisperer or read what he in turn should tell him was still a mystery. There was no explanation, no human explanation, of the process that made it possible.

  — We didn't do too badly on the last trip, Decker said. The topaz made it worth our while. And you were the one who nosed it out. You showed me where to find it. There was nothing showing in the gravel. Not a single glint. Just water-worn pebbles. But you showed me where to reach in and find it. Damned if I can figure how you do it.

  — Luck, said Whisperer. No more than luck. Sometimes your luck, sometimes mine. Time before, it was you who found the ruby.

  — A small one, Decker said.

  — But of the finest water.

  — Yes, I know. It's a beauty. Small as it is, it is still perfect. Have you decided yet if you want to do something with it?

  — I am tempted, yes. I'll have to think some more upon it. It would be so small. So small for you, I mean. You'd have to use a glass to see the beauty of the shaping.

  — Small for me. Yes, of course, you're right. Small for me. How about yourself?

  — To me, Decker, size is relative. Almost meaningless.

  — We'll hang on to the ruby, said Decker. I have more than enough to hand over to the captain.

  He no longer could see Whisperer. The small glitter of diamond dust was gone. Perhaps, he thought, it was not because of anything Whisperer had done. Rather, it was due to a subtle shift of light values in the cabin. He knew Whisperer still was in the cabin, for he sensed him. And what was it that he sensed? What was Whisperer, what kind of thing was he? He was here in the cabin, of course, but where else might he be? How large was he? How small? A tiny mote dancing in the firelight or an essence that spanned the universe?

  An incorporeal being, not always invisible, but incorporeal, a drifting next-to-nothingness, perhaps, that was linked to this planet, or perhaps only to a sector of the planet. Thinking of that, Decker was certain, however, that the linkage was at Whisperer's discretion. For some reason, he wanted to be here. More than likely there was nothing to prevent him from going wherever he might wish — to exist in the upper atmosphere, or beyond the atmosphere, in space; to domicile inside a glowing star; to sink into the granite of a planet's crust. All space, and all conditions of space, must be the natural range of Whisperer. Or could it be, Decker asked himself, that the Whisperer he knew was only one small facet of a more encompassing Whisperer? Could the total Whisperer be a huge, sprawling presence that existed in all of space, and possibly in all of time as well, a true creature of the universe?

  More than likely, he told himself, he would never know, or knowing, would not understand. Which probably was at least one of the reasons he had never asked. Why ask for information that was beyond his understanding, unresolved information that would plague him all his days, that would rouse him, sweating, from his sleep in the dead of night, that would never let him be, that would set him apart, an alien creature, from the universe?

  Whisperer spoke to him again.

  — There is tragedy in the forest, he said. Three members of Vatican are dead.

  — In the woods? You must be mistaken, Whisperer. Vatican people don't venture into the woods. They stay close to home.

  — These ones were hunting the Old One of the Woods.

  — No one in their right mind would hunt the Old One. In the woods, it is well to pray most earnestly the Old One does not come hunting you.

  — One of these was new to Vatican. He was full of arrogance. He had a powerful weapon that he thought was a match for anything. It was not a match for anything.

  — And they found an Old One.

  — No. The Old One found them. He knew they were hunting him.

  — And now they're dead. All three are dead?

  — Yes. Dead mostly horribly.

  — When did this happen?

  — Short hours ago. Vatican does not know as yet.

  — Perhaps we should notify Vatican.

  — Why? asked Whisperer. There is nothing can be done. In time, when they are gone overlong, others will set out to seek them and will bring them home.

  — But the Old One will be there and waiting.

  — Perhaps, said Whisperer, but he will not harm the seekers. They'll not be hunting him.

  — He kills only those who hunt him?

  — Yes. Did not you know that? You've tramped the woods for years.

  — I've been lucky. I've never seen an Old One. I have never had to face one.

  — Old Ones have seen you, said Whisperer. Many, many times. They do not bother you because you do not bother them.

  — To bother them, said Decker, is the last thing I would do.

  — You carry a weapon. What you call a rifle.

  — That's right. I very seldom use it. Occasionally to get some meat to put into the pot.

  — And not often even so.

  — No, not often, Decker said.

  He picked up a poker and engineered the fire, settling logs into more compact space for better burning. The chimney mumbled at him. The wind moaned underneath the eaves. The fireplace flames sent shadows chasing up and down the room.

  — Vatican, said Whisperer, is very much excited.

  — Because of the Old One?

  — No, not because of the Old One. That is not known as yet. Something, it seems, has been found by a Listener.

  — The Listeners are finding something all the time.

  — But this finding is a special finding.

  — Special in what way?

  — I know not as yet. Everyone is excited. Some jubilant, some skeptical, some shocked. If true, I gather, something of very great import. The index of faith is running very high. An increase in devotion.

  — They have
their little triumphs, said Decker, and their small defeats. The place is in continual uproar.

  — The triumph in this instance, said Whisperer, cannot be classified as small. There is great hope; many tellings of the beads.

  Six

  They stood on the landing field, staring in some dismay at the small grouping of nondescript buildings that made up the colony of End of Nothing. On a low ridge behind the town rose a sprawling structure, or a group of structures — from this distance it was impossible to tell — all gleaming white, stately despite the lack of height, with a comfortable, down-to-earth appearance despite the stateliness. And, behind the structure, a backdrop to everything, reared up mountains purple in the distance, with the hint of white-capped peaks seeming to float in the air above them.

  Tennyson pointed at the structure on the ridge.

  'Vatican, I take it.

  'I would think it might be, said Jill.

  'I've seen photographs of the Old Earth Vatican. That looks nothing like it.

  'You're taking the name too literally, Jill told him. 'It's nothing but a name. I doubt it has any real connection with the Vatican.

  'But a pope?

  'Well, maybe some connection. An imagined connection. But I doubt there's anything official, nothing that the Old Earth Vatican would officially recognize.

  'And you propose to storm those heights?

  'Jason, you're being dramatic now. A bit consciously dramatic. I'm not storming anything. There is a story here and I intend to get it. By going through channels. By marching up there in all politeness and saying who I am and what I want to do. And while I'm getting this story, what do you propose to do?

  'Honestly, I don't know. I've not even thought about it. I've been running and I guess here the running stops. I can't go back to Gutshot, not for a while at least.

  'You sound as if you intend to keep on running.

  'Well, not right away. This is as good a place as any to stop and rest awhile and have a look around.

  The long line of pilgrims who had disembarked from Wayfarer were snaking down the field, apparently going through a visitor checkpoint.

  Tennyson nodded at them. 'Do we have to go through the same procedure, do you know?

  Jill shook her head. 'I think not. No papers are required, not for humans anyhow. End of Nothing officially is listed as a human planet and there are certain courtesies extended to humankind. It's a small place, too, and apt to be informal. A few days from now you may find yourself having lunch with the police chief, or the sheriff or the marshal, whatever the man is called, who will ask you some polite questions and will look you over well. I'm not sure about here, but that's the way it usually works in small human colonies.

  'Well, that sounds not too hard.

  'You'll have to explain no luggage. The people at Human House may be curious. I think it would be best to explain that you had to run for the ship at Gutshot and somehow lost the luggage.

  'You think of everything, said Tennyson. 'Your mind is devious. What would I do without you?

  'I sort of have taken care of you, haven't I? said Jill.

  'This evening I'll start paying back, Tennyson promised. 'Dinner at Human House. Candlelight and a clean cloth on the table, china, shining glass, silver, a menu with some choice, a bottle of good wine…

  'Don't get your hopes too high. Don't fantasize too much. Human House may not have that kind of dining room.

  'Well, whatever it may be, it'll be an improvement on that cubbyhole aboard the ship you shared with me.

  'That cubbyhole aboard the ship was kind of nice, said Jill.

  'I think, said Tennyson, abruptly changing the subject, 'someone is finally driving out to get us.

  Seven

  The dining room at Human House was fairly civilized. There was a clean white cloth on the table, shining glass and china, the menu had five entrees, and the wine was passable.

  'It is all so enjoyable, Jill said to Tennyson. 'I hadn't expected the food to be so delicious. I suppose that after the month we spent aboard the ship, anything at all would be something of a feast.

  'Tomorrow you start work, he said. 'Will I be seeing you fairly often?

  'As often as possible. I should be back here every night. Unless, of course, Vatican throws me out or won't let me in.

  'You mean you haven't previously contacted them?

  'I tried to, but I couldn't. I sent several letters, but received no reply.

  'Maybe they don't want publicity.

  'We'll see about that. I'll talk with them. I can be fairly persuasive if I have to be. And what about you?

  'I'll look around. I'll get a feel of the place. If there's no other physician here, I may set up a practice.

  'That would be fine, she said. 'Jason, would you really like it?

  'I don't know, he said. 'I said it on the spur of the moment, I guess, without a lot of thought. There is a doctor at Vatican and he may take care of the humans here in town. A new practice might be hard going for a time. The town looks like a pioneer town, but it can't be. If what the captain told us is right, the robots have been here for almost a thousand years.

  'The town probably is not nearly that old, she said. 'The robots might have been here for quite some time before the town actually got started.

  'I suppose so, but it still must be old. Although it's quite apparent little progress has been made. Maybe that's because it is dominated by Vatican. Everything and everyone here must revolve about Vatican.

  'That might not be all bad, said Jill. 'It would depend on what kind of people — robots and humans — make up Vatican. They might welcome someone with fresh viewpoints and new ideas.

  'I'll wait and see, he said. 'There isn't any hurry. I'll know better what is here for me, if anything, within a week or so.

  'You sound as if you plan to stay. For at least a while.

  He shook his head. 'I don't even know about that. I need a place to hunker down for a spell. I don't imagine the people back in Daventry will ever guess I made it to the End of Nothing ship.

  'Chances are, she said, 'they think you were lost at sea. The Gutshot radar must have tracked your flier. There is no way, is there, they could tell you got out of it?

  'Not unless someone found the chute. I think that's unlikely. I pushed the chute as far under the building as I could.

  'That should make you fairly safe. Would they be so enraged at you — so anxious to apprehend you they would track you here?

  'No, probably not. The whole episode was more or less political. It would have helped some people if they could have hung the margrave's death on me.

  'They were looking for a scapegoat.

  'Exactly, said Tennyson. 'And they probably can use my disappearance to hang it on me, anyway. So everyone is pleased. But, at the moment, what happens back at Gutshot is not important. How about you? You must have a fair amount of money invested in this trip.

  'Some, but in my business, that's a chance you take. The cost won't be all wasted in any case. if I can get the story, I think I may have something that will be really big. If I can't crack Vatican, I still have something. Not so big, of course, but something.

  'Jill, how do you figure that?

  'Well, look, I travel here and they won't let me in. They won't talk to me. They give me a total brush-off. They might even, if they feel violently enough about it, throw me off the planet. So why won't they let me in? Why won't they talk to me? Why did they throw me out? What's going on? What's going on at this big, secret-religion institution that can't stand the light of day? What have they got to hide?

  'Yes, I see, he said. 'Yes, that would make a story.

  'By the time I got through with it, it would make a book.

  'How did you run into it in the first place?

  'Things I picked up here and there. Over several years. I kept hearing things. Funny little whispers. None of them too important, some of them with little information in them. But, pieced all together, they got more and more i
ntriguing.

  'So you've been digging at it for years. Trying to pick up clues.

  'That's true. I worked hard at it. Not all the time, of course, but whenever I had a chance. I did a fair amount of thinking. The more I thought about it, the more the facts seemed worth going after. I may, as a matter of fact, have hypnotized myself with my thinking on it. It may turn out there is little here, no more than a bunch of silly robots embarked on a nonsensical enterprise.

  Both of them fell silent for a moment, giving their attention to the food.

  'How is your room? asked Jill. 'Mine is quite satisfactory.

  'So is mine, said Tennyson. 'Not the lap of luxury, but I can get along with it. One window gives a view of the mountains.

  'There aren't any telephones, said Jill. 'I asked about it and was told there are no phones at all. A phone system has never been set up. There are electric lights, though, and I asked about that. I said how come electricity but no phones? No one seemed to know.

  'Maybe no one ever felt the need of phones, said Tennyson.

  'Pardon me, sir, said a voice. 'Pardon the intrusion, but it is important…

  Tennyson looked up. A man was standing at his elbow. He was tall, somewhat beyond middle age, with a craggy face, smoothed-back hair, and a bristling, neat mustache that was turning gray.

  'I understand, said the man, 'that you are a physician. At least, I am told you are.