Project Pope

by Clifford Simak

  — They are most satisfactory neighbors, said still another one who lived beside an ocean halfway around the planet. If we were fated to have neighbors, we have been lucky in them.

  — Yet, said the one living on the plain, a short time ago it became necessary to kill.

  — Not the metal ones, said the Old One who lived on Decker's hill, but members of that organic race we have spoken of. There are others of them here, there have been others here ever since the coming of the metal ones. But those who live with us permanently must be a special breed. They have no designs on our planet or ourselves. Rather, they are afraid of us, a situation we do not wish, but an attitude of which it would be difficult to disabuse them. The ones we killed included an outsider newly come to us and a different folk entirely. He had a weapon which he felt certain could put an end to us, although why he should have wanted to put an end to us, I do not understand.

  — Obviously, said another one, we could not put up with that.

  — No, we could not, said the Decker Old One, although there was much regret at doing what we had to do. Especially we regretted the killing of the others who accompanied the one who sought an end of us. They were not so depraved as he, but they did go along with hint.

  — It was the only way we could have acted, said the Old One by the ocean. You pursued the proper course.

  They ceased their talk for a moment, silent, but showing one another what they saw and sensed — the wide, flat prairie with its far horizons, grass blowing in long swaths before the wind, like waves upon a sea, the soft color here and there of prairie flowers, sisters to the grass; the wide sand beach that ran for miles along the foaming ocean, with birds that were something less and something more than birds running on the sands, not each one alone, but all of them together in formations that fell just short of a formal dance; the deep, hushed solemnity of a shadowed forest, the forest floor clean of undergrowth, the stark, dark trunks of trees forming, in whatever direction one might look, long blue-misty aisles that led into foreverness; a deep tree-and-brush-shrouded ravine, with great outthrusts of naked rock along both of the steep converging hillsides that formed the ravine, a place alive with tiny, skittering, friendly life that ran and squeaked among the outthrust rocks and the fallen rotting tree trunks, with the crystal singing of a hidden brook that dashed and foamed along the rocky bed where the hillsides came together.

  — We have been lucky, said the one who crouched above the singing ravine. We have been able, with no great labor on our part, to preserve the planet as it was created. As wardens, we have done little more than watch over it, checking from time to time to see that all is well. There have been no invaders who held intent to misuse the planet or do it harm. Had we faced such a challenge there have been times when I've wondered how well we could have carried out our charge.

  — We would have done well, I'm sure, said the One atop the mountain above Vatican. Instinctively, we would have known how to act.

  — We did fail in one regard, said the Decker Old One. We let the Dusters get away.

  — There was nothing we could have done about it, said the Old One on the plain. We could not have stopped their leaving. I am not sure it would have been right for us to do so. They were intelligent creatures and should have been accorded free will.

  — Which we accorded them, said the One beside the ocean.

  — But they originated here and developed here, said an Old One who lived in a distant desert. They were part of the planet and we allowed them to depart. Their leaving subtracted something from the planet. I have often wondered what function they might have carried out if they had stayed.

  — Old Ones, said the One within the forest, this is footless speculation. They left long ago. Whether they would, in time, have exercised some influence on the planet, we cannot know. The planet may not have suffered from their leaving. Their influence, if there had been any, might have been adverse. I find myself wondering why this matter was brought into our conversation.

  — Because one of them remains, said the Decker Old One. It lives with one of the organic beings that created the metal ones. When the others left, it remained behind. I have puzzled over why it should have remained behind. More than likely it was simply left here when the others went away. They may, as a matter of fact, have left it intentionally. You see, it is a runt…

  Thirty-two

  The glitter of diamond dust floated in the air just above the spindly, gilded chair that stood beside the table with the marble top.

  — So you're back, said Tennyson.

  — Please, said Whisperer. Please!

  — I am not about, said Tennyson, to cave in to your pleas. But I think it's time for us to talk.

  — I'll talk, said Whisperer. I'll talk most willingly. I'll tell you who and what I am, and no other knows who or what I am. I'll answer all your questions.

  — All right, then, tell me what you are.

  — The Old Ones call me Duster and Decker calls me Whisperer and -

  — It's immaterial what you may be called, said Tennyson. Tell me what you are.

  — I am an unsubstantial conglomerate of molecules, all the molecules disassociated and yet making up myself. Every molecule of me, perhaps every atom of me, is intelligent. I am a native of this planet, although I can remember no beginning and I anticipate no end. I may, in fact, be immortal, although I've never thought upon it. Although, come to think of it, I am sure I am. There is no killing me. Even were I scattered, so thoroughly scattered that no atom of my being ever found another atom of my being through all eternity, yet I know each atom would be a life within itself, still sentient, still intelligent.

  — It would seem to me, said Tennyson, that you are an efficient fellow. You're immortal and intelligent and no one can so much as lay a hand on you. You've got it made.

  — But I have not got it made. True, I have intelligence and, as an intelligent being, I have the drive to learn and know, but I lack the tools to learn and know.

  — So you seek a tool.

  — You put it very crudely.

  — You want to use me as a tool. A tool to help you learn and know. What is it that you want to know?

  — I need to know of Vatican and of the work that's done here. I need to enter into the worlds the Listeners are finding. For long and long I've tried, and I have learned a little, but so very little. One does not enter into the thought processes of machines. They've not that kind of mind. My probing of them, or my attempts to probe them through the years, has made Vatican suspicious. They know there is someone probing, but they don't know who it is. They try to seek me out but they do not find me. They probably are unaware that I exist.

  — You think that I can help you? That I'd be willing to?

  — You can help me. Of that there is no question. You can view the cubes. If you only let me in your mind so I can share what you see within the cubes, then the two of us together…

  — But Whisperer, why me? There is Ecuyer.

  — I have tried with Ecuyer. He is insensitive to me. No more sensitive than the robots; he does not know I am there, does not even see the glitter of me. Decker sees the glitter and I can talk with him, but he cannot view the cubes and his mind is closed to me. That leaves only you, and perhaps one other.

  — One other?

  — The one that you call Jill.

  — You have talked with her?

  — No, I have not talked with her. But I think I could; also her mind is not closed to me.

  — Let's leave her out of it, said Tennyson. For the moment, leave her out of this. Is that understood?

  — It is understood. We'll leave her out of it.

  — You want to view the cubes with me. To get inside my mind and view the cubes with me. Is that all you want?

  — Perhaps not all. But the most important.

  — Now tell me why. Why is it so important that you view the cubes?

  — To regain my heritage.

  — Now, back up a minute t
here, said Tennyson. What has your heritage got to do with it?

  — I was, so long ago that time grows dim in the thinking of it, only one small part of a cloud of me — a cloud of other Dusters, or if you wish, of other Whisperers. I say a cloud of me, for I do not know if the cloud was one, if I was a minor part of a larger entity, or if the cloud was made up of very many single entities like me. The cloud had a heritage, it had a destiny-perhaps you could say that it had a task. That task was to know the universe.

  — You don't say, said Tennyson.

  — But I do say. Would I deceive you, running the chance that you should learn of my deceit, thus losing any hope of the cooperation that I seek of you?

  — That makes sense. I don't suppose you would. But what happened to the cloud?

  — It went away and left me, said Whisperer. Why I do not know. Nor do I know where it went except that I know it went to seek out the universe. In bitter hours I've pondered why it went and left me. But leaving me, it did not take away my heritage. By every means I still seek out the universe.

  — Of course you do, said Tennyson.

  — You mock me. You lack belief in me?

  — Let's put it this way, said Tennyson. I am not overwhelmed by belief in you. All you've told me so far is what you want to do and how you need my help. I ask you now — what is there in it for me? What do I get out of it? Something more, I hope, than the pleasure of your company.

  — You are a hard man, Tennyson.

  — I am not a fool. I don't propose to let you use me. It seems to me that in this, somewhere, there should be a bargain struck.

  — A bargain, said Whisperer. Yes, of course, a bargain.

  — So all right. A bargain with the devil.

  — Which one of us is that devil that you speak of? If my understanding of the term is correct, I am not a devil. Neither, I think, are you.

  — Okay, then, no devil.

  — Without your leave, said Whisperer, I dipped briefly in your mind. For which I beg forgiveness.

  — You are forgiven. If it was only for an instant.

  — I tell you true. It was only for a moment. In your mind I snared two worlds. The autumn world and the equation world. Which would you like to visit? Which one would you prefer to go to? Which would you want to see? Not to see, not to stare at, not to wonder over, but to actually go to.

  — You mean that you could take me there? That I could walk those worlds?

  — With me, you could walk those worlds. Perhaps understand them, although I'm not sure of that. But you could see them clearly, lay your hands on them.

  — And the Heaven world?

  — You have not seen the Heaven world.

  — No, I've not, said Tennyson.

  — Well, then?

  — You mean go to one of the worlds and then come back?

  — Yes, of course come back. You never go to a place from which you can't return.

  — You would take me over -

  — No, not take you over. The two of us together.

  Impossible, Tennyson told himself. It could not be done. Either he was dreaming again or he faced the sleekest con…

  — It's possible, said Whisperer. It can be done. It is not a con. You have pondered on the equation world. You have dreamed of it. It will not let you be.

  — I could never get a good look at it, said Tennyson. It was always hidden. I knew there was much there that I wasn't seeing.

  — Then go with me and see it.

  — And understand?

  — No, I'm not sure we'll understand. But, together, better than one of us alone.

  — You tempt me, Whisperer. Should I take a chance on you?

  — No chance, my friend. May I call you friend?

  — Not a friend, Whisperer. A partner. Partners also must have trust and faith. And if you fail…

  — If I fail?

  — Decker would hear of it. You'd lose your only friend.

  — The threat is unworthy of you, partner.

  — Perhaps it is.

  — But you let it stand?

  — I let it stand, said Tennyson.

  — So let you and I go together to the equation world.

  — We'll have to view the cube.

  — No need of it. It is fixed within your mind.

  — Yes, said Tennyson, but imperfectly. I do not see it all. Some of it is missing.

  — It is all there. It needs the digging out. You and I, together, as one person; we can dig it out.

  — This togetherness, said Tennyson, is beginning to wear thin on me.

  — Think of it as oneness, then. Not two of us, but one. Now think deeply of the equation world. Remember it as best you can. We'll essay to enter it.

  Thirty-three

  Enoch Cardinal Theodosius walked into the library and clambered on his stool, looking more like a well-dressed scarecrow than he did a cardinal.

  'I hope, he said to Jill, 'that you don't mind these visits from a clanking old robot who does not have enough to do to occupy his time.

  'Eminence, I love your visits, said Jill. 'I look forward to them.

  'It is strange, said the cardinal, pulling up his feet to place them on the lower rungs of the stool, shucking up his robe about his middle and crouching forward, hands clasped around himself as if he might have a bellyache. 'It is strange that such as we should find so much to talk about. I think that our conversations have good substance to them. Do you not agree?

  'Yes, Your Eminence, I do.

  'I have gained great respect for you, he said. 'You work hard and enthusiastically. You have a mousetrap mind. There's not much escapes you. Your assistants make good reports of you.

  'You mean that my assistants are spies who make reports to you?

  He flapped a hand in distress. 'You know that's not my meaning. I have occasion at times to talk with them and your name is mentioned. You have impressed them very much. You think like a robot, so they tell me.

  'Oh, I hope that's not the truth.

  'What's so bad, milady, about robotic thinking?

  'Nothing, I suppose. But robotic thinking is wrong for me. I should be thinking human.

  'Humans are strange folk, said the cardinal. 'That is a conclusion I have reached through long years of watching them. You may not be aware of it, but robots are obsessed by humans. They are one of our favorite conversational subjects; we spend long hours in talking of them. I suppose it is possible for a human and a robot to establish strong relationships. There are myths that describe such closenesses. I have never had such a relationship and I feel, somehow, that for the lack of it, I've suffered. I must be frank and say that in my visits here I have detected the beginning of such a relationship to you. I hope you do not mind.

  'Why, of course not. I am honored.

  'Up until this time, said the cardinal, 'I've had but small contact with humans. Ecuyer is the only man with whom I've had contact for any length of time.

  'Paul Ecuyer is a good man, said Jill.

  'Good. Yes, I suppose he's good. A bit stiff-necked, however. He lives for his Listeners.

  'That's his job, said Jill. 'He does it well.

  'That is true, but there are times when he tends to forget for whom he's doing it. He gets too wrapped up in it. He assumes more than a normal amount of responsibility. His project is a Vatican project. There are times when he acts as if it's his and his alone.

  'Your Eminence, what is this all about? Is your nose all out of joint over the Heaven incident?

  The cardinal lifted his head and stared at her. He grumbled at her. 'Miss, sometimes you are too smart for your own good.

  'Never that, she said. 'Stupid sometimes when I am trying to be smart.

  'I am concerned, he said, 'over this saint business. I'm not sure we need a saint. A saint might cause us more trouble than it would be worth. What are your thoughts on it?

  'I haven't really thought of it. I have heard some talk. That's all.

  'Ecuyer is slow in turning
over the cube of the Listener Mary's second trip to Heaven. I have a feeling he'd just as soon not turn it over to us. I don't know what happened. I'm not sure anyone knows. There have been some ugly rumors.

  'Probably none of them true.

  'Yes, that's more than likely. Often rumors have little truth in them. But why hasn't Ecuyer given us the cube?

  'Probably he's been busy. He is a busy man. Does he always turn the cubes over to Vatican immediately?

  'No, I guess he doesn't. He gives them to us when he gets around to it.

  'There, that's it, said Jill. 'He simply hasn't gotten around to it.

  'I don't know, said the cardinal. 'Ecuyer is a close friend of Tennyson and Tennyson knows Decker.

  'Your Eminence, you sound as if the three of them were closing in on you. What have Tennyson and Decker got to do with it? You have nothing to fear from either of them. Ecuyer and Tennyson are Vatican men. Decker never interferes in anything at all.

  'You could help me with this.

  'I'm not sure I could, she said. 'What makes you think that I could help you out?

  'You must know about it. You sleep with Tennyson.

  'Shame on you, Your Eminence, she said. 'I never knew that robots paid attention to such things.

  'Oh, we don't, said the cardinal. 'Not in the way you mean. But Tennyson must have talked with you about it.

  'It's not Mary being made a saint, she told him, 'that is bothering you. It's Heaven, isn't it? If it worries you so much, why don't you go and find out what it is?

  'We have no coordinates. We don't know where to look.

  'I think you are afraid, she said. 'Your Eminence, even if you had the coordinates, I think you'd be afraid to go. You are afraid of what you'd find.

  'My fear is not that, he told her. 'My fear is of something greater. It is the present state of Vatican. For many centuries this place ran smoothly. There have been ups and downs, there have been differences of opinion, but never for a moment, until now, have I ever doubted that this institution would stand, solid as the rock in which it's rooted. But now there's an undercurrent of- what shall I call it? — perhaps an undercurrent of rebellion that would not hesitate to strike at our structure and the underlying principles on which it is founded. From where it comes I do not know, but I do know that there must be somewhere a very active mischief maker who is bringing it about, who is triggering it and fueling it to keep it going. For a long time, I have been aware that there was someone or something nibbling at our stores of knowledge. Not getting very far, but still nibbling, like a lone mouse, all by itself, nibbling at a ton of cheese. Whether the two of them, the nibbling mouse and the mischief maker, are one and the same, or otherwise connected, I do not know. Nothing must happen to Vatican, nothing must be allowed to interfere with it. We have too much at stake.