'Maintenance men, said Jill. 'Maintenance worms, that is, Jason, they are the things that keep whatever this is running.
'It makes sense, he said.
'Let's get out of here, said Jill. 'All this makes me dizzy.
They hurried down the whiteness of the road, although the road no longer was entirely white. It shimmered with the many colors of the flashing lights.
Far ahead they glimpsed the opening of another tunnel. When they came up to it, four creatures were waiting for them. The creatures were black cones, dead black, with no highlights in the black, as if the blackness sucked light into it, leaving none to be reflected. They were broad-based and stood five feet high, moving easily but with no hint as to the mechanism that made it possible to move.
At the mouth of the tunnel, just inside it, stood a platform, also black, mounted on wheels.
Three of the cones stood at the back of the platform and, as Jill and Tennyson and the equation folk came up, effectively herded them, without a sound or signal but by some judicious shoving, onto the platform. When Jill would have walked over the platform and back onto the roadway, the fourth cone blocked her doing so, keeping itself in front of her no matter where she turned.
'I guess they want us to stay here, she said to Tennyson.
When all of them had been herded onto the platform, the cones stationed themselves at each corner, and the platform and the cones began to move down the tunnel, the cones apparently furnishing the motive power.
The platform shot out of the tunnel into another vast space in which there were no columns. A number of roadways, a three-dimensional roadway system, ran in all directions, crossing over one another, looping around one another. Some of the roadways were for vehicles only, most of them platforms powered by the cones, although now and then other vehicles, some of them beetle-shaped and others shaped like flying open arrows, also shared the roads. Other roads seemed to be for pedestrians only. Along these crawled and hopped and skipped and walked and jumped and shambled an array of life. Looking at them, Tennyson remembered the Wayfarer captain and his loathing of all alien forms. Seeing some of those that traveled the pedestrian ways, he could understand something of the captain's loathing. In his time he had come into contact with varied alien life, but never in such horrifying forms as he now was seeing.
In between the roadways, set at every angle, each surrounded by small courtyards, were buildings of every shape and size. These were not formed of the same material as the larger structures, but were of every color. It was, thought Tennyson, as if one were looking at tabletop models of many villages, but with all the tabletops haphazardly slung together with no regard to their relationship to one another.
The platform took a sudden curve, almost throwing them off their feet, changing from one roadway to another and almost at once entering another tunnel. When it emerged from the tunnel, it was in what appeared to be the interior of one of the larger buildings they had been looking at. Gently the platform came to a halt in what could have been a parking lot, for there were many other vehicles there.
Jill and Tennyson stepped off and the equation folk floated off the platform, with the four cones herding them down a path between the cars.
They entered a room. At the farther end of it a bubble sat on a dais ranged against the wall. Other cones were there in groups around the dais, and to one side of it sat a small haystack that had eyes peering from the hay, while an octopuslike creature hopped back and forth before the bubble. Each time it landed on the floor, it made a squishy sound like a large chunk of fresh liver hurled against a solid surface.
The cones herded them forward until they stood before the bubble, then fell back and left them there.
The bubble was more than just a bubble. It had a dimple in the forefront of it, and inside the dimple was what might have been a face — the sort of face that one could not be sure was there. One second you could see it and the next moment it had dissolved into drifting smoke.
Jill gasped. 'Jason, she said, 'do you remember that memo — the memo that Theodosius wrote? The one I found in the wastebasket in the secret closet?
'My God, yes! said Tennyson. 'The bubble is one of the things that the cardinal described. A face like drifting smoke, he said.
Noise came from the drifting smoke, a grating, scraping noise. The noise went on for some time. In a little while, it became apparent that the noise was the bubble talking to them.
'I can't make out a word of it, said Jill.
— It is trying to communicate, said Whisperer. That is evident. But unintelligible.
— It sounds as if it might be shouting at us. Is it angry, Whisperer?
— I think not, said Whisperer. It projects no sense of anger.
One of the cones came scurrying up and stood before the bubble. The bubble grated at it, and it turned and scurried off. The bubble fell silent. It was still looking at them, although at times the smoke would obscure the face, but even then they felt it still was looking at them.
— I think, although I can not be entirely sure of this, said Whisperer, that it has summoned someone that may be able to translate the conversation it essays with you.
The bubble stayed silent. The cones were silent, too — if, in fact, they ever made a sound. The only sound was the squishy-liver sound of the octopuslike creature that kept hopping back and forth. The eyes of the haystack creature to one side of the dais watched them unblinkingly.
Silence, except for the liver plopping, held the room. Then there was a new sound — the unmistakable sound of someone walking, of bipedal human walking.
Tennyson turned toward the sound.
Thomas Decker was striding purposefully across the room toward them.
Fifty-three
'Ecuyer, this time I want you to come clean with me, said Cardinal Theodosius.
'Your Eminence, protested Ecuyer, 'I've always come clean with you.
'If by that you mean that you have told me no lies, said the cardinal, 'you may be right. What I'm talking about is that you have not always told me all you know. You've concealed facts from me. For instance, why did you never tell me about Decker's Whisperer?
'Because the subject of the Whisperer never came up in any conversation with you, said Ecuyer. 'That, combined with the fact that I did not hear of it myself until just a few days ago.
'But Tennyson knew about it. Well before you did.
'Yes, that's true. He was a friend of Decker's.
'How did he get mixed up with the Whisperer?
'The way he told me was that the Whisperer sought him out.
'But when he told you it was considerably after the fact.
'I gather that it was. He had the feeling that he owed it to Decker not to tell me, or anyone. He told me only after Decker had been killed.
'Except for the matter of the Whisperer, you and Tennyson were very close. By which I mean that he told you everything.
'That was my impression.
'Did he happen to tell you that he was going to Heaven?
Ecuyer, jerked upright in his chair. He stared at the cardinal for a moment, trying to read his face — but no one ever read a robot face. Then he slumped back again. 'No, he said, 'he didn't. I had no idea.
'Well, it happens that he has. Gone to Heaven, I mean. He's either on his way or already there.
'Eminence, said Ecuyer, 'you can't possibly know that.
'But I can, said Theodosius. 'An Old One told me. I thought about it for a while before I summoned you. We have plans to make.
'Now, wait a, minute, said Ecuyer. 'You say you heard it from an Old One? Where did you find the Old One?
'I went visiting. I found one in the hills above Decker's cabin.
'And he told you Tennyson was about to go to Heaven?
'He said he was already on his way. Tennyson and Jill. The Whisperer, he said, had found a way to take them.
'We talked about it —
'You talked about it? And not a word to me?
'There was no point in saying anything to you. All of us agreed it was impossible.
'Apparently it was not impossible.
'It's true that Tennyson has been missing for a day or two, but that doesn't mean —
'Jill has been missing, too. If not to Heaven, where would they have gone? There's no place on End of Nothing that they would be going.
'I don't know, said Ecuyer. 'It seems impossible they could have gone to Heaven. For one thing, no one had the least idea of where to look for it. Maybe if we could have found the Mary cubes…
'The Old One said the people of the equation world had given them some help.
'Well, yes, that might have been possible. Both Tennyson and Jill had been to the equation world.
'There, you see, said Theodosius, 'that's something else that you never told me. Didn't it ever occur to you that I might like to know what is going on?
'How sure are you that the Old One knows what he is talking about? And how come you went visiting an Old One and —
'Ecuyer, all these years we have been wrong about the Old Ones. They are not the ravening horrors that the myths have told. That's what is wrong with myths, they so seldom tell the truth. The Old One I talked with was the one that brought Decker home, and Hubert. Standing on the esplanade, he talked with me and Tennyson. We owe them an apology for all we've thought of them. We should have become friends with them very long ago. It would have been to our advantage if we had.
'Then you're fairly sure about the Heaven visit?
'I'm sure, said Theodosius. 'The Old One seemed to have no doubt, and I believe he told me true. It was an act of friendship, his telling it to me.
'Christ, it seems impossible, said Ecuyer. 'Yet, if it was done, Tennyson would be the one to do it. The man is remarkable.
'When Tennyson and Jill return, we must be ready for the word they bring.
'You think they will be back?
'I'm certain that they will. They do this for Vatican. Despite the shortness of their stay with us, they — the two of them — have become one with us. Tennyson told His Holiness the other day something that the Pope passed on to me. He was quite tickled with it. About the monasteries of Old Earth….
'What do you propose to do? If they have gone to Heaven, if they really find it, if they do come back —
'For one thing, I am fairly certain I know now who has been behind all this theological nonsense. John, the gardener in the clinic garden. I have a fairly good idea that he has been working for the Pope, an undercover agent for the Pope, although why the Pope should think he needs an undercover agent is more than I can figure out. But that will make no difference. I'm about to make certain that our friend the gardener becomes a piddling little monk and stays a piddling monk forever. And there are others of them….
'But you have no power structure within which to work.
'Not yet, but I will have. Once I talk with His Holiness and tell him what I've found. Once he knows that I know about his undercover agent, once he knows that Tennyson and Jill will be coming back from Heaven. If it weren't for the fact that Heaven will be unmasked, the Pope would be reluctant to take action. Once he knows, however….
'What if this story of yours, Eminence, should prove to be flat wrong? What if —
'In such a case, I will be sunk, said Theodosius, 'and so will you. If we don't act, we'll be sunk anyhow. We have nothing much to lose.
'You're right on that point, said Ecuyer. 'You are absolutely right.
'So will you go with me to see the Pope?
'Yes, said Ecuyer, rising from his chair. 'Let us see the Pope.
The cardinal also rose.
Ecuyer asked another question. 'You said that now Heaven was about to be unmasked. How can you be sure that it will be unmasked?
'Oh, that, said his Eminence. 'Well, that's a gamble too. A calculated risk. If it turns out that I am wrong, I'll probably become a piddling little monk.
'You take the gamble willingly?
'Indeed I do, said Theodosius.
Fifty-four
'Up to a point I can remember some of it, said Decker. 'I remember being plastered against the hull of the ship, trying to dig my fingers into the metal of it, looking out and seeing the hub of this place spearing up at me and the roads that ran into the hub like so many spokes. I don't remember running for the lifeboat because it wasn't me who ran, not me, this Decker II who sits here and talks with you, but the real, the first, the original Decker who was the pattern for me.
'It all checks out, said Tennyson, 'with what little the original Decker, as you call him, told me. He didn't tell me much. He was a tight-lipped man.
'So am I, said Decker II, 'but the shock and I might say the joy in meeting people of my kind has knocked some of the reticence out of me.
They sat in a pleasant room, high in one of the many towers. Thick carpeting covered the floors and paintings hung upon the walls. Comfortable furniture stood about.
'I'm glad, said Jill, 'that you were able to find this place for us. In all the alienness, it is a touch of home.
'It took a bit of doing, said Decker, 'but the Bubbly was insistent that I find a proper place to put you up. He's gone on hospitality.
'The Bubbly?
'The bubble with the funny face, said Decker. 'He is only one of the many who are here. Out of my irreverence, I call them Bubblies. They have another name, of course, but it's well-nigh unpronounceable in the human tongue and a literal translation of it sounds ridiculous. This particular Bubbly that you met is what might be called a friend of mine, although perhaps more than an ordinary friend. It's hard to explain. I call him Smoky, from that face of his, although all of them have the same kind of faces. He doesn't know what Smoky means, although I call him it to his face. He thinks it's an affectionate human name. If he knew its human meaning, he might get sore at me. You saw the Haystack that was there with him?
'I noticed it, said Tennyson. 'It was watching us.
'He is Smoky's first friend — first because he has been with him longer. I am his second friend, second because I've not been here that long. We make up a triad. Among the Bubblies, no Bubbly stands by himself. There must be two others with him. It's a sort of brotherhood, a blood brotherhood, but that's not exactly it, either, but it's as close as I can come. Old Haystack must have given you something of a start. He's a strange-looking critter.
'He certainly is, said Jill.
'Haystack's not too bad a sort, said Decker, 'once you get to know him. For one thing, he's not the kind of slobbering horror that you meet so often here.
'You take all of it very well, said Jill.
'I have no complaint, said Decker. 'I've been treated well. At first I wondered about my position — captive, refugee, exhibit? I guess I still don't know what I am, but I don't worry about it any longer. The Bubblies have done well enough by me.
'The Bubblies took what amounted to a picture of you, out there in the ship; not of you, but of the original Decker, said Tennyson, 'and used it to recreate another Decker, which is you. From that distance, with you behind the hull of the ship-
'You have to understand, Decker told him, 'that far more than a picture, as you term it, is involved. I'm not sure about the technique. I understand the principle but not how it works. The nearest I can come to explaining it, and it's a feeble explanation, is to compare it with the body scanner that was developed on Earth a long time ago. First it was called a brain scanner because it was used principally on the brain, usually to detect tumors. But later it was used as a body scanner. It could take a picture of cross sections of the body. It sort of peeled the body, speaking photographically, which is an awkward way of saying it, taking X-ray pictures at different depths. The term «picture» is not right, either. The data was fed into a computer that put together the findings so they could be read. Well, this is what the contraption used by the Bubblies can do. But it can operate over considerable distances. Its data can be used to reconstruct any sort of matter, anythi
ng on which the data has been obtained. I was told that in my case, in addition to the data on my body, it also had data on a cross section of the ship. But they only used my body data. I suppose the specification on that cross section of the ship is still somewhere in the files and that it could be recreated if there was any point in doing it.
'But Decker, the original Decker, was two hundred years or so out of his time, said Tennyson. 'That's what he told me. The lifeboat held him in suspended animation while it searched out a planet where he could survive. The search took some two hundred years. Yet your best estimate is that you have been here only a hundred years or so.
'This is the first I've known of that, said Decker. "But I can make a guess. It probably took the Bubblies a hundred years before they got around to me. They have a lot of data piled up. Sometimes they have to pick and choose what they want to recreate. Some of the data they have here may have been in the files for several hundreds of years. Some of it they may never get around to.
'You say a hundred years. How old were you when this happened — forty years or so? You don't look a hundred and forty to me. You don't look a day older than the Decker that I knew.
'Well, the way it goes, said Decker, 'is that they improve upon the data. When they turn out an organism from the data, they try to spot the weak points. I suppose that when I was built from the data, the data provided for that useless human organ, the vermiform appendix. Noting it was useless, they'd have probably left that out. I'll make you a wager I have no appendix. A weak or malformed heart valve — they'd fix that up as well. A missing tooth would be replaced, one that had caries would be replaced as well. A bad kidney or a suspect length of gut…
'You sound as if you could be immortal.
'Not immortal, but I'll probably last a while. If something went wrong and there was any need of saving me, they probably could do something about it — replace a heart, perhaps, or a liver or a lung. That's the way it is with everything. I'm the only human they have and they had no idea of my life style. But when I explained, once I'd learned their language, what I needed, they came through with — carpeting, paintings, furniture, the kind of food I required. They even made a few extras, more than I needed. That's what you have here. Give them the specifications and they'll come up with anything. They have matter converters of a sort. Not a dingus that you shovel sand into and out comes bouquets of flowers or ice-cream cones or decks of playing cards or whatever you may ask, but efficient machines, terribly efficient.
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