Project Pope (37 page)

“You cannot meet him now. He has gone away. With the Jill and the Tennyson he has gone away. Together they go to find the Heaven.”

Theodosius gasped. “Heaven! Did you say Heaven?”

“This Heaven you have heard of? It means something to you?”

“It means a great deal to us. Can you tell me what Heaven is?”

“All I can tell you is that the three of them have gone to find it. They have help from others who are called equation folk. People the Listeners found many years ago.”

“You surprise me by how much you seem to know of us and our operation.”

“Our concern for the planet,” said the Old One, “made it seem wise that we keep marginally informed.”

“Heaven!” said Theodosius, gulping slightly.

“That's right—Heaven,” said the Old One.

The cardinal found he could stay no longer. Abruptly he turned about and went plunging down the hill, tearing his way through low-growing bushes, his purple vestment catching on the bushes, torn to shreds as his headlong flight tore the fabric free.

At the foot of the hill, he came to a shallow ravine paved with huge flat stones that through the years had fallen from the hillsides. A small, shimmering sheet of water slid among the stones.

Here Enoch Cardinal Theodosius dropped to his knees. He clasped his hands together and held them on his breast. He lowered his head to rest against the clasped hands.

“Almighty God,” he prayed, “let it come out right! Please, make it come out right!”

Chapter Fifty-two

It was exactly as he remembered it—the pea-green carpet of the surface ran out to the distant horizon to meet the pale lavender of the shallow bowl of sky. The cubes were there, the same as ever.…

And yet it was not the same as ever, and the difference lay not in where he was or where the cubes might be—the difference lay within himself. He was not himself, not himself alone; he was himself and someone else, himself and others.

On his first trip to the equation world, he had sensed Whisperer only marginally; the greater part of the time he had not sensed him at all. Too scared, perhaps, to be aware of him, too taken up with all the rest of it. He did sense him now, he knew that he was here, the soft, almost fairy touch of him. But it was not Whisperer; it was someone else that he felt closer to.

—Jason, said Jill, speaking as a part of him, the two of them inseparable, as if their minds had become one mind and their bodies one as well. Jason, I am here.

He had felt some of it the night before when the two of them had joined, opening their minds so that Whisperer might join with the both of them that they might grieve with him. There had then been the touch of two minds becoming one, but its effect had been softened and obscured because the sharp, keen memory of Decker had been there. But now it hit him full force. He and Jill were together as never before, closer together than when their bodies had been locked in love.

—I love you, Jason, she said. I do not need to tell you now. You know how much I love you now.

And she was right, as she was always right. There was no need for her to tell him and no need for him to tell her, for they were together and could not help but know what was in the other's mind.

Five cubes stood apart and closer to them than the other cubes. The others had pulled back, forming a large circle in which stood the nearer five.

—These are the ones, said Whisperer, who will be our guides.

Among the five, Tennyson saw, was his old friend who was deep purple with the equations and diagrams glowing in brilliant orange. There were, as well, the one who was startling pink with the equations all in green and the extra-fancy gray one with copper spots and the equations in startling lemon yellow. The fourth was a rose-red creature with equations in showy damson plum and its diagrams in sulphur yellow.

—That one's mine, said Jill.

The fifth one was a sickly green with both its equations and diagrams in a somber golden brown.

—How can they be sure? Tennyson asked Whisperer. Are you sure they know where Heaven is?

—They do not know of it as Heaven. They know it by another name. In a distant sector of the galaxy lies a famous place. Unknown to us, of course, but famous.

—And this famous place is Heaven?

—They're quite sure it is, said Whisperer. It has the shining towers and the noise that you call music and steep stairs leading up to it.

They had been moving toward the five cubes. As they moved toward them, the cubes had been moving, too, so that when they came close to them, the cubes had spread out and now closed in to form a circle with the two of them in the center of it.

The rose-red cube was facing them, and now that they were close to it, it wiped away the equation that it had been displaying and began replacing it with another, forming the new equation slowly so that it could be read even by one who was unfamiliar with that kind of communication.

—We welcome you, the equation said. Are you ready for our venture?

—Whisperer, said Tennyson. Whisperer!

There was no answer; there was no need of one, for it was quite apparent that it was not they who were reading the equation—it was Whisperer and because Whisperer was there, linked with them, they understood it, too.

—You do nothing, said the equation, flowing smoothly. You will simply stand where you are. And do nothing. Is that understood?

—We understand, said Whisperer, and as he spoke the words, the answer he had given appeared as a brief and simple equation on the surface of the rose-red equation person, printed there, thought Jill, so that the other cubes might know the answer that Whisperer had made.

It's all damn foolishness, thought Tennyson, but he had no more than thought it than both Jill and Whisperer came swarming in on him, burying his mind so he could think no further, extinguishing the cynicism and the doubt that had come welling up in him.

Now another equation was forming slowly on the rose-red blackboard and Tennyson caught the beginning of Whisperer's translations—then they were in Heaven.

They stood in a central plaza, and all around them reared the soaring towers. Celestial music came down upon them from the towers, enveloping them so that all the world seemed music. The paving of the plaza was gold, or at least gold color, and the towers were shining white, so shining and so white that they seemed illuminated by a light within them. There was a holiness, or what appeared a holiness, and it all was sanctified.

Tennyson shook his head. There was something wrong. They stood in the center of the plaza and the music filled the place and the towers were white and shining towers, but there was no one there. To one side stood the five equation people, and Whisperer, a small globe of glittering dust, was floating there above them, but there was no one else. The place was empty; they stood alone within it. Heaven, to all appearances, was uninhabited.

“What's the matter?” asked Jill. She stepped away from Tennyson and turned slowly to look around the plaza.

“There is something wrong, isn't there?” she asked. “For one thing, there is no one here.”

“For another,” said Tennyson, “there aren't any doors. None in the buildings. Not what we think of as doors. There are only holes. Round holes. Mouse holes. Eight feet or so above street level.”

It was true, she saw. And there weren't any windows. In all the soaring height of the towers, there weren't any windows.

“There are no windows,” she said. “You'd think there would be windows.”

A chill breeze came blowing down the plaza and Tennyson shivered at its touch.

There were, he saw, between the towers, what seemed to be narrow streets. Here, he thought, they must stand at the heart of the city, if it was a city. He looked up at the towers and realized that they were much taller than he at first had thought they were. They rose high into the blue, so high that the last glitter of them was lost in the blueness of the sky. At first, too, he had thought that there were many buildings, each one supporting its individual tower, but now it appeared possible that there might be only one building, enclosing the sprawling square in which they stood, with the towers placed at regular intervals. What he had thought of as narrow streets between the separate buildings might be no more than tunnels, cut at street level through the massive structure.

The building (or buildings) was of flawless white that did not have the look of stone. It had the look of ice, ice frozen from the purest water, ice with no air bubbles or other imperfections in it. That couldn't be, he told himself. If this great structure was not stone, neither was it ice.

All the time the music poured in upon them, engulfing them, seeping into them—an indescribable music that made one think it was more than music, or music raised to a poignancy no human composer had ever quite achieved.

Whisperer spoke to them.

—This place, he said, is not as empty as it seems. There are many here. This place teems with life.

As if on signal, life appeared.

Out of one of the narrow streets (or tunnels?), a massive head pushed out. It was a worm head. The front of it was flattened and heavily armored, a thick and heavy carapace covering the entire front part of the head. Behind the carapace, on either side of it, huge compound eyes looked out. Antennae sprouted from the top of the head. The head stood tall. Tennyson, gagging in distaste, estimated the top of the head stood a good six feet above ground level.

The worm emerged—it continued coming out, the long, thick body tracking behind the armored head. Once a fair length of it was out, it began to elevate its front end higher off the ground. Slender jointed legs that had been flattened to enable it to pass through the tunnel began to straighten up, lifting the body until it stood two feet taller than it had before.

As more of it emerged, it began to turn toward those who were standing in the plaza. Tennyson and Jill began slowly backing away, but the five equation beings stood their ground. Their blackboard sides were blurring in flashing colors as the equations raced.

Then all the worm was out of the tunnel, at least thirty feet of it, standing tall, well supported by the close-set legs.

The worm changed its direction again, angling away, back toward the structure of towering white. Its movement appeared to be purposeful. It gave no indication it had noticed those who were in the plaza.

It came to a halt under one of the eight-foot-high mouse holes and reared up. Its forward legs caught hold of the edge of the hole and began to lever itself into it. They watched as the worm drew its entire body through the hole and disappeared.

Tennyson let out his breath in relief.

“Let's have a look,” he said. “Let's see what we can see.”

They found out very little. The narrow streets did turn out to be tunnels, set at intervals along the structure, which turned out to be one building rather than many separate ones set together. But the tunnels were closed. Inside of them, thirty feet or so in from the opening, the way was blocked by doors. The doors were not white but blue. They filled the tunnels, wedged close against the tunnels' curving sides. There seemed no way to open them. Tennyson and Jill pushed hard against several of them and failed to budge them. It did seem, in a couple of instances, that they could feel some give, but that was all.

“They're tension doors,” said Tennyson. “I'm almost certain of that. Push against one of them hard enough and it will open. But we haven't the strength.”

“The worm came through it,” said Jill.

“The worm probably is much stronger than the two of us. They may be exclusively worm doors. The worms may be the only things that have the strength to open the doors.”

“We're fairly sure,” said Jill, “that this place is not Heaven. But we have no proof. We can't just go back and say it isn't Heaven. Before we go back, we must have proof. If I only had a camera.”

—We had to hold down weight, said Whisperer. We knew not what we'd find. We travel light and fast.

—What think our equation friends of this? asked Tennyson.

—They stand much amazed.

—So do we, said Jill.

“Maybe photographs alone,” said Tennyson, “would not be acceptable proof. Photographs you can get anywhere at all. We have to do better than a handful of pictures.”

They made a circuit of the square and found nothing else.

“We're trapped in here,” said Jill, “with only one way out, those mouse holes that the worms use. We could have Whisperer float over all of this and see what's on the other side. There must be another side.”

“So could the equation folk,” said Tennyson. “They can float in the air, but at the moment I would hate to have us divide our forces. I have a feeling we should stick together.”

Far down the plaza another worm came out of a tunnel and came straight toward them, but it swerved to pass them by to reach another of the mouse holes. Rearing, it passed through the hole and disappeared.

“I'm not certain I would want to use one of those holes,” said Jill. “All that ever seems to go through them are worms.”

“The worms seem to have little interest in us.”

“Not while we're out here. They might pick up an interest if we went inside.”

“I wonder,” said Tennyson, paying no attention to what she had said.—Whisperer, could you ask one of our equation friends to squat down a bit so I could climb up on him. Then he could float me up to one of the holes.

“If you are going, I am going, too,” said Jill. “I'm not going to be left out here.”

—Any one of them would be happy to, said Whisperer. Which hole do you have in mind?

—Any one of them, said Tennyson. I wouldn't ask it, but those holes are out of reach for us.

—Would that one just behind you be all right?

—It would do just fine.

“I have a feeling,” said Jill, “that we're quite out of our minds.”