Project Pope (42 page)

First the galaxy, he thought, and then the universe. First the galaxy, then the universe.

Those others, sitting smug within their restricted orbits, secure in their associations with their triad fellows, had missed the one bet that he had not missed. They had missed because of their misplaced arrogance and their fatal smugness, their failure to recognize a simple truth—that they could be wrong.

Over the millennia, Center had come upon hundreds, perhaps thousands, of faith systems. Difficult as they might be to study, they had been studied and after being studied tested and in every instance had failed the tests; all of them, every one of them, had been judged meaningless. Not only was it concluded that all gods were false gods; the judgment had been carried one step further: There were no gods at all, either weak or strong, true or false. The faith systems had been pegged as no more than self-delusions, willing self-delusions sought after and propounded by weak people who felt compelled to erect shelters for themselves against the bitter truth of existence, against the overwhelming evidence that there was nothing within the universe that cared.

Plopper landed directly in front of him and now, instead of plopping off in a new direction, it jumped in place, straight up and down in front of him. Plop, plop, plop it went, going very fast.

Watching it, half hypnotized by the straight up and down, by the steady rhythm of the plopping, he felt the wonder, the never-ending wonder, enter him; he felt the piety, the passion, and the power, all welded together, the piety to the passion and both of them welded to the power. All of the three equally sanctified so that the power was no whit baser than the piety. And gripped by all of this, he thought, marginally, that all was as it should be, that the power was equally sanctified with the piety and passion. That pleased him, for it was the power that he cared about. There were those who said that power was evil and the use of it was evil, but that was not so, for those who said it were in error. As they had been in error when they had said there were no gods. Wrong because he had found a god and it was his own—along with Haystack and Decker, it was his very own. In time, it would give the power he needed to carry out his plan. When the time came for him to move, he would hold the power.

Worship me
, the god commanded.

So he worshipped it, for that was the bargain he had made with it.

Plop, plop, plop went Plopper.

Chapter Fifty-nine

Smoky sat on his dais. Looking at him closely, Tennyson saw that he was a rather splendid creature. Now that some of the unfamiliarity had fallen away, the outer beauty of him was revealed. He was egg-shaped rather than globular, and his outer shell, if it was a shell, had a pearl-like sheen with iridescent highlights. The dimple in the egg was cloudy, like a small area of gray woolen clouds, with the hint of clouds still remaining when they cleared away to some extent to reveal the face, which was a cartoon face, the sort of face that a human child, scribbling with crayons, might have drawn in its first attempt at art.

To one side of Smoky squatted Haystack, more like a haystack than a living creature, with the occasional twinkle of eyes glinting through the hay. Standing on the other side of Smoky was Decker II. Looking at him again, Tennyson sought some feature that would distinguish him from the authentic Decker. There was none; he was Decker come to life. In front of Smoky, Plopper was plopping all about, but covering not too great an area, simply plopping back and forth.

All about the room stood the cones, sinister in their stolid blackness. Functionaries of some sort, Tennyson wondered, or were they guards? That was foolish, he thought, for against Jill and him there was no need of guards.

Whisperer spoke to Tennyson.

—Don't look around, he said, but the equation people have just now arrived.

—Do you have any idea of what is going on? asked Jill.

—I do not, said Whisperer. It is an audience, of course, but its purpose I fail to catch. The Bubbly, I am certain, is up to no good, and watch out for the Plopper.

—The Plopper?

—The Plopper is the key.

Decker spoke to Tennyson. “Smoky greets you and wishes to know if you have been well treated. Is there anything you wish?”

“We have been well treated,” said Tennyson. “There is nothing that we wish.”

The Bubbly spoke in his grating guttural tones.

Decker said, “Smoky says the Duster must go. He has an antipathy to Dusters. He does not want it here.”

“You tell the Bubbly,” said Tennyson, “that the Duster stays.”

“I warn you, friend,” said Decker, “that this is most unwise.”

“Nevertheless, please tell him that the Duster stays. He is one of us.”

Decker spoke to the Bubbly and the Bubbly answered, his eyes gleaming out of the cloudy dimple straight at Tennyson.

“It is against his wish,” said Decker, “much against his wish, but in the hope of harmony and a fruitful conversation, he concedes the point.”

—Mark one up for us, said Jill. He is not so tough.

—Don't kid yourself, said Whisperer.

“I thank you,” said Tennyson. “Tell the Bubbly that I thank him.”

The Bubbly spoke again and Decker translated. “We are glad that you came to us. We are always glad to meet new friends. The Center's aim is to work cooperatively with other life in the galaxy.”

“We are glad to be here,” Tennyson said shortly.

The Bubbly spoke, Decker translating, “It would be proper now for you to tender us your credentials, with a statement of why you came, so kindly, to visit us.”

“We have no credentials,” said Tennyson. “We are representing no one. We came as free members of the galactic society. We came as travelers.”

“Then, perhaps,” said the Bubbly, “you would not mind telling how you came to know of us.”

“Certainly,” said Tennyson, “all in the galaxy must know of the greatness of the Center.”

“This one mocks us,” Smoky said to Decker. “He would make sport of us.”

“I doubt it,” said Decker. “It is just his way of speaking. He is a rank barbarian.”

The Bubbly said to Tennyson, “Then your purpose. You must have had a purpose.”

“We were looking around,” said Tennyson. “We were no more than giddy tourists.”

—You're pushing it a bit, Jill said to Tennyson. You best ease off.

—He's fishing for information, said Tennyson. I'm not about to give any. It's apparent he doesn't know who we are or where we came from, and it's best he remain in ignorance.

“Friend,” said Decker, “you are going about this wrong. It would be only common courtesy to give us some straight answers.”

—They have not as yet finished the reconstruction of the two of you, said Whisperer. If they had, there would be no questions asked of you. The answers could be gotten from the recreated humans. It seems, however, that this one is in something of a hurry. He does not want to wait for answers.

“I can tell you honestly enough,” Tennyson told Decker, “that I have been giving answers as straight as you will get. If your friend wishes to know where our home planet lies, tell him to seek it out by other means, for I am not about to tell him. If he wishes to know how we got here or why we came, then he can learn it later from our recreations, but from us he will not get it. Or he might try talking with the cubes. Maybe they will tell him.”

“You are deliberately making it difficult for me,” said Decker. “You know very well we cannot converse with the cubes.”

“What is this all about?” grated Smoky. “Tell me, Decker, what is going on.”

“Just a matter of semantics,” Decker told him. “Give me a little time and I'll get it all worked out.”

Plop, went Plopper, plop, plop, plop.

“I do not like this,” said Haystack. “Dammit, Decker, there is something going on. Tell us what it is.”

“Be quiet,” said Decker. “Keep your fat mouth shut.”

“I've told him and I've told him,” wailed Haystack, “and he pays me no attention. Decker, you and I are reasonable beings. Let's give ourselves a little time to work it out. Let's drop the matter for the moment; we can pick up later on.”

“I will not drop it for the moment,” yelled Smoky. “I want the answers now. There are ways that we can get them.”

—I cannot catch the thoughts complete, said Whisperer, but I would judge it is getting slightly sticky.

—Let it get sticky, then, said Tennyson.

—I could jerk you out of here.

—Not quite yet, said Tennyson. Let us see what happens.

Plopper had positioned himself directly in front of Smoky and was jumping now in place, straight up and down, going very fast.

Plop, plop, plop, plop, plop, plop …

—We still have no proof, said Jill. If we go now, there'll be no proof. We must get some proof.

“I'll tell you man to man, human to human,” Tennyson said to Decker, “something that you can understand. Being human, you can understand it; no alien could. We made a bet, you see. We bet that we could come here and bring back proof that we had been here. Give us that proof—proof that no one could question—and let us go. Should you do that, we'll return—on our honor we'll return and answer all your questions.”

“You're mad!” yelled Decker. “To expect me to believe that kind of story. You cannot bargain—”

“Decker!” screamed Smoky. “Fill me in. I command you tell me.”

“They refuse to answer questions now,” said Decker. “They have proposed a bargain.”

“Bargain! They would bargain with me?”

“Why should we not bargain?” piped Haystack. “As creatures of reason—”

“I will not stand for this!” raged Smoky. “I will not be defied by supercilious barbarians.”

“It would be better if you accepted some defiance,” counseled Decker. “I know humans because I am a human, and I stand here to tell you that you cannot shout them down and furthermore …”

Plopper's plopping now became so rapid and so loud that it was almost continuous, drowning out what Decker was saying. He was bouncing up and down, straight up into the air and down, maintaining his position in front of Smoky, and now Smoky was beginning to bounce, too, not as high or as energetically as Plopper, but jiggling up and down at a fairly rapid rate.

—I think, said Whisperer, that it may be time for us to go.

—We have to have some proof, said Tennyson. We can't go back with nothing.…

—You'll get no proof from these maniacs. Any minute now they'll explode right in our face.

“Smoky!” yelled Decker, trying to raise his voice so it could be heard above the racket. “Smoky, you are out of line. You are—”

“Anathema!” screamed Smoky. “Anathema! I call down anathema!”

—Now, said Whisperer, and Tennyson tried to cry out a protest, but there was no time to protest.

But before the scene cut out before him, he caught a glimpse of Plopper exploding in his face—a flare of light and fire that was not fire, but cold.…

Chapter Sixty

The rumor that something was happening quickly spread in Vatican. There was something happening or about to happen. Cardinal Theodosius and an Old One were out at the foot of the basilica staircase, waiting for something that they must know was about to happen. And did you hear the latest—Jill and Tennyson are in Heaven and now they're coming back? Just like Mary went to Heaven and came back. They'll be bringing good word. They'll bring word that it is really Heaven. They'll tell us that Mary was right in what she told us.

Or at least that was what some of them said. Others had a different version. You're wrong, they told the believers. To believe that Heaven is a place you could go to in the flesh is at variance with the tenets of Vatican. Heaven is a mystery; it is not of this world, but of some other and some better plane. There were still others who also disputed what the first group said on the grounds that Jill and Tennyson were creatures of Theodosius and other cardinals who did not believe in the finding of Heaven, or who would not allow themselves to so believe, for if it was determined that the place Mary found was Heaven, then they must abandon their search for knowledge, since Heaven would wipe out any need of knowledge; if Heaven was found, then there would be no need of knowledge, since faith would be all one needed.

John, the gardener, came striding down the steps of the basilica to confront Theodosius.

“I understand, Your Eminence,” he said, “that you have been to see His Holiness.”

“That I have,” replied Theodosius, “and who has a better right?”

“And that in your audience with him, you accused me of treachery to Vatican?”

“I accused you,” said Theodosius, “of interfering in matters that were none of your concern.”

“The preservation of the faith is everyone's concern,” said the gardener.

“But the murder of an esteemed human and the theft of Listener cubes is not,” said Theodosius, speaking bluntly.

“Did you accuse me of that?”

“Do you deny that you were the instigator and the leader of the theologian movement? Do you deny that you are the one who stirred up the stink about canonizing Mary?”

“It was not a stink. It was an honest attempt to haul Vatican back to the course it should have followed all these years. The Church had need of a saint and I supplied it one.”

“To me it was a stink,” said Theodosius. “It was a stench within the nostrils of the Church. You used the story of a deluded woman to bring all this about.”

“I would have used,” said John, “anything at all to bring Vatican to its proper senses.”

He turned on his heel and started up the stairway, then turned about and spoke again.

“You demanded of His Holiness that if there should prove to be no Heaven I'm to be demoted to a piddling monk.”