Out of the corner of one eye, he glimpsed a movement and quickly stepped away, but there was no place to go, no place he could run. The other cubes were closing in on him. Already a tight ring of them had formed, blocking all possible escape. On the surfaces of all of them the equations and the diagrams were changing and shifting. It was an unnerving sight; while there still was no sound, he had the impression that all of them were shouting at him.
More were arriving all the time and some of them soared off the ground to perch upon those that had surrounded him and others came and settled down upon the second tier, as if they were concrete blocks and some invisible mason was using them to erect a wall around him. They were towering over him, and all the time they were moving in and he was half dizzy with the riotous running of their colors as the equations raced and scintillated to effect the changes. He had the fleeting impression that they no longer were trying to communicate, but under some impelling circumstance had come together to solve some weighty and complicated problem, with the equations building to immense complexity and the diagrams becoming twisted into inconceivable dimensions.
Then they toppled in upon him, the wall of them that had been built around him caving in and crashing down upon him. He screamed in terror, but as they came down upon him, the terror went away and he was left with a sense of wonder that was so deep it seemed to engulf all the universe. He was not crushed. Nothing at all happened to him except that he now stood in the center of the pile of cubes that had collapsed upon him. He stood unharmed in the midst of a sea of multicolored jelly and he feared, for a moment, that he’d either drown or suffocate, for in this close-packed jelly mass, there could be no air and his nostrils and his mouth and throat would fill with jelly and it would get into his lungs -This did not happen. He felt no discomfort. For a moment he struggled to swim through the mass of jelly, seeking to rise to the surface where there would be air to breathe. Then he ceased his efforts, for somehow he knew he had no need of air and that he would not drown. The equation of cubes were sustaining him, and within the midst of them, no harm could come to him. They did not tell him this, but he knew it. He had the impression that he had absorbed the message by a strange osmosis.
All the time the equation kept running around him and some of them twined themselves around him and some of them went through him and others of them went inside of him and stayed there and, in that moment, he seemed to understand that he had become an equation among all the rest of them. He felt the equations flowing through him and all around him and some of the diagrams joined together and constructed an intricate house for him and he crouched inside it, not knowing what he was, but for the moment quite content with being what he was.
Thirty-five
A group of Listeners gathered for the coffee hour.
‘What is the word on Mary?’ asked Ann Guthrie.
‘No one seems to know,’ said James Henry. ‘At least no one is talking.’
‘Doesn’t anyone ever go to see her?’ asked Ann.
‘I did,’ said Herb Quinn. ‘I could only go in for a moment. She seemed to be sleeping.’
‘Or under sedation,’ said Janet Smith.
‘Perhaps,’ Herb agreed. ‘The nurse marched me out. Visitors are not welcome.’
‘I’d feel better,’ said Ann, ‘if Old Doc were still around to take care of her. I don’t know about this new doctor.’
‘Tennyson?’
‘Yes, Tennyson.’
‘I think you’re wrong,’ said James Henry. ‘He seems an all-right guy. I had a talk with him a few weeks ago.’
‘But you don’t know how good a doctor he is.’
‘No, I’ve never been to him.’
‘I had a sore throat a while ago,’ said Marge Streeter. ‘I went to him and he cured it for me quickly. He is a pleasant man. Easy to talk with. At times Old Doc was grumpy.’
‘That’s right,’ said Herb. ‘Used to give me hell for not taking care of myself.’
‘I don’t like some of the stories that are going around about Mary,’ said Ann.
‘None of us do,’ said Herb. ‘Vatican’s always full of gossip. I never believe anything I hear.’
‘Something must have happened,’ said Janet. ‘Something rather terrible. All of us have had shocks. It can happen.’
‘But we come out of it quickly.’ said Herb. ‘A day or two.’
‘Mary’s getting old,’ said Ann. ‘Maybe she’s not up to it anymore. She should ease up. There are clone Marys coming up. They could take over.’
‘Cloning bothers me,’ said Marge. ‘I know it makes a lot of sense and is generally accepted throughout most of the human galaxy. Still, it has a creepy feel to it. Anyone who dabbles in cloning must think they have a license to play God. The whole idea is unnatural.’
‘Playing God is nothing new,’ said James. ‘Throughout all of history, both human history and otherwise, there has been a lot of God playing. The most flagrant example is the race that Ernie ran across. You remember it. Several years back.’
‘That’s the one,’ said Herb, ‘that creates worlds and peoples them with creatures out of their own imagination….’
‘That’s right,’ said James, ‘but the worlds are logical. Not a few sticks and a pile of mud and magic mumbled over them. That race’s worlds are well engineered. All the factors that should go into the creation of a planet. Nothing phoney about them. All the right pieces put together correctly. And the creatures they put on them logical as well – some terribly screwy biological setups, but they work.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Herb, ‘and then what happens? Each world becomes a stress world, a living laboratory with the populations subjected to all sorts of tests, faced with all kinds of situations that have to be solved if they want to survive. Intellectual beings used as test animals. Probably a lot of data is obtained and some social problems studied in some depth, but it is rough on the planet populations. And for no purpose.’
‘Maybe there is a purpose,’ said Janet. ‘Mind, I’m not defending the action, but there could be a purpose. Maybe not one that we would find sufficient, but…’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Ann. ‘I’m inclined to doubt it. There must be, there simply has to be a set of universal ethics. There must, through all of space and time, be some things that are wrong and others that are right. We can’t excuse a vicious race for its vicious acts on the sole ground that the race itself is vicious, that it knows no better.’
‘That is an argument,’ said James, ‘that could go on forever.’
‘Did Ernie ever pin down the coordinates for that race of planet-making gods?’ asked Marge.
‘I don’t believe he did,’ said Herb. ‘He went back several times, made a number of observations. In a perverse sort of way, he worked up some interest in the situation – that and all the various world situations that the race cooked up. But he finally decided he was not getting much of any real interest, so he pulled back and canceled out.’
‘He was lucky he could cancel,’ said James. ‘Sometimes these experiences build up so much fascination that we get pulled back – just as Mary was pulled back to Heaven.’
‘The one that I keep thinking about,’ said Marge, ‘is that old senile computer Betsy blundered into several years ago. Out on one of the globular clusters centered almost exactly above the galactic core. The computer is still in command of a vast array of rather mysterious machinery created for some unknown purpose. Some of the machinery apparently is beginning to break down because of lack of maintenance. What the machines were supposed to do, Betsy hasn’t figured out. The entire planet’s haywire. At one time there apparently was an intelligent biology there, but whether it built the machines Betsy doesn’t know. The biology by now is fairly well wiped out, and what is left of it gone into hiding.’
‘Betsy is still working on that one,’ said Ann.
‘And likely to be for some time,’ said Herb. ‘Vatican has a special interest in the senile computer. They would like to know how and why a computer can fumble its way into senility. No one says so, but Vatican probably has His Holiness in mind.’
‘The Pope’s not old enough,’ said Marge, ‘for anyone to suspect him of senility.’
‘Not yet’, said James. ‘He is still a youngster. But the time could come. Give him a million years or so. I suspect Vatican is quite capable of thinking a million years ahead.’