Finally he said, ‘It would go against my grain. Decker’s my friend and he trusted me.’
‘But, Jason, we have to know! I have to know!’
‘All right, then,’ said Tennyson. ‘You’re probably right. Let’s get to work. But neat, Paul. Everything goes back exactly where it was.’
They got to work. Tennyson noted that the gem carvings Whisperer had done were no longer on the table in the corner; later he found them packed in a small box on one of the shelves. Decker apparently had put them away before he left.
They found nothing they had been looking for.
‘Maybe he has it stashed away somewhere outside the cabin,’ said Ecuyer.
‘If he has anything, that is,’ said Tennyson. ‘If he has it and has it hidden somewhere, we’re not going to find it.’
He thought to himself that Whisperer might know.
‘There’s one other possibility,’ he said.
‘What is that?’
Tennyson shrugged. ‘I guess not. Forget it.’
He had not mentioned Whisperer to Ecuyer and he had no intention of doing so. Thank the Lord, he had caught himself in time.
There was, or had been, another possibility so far as Whisperer was concerned, and that, he told himself, now was gone as well. In the back of his mind it had occurred to him that if Whisperer could take him to the equation world, he could take him to Heaven, too. But that was now impossible. Whisperer would have nothing to work with because he, Tennyson, had viewed neither of the Heaven cubes.
Jill was the only one other than himself and Decker who knew of Whisperer and that, he told himself, was the way that it would stay.
So it finally came down to Decker; Decker was their only hope. When Decker came back from his trip, he might be able to help them. If he couldn’t, if what he knew was not definitive enough, then Vatican’s last chance was gone. The Search Program would be abolished, or, at best, restricted, and Vatican would become what it had first intended itself to be – a blind fumbling after the will-o’-the-wisp of spirituality.
Whisperer, he thought, probably was with Decker, and so he would have to wait for their return before he could know what hope might still remain.
They left the shack and closed the door behind them, making sure the latch was firmly in place. On top of the hill, they stood together and looked out over Vatican. In the harsh light of forenoon, the buildings stood out white and stark against the background of woodland and the foothills of the lofty mountains.
As they stood there, looking at the clumped buildings in the distance, a faint tolling sound came to them.
‘It’s bells,’ said Ecuyer. ‘Why are they ringing bells? This is not the time of day to ring them. Only at certain times of day. And there are too many. . .
A shift in the wind carried the full-toned sound to them, the full-tongued pealing of great bells.
‘Those are the big basilica bells,’ Ecuyer exclaimed. ‘What the hell is going on?’
Hurriedly the two of them went down the hill.
Forty-one
She had never been so humiliated in all her life, Jill told herself- nor so angry. What was the matter with these people? Whatever had possessed that silly nurse to say what she had said?
Jill slammed the door behind her and stalked across the room. She sat down on the couch in front of the fireplace, but found she couldn’t stay there. She rose and began to pace the room.
The miracle was not Mary’s miracle despite that lying nurse. If anyone’s, it was Jason’s – and it was no miracle. If it only could be learned, there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation to account for it. The hell of it, she thought, was that she could not explain what had happened. If it was for anyone to tell, it would be Jason, and she was sure he would say nothing. She could not even attempt to refute what the fools were yelling out there in the street.
She stopped pacing and went back to the couch, staring at the small flicker of flames that ran along the almost-consumed logs in the fireplace. After a time, she thought, she would have to go out there and face the world, although every instinct in her cried out against it. All she wanted to do was huddle here, to lick the wounds of public humiliation. But she knew that in time she would go out and face it down. Vatican couldn’t beat her; nothing had ever beaten her. Jill Roberts, in her day, had faced down worse things than this. Nothing had ever beaten her, and the stinking robots and the witless humans out there could not stand against her.
And another thing – they’d not drive her from Vatican; they could never do that. She had her heels dug in and she had no thought of leaving. Which was, she reminded herself, a far different attitude from the one she’d held when she first had come here. Then she had felt disgust and disappointment, had been enraged by the clever little game the cardinals had played – trying to discourage her from coming by not answering her letters and when, despite their attitude, she had arrived, refusing to cooperate. Since then her perspective and priorities had changed. It had taken some time to recognize the importance of Vatican – not only to the robots, but to the humans, and not only the humans here at End of Nothing, but to all humans everywhere. There was a greatness here, a very human greatness of conception and of thought, that she could not turn her back upon. In a way she had become a part of it and she meant to remain so, along with Jason, who had become as much a part of it as she. In any case, she told herself, she would not leave even if she wanted to, for Jason was happy here and had found in this strange community the kind of life that fitted him. She could not part from him; she could not bring herself to part from him. Especially she could not leave him after what had happened the night before – his fingers reaching out and wiping away the shame upon her cheek. For it had been a shame, she now admitted to herself, much as she might have tried to pretend that it was not, treating it with a non-feminine bluntness, flaunting it because she could not hide it, bluffing it out before the entire world.
But it was not just Jason who bound her here. Another was the old cardinal Enoch, who came to see her every day, hunching upon the stool beside her desk and talking the hours away, talking as if she were another robot or he another human. In many ways he seemed to be a doddering old idiot, but never, she told herself, an idiot – it was just his way. And kind. She had never thought a robot would be kind, but Enoch had been kind and more considerate than there was any need to be. To start with, she had called him Eminence with meticulous attention to Vatican protocol, but of late she often forgot and chattered away at him as if they were two silly schoolgirls. He did not mind at all; maybe it was refreshing for him to talk with someone who could forget for long stretches of time that he held a high post in Vatican.
Jason had told her of the equation world and now, once again, she found herself wondering what it really had been like. He had described it to her, as best he could, trying to tell her in detail what he had seen and experienced. But it was the kind of place and the sort of happening that was quite beyond all telling, an experience so vast the human mind must fall short of taking in all of it, impossible to put into words that would make another human see it. ‘I cannot tell you, Jill,’ he’d said. ‘I can’t tell you all of it; I cannot find the words, for there were certain things about it for which there are no words.’
The yelling and the yammering continued in the street. Were they hunting her? she wondered. Must they feel compelled to look again upon the evidence of the great miracle that had not come to pass? The fools, she thought, the fools!
‘There are certain things about it for which there are no words.’ A culture so ancient, so self-sufficient that it operated on a system of logic that was so far advanced over human knowledge and capability as the fusion of atoms was advanced beyond the chipping of stones into primitive tools. A group of cubes sitting on a great green plain manipulating symbols and diagrams – playing a complicated game or solving problems? Or were the symbols and diagrams the visual manifestations of alien thought, perhaps a band of philosophers sitting around in an informal seminar arguing hair-splitting hypotheses, a mere passing of idle time or the long, slow process of formulating new universal truths? Could the equation folk, in time long past, have penetrated to the edge of space and the end of time and now, retreated back to the place where they first had set out, wherever that might be, now be engaged in trying to pull together and evaluate all that they had seen and sensed?