– I know, said Jill. I know what we could take back as proof. One of the worms. If we took back a worm, the theologians would have to agree that this is not Heaven. There are no worms in Heaven. There simply could not be.
– I sorrow to tell you this, said Whisperer, but I cannot transport one of the worms. There would be too much mass for me to handle. I do not have the energy.
– Now that we know where Heaven is, said Jill, could we send out other Listeners? They could bring back proof imprinted on their cubes.
– It wouldn’t work, said Tennyson. It may be the Bubblies missed Mary the first time. She came and saw Heaven and was so impressed and captivated by what she saw – or by what she thought she saw – that she returned a second time. She only caught a glimpse of it that first time. The second time she tried to enter Heaven, perhaps intent, as we are now, to bring back proof of it. The second time this place knew that she was there and they scared her off. But now that they know of the Listeners, another Listener wouldn’t have a chance.
– If we, said Jill, could only take back a cube.
– We can’t, said Tennyson. We aren’t Listeners.
– They let us in, said Jill. They must have let us in. They could have stopped us or driven us off as they drove off Mary.
– In that you’re wrong, said Whisperer. The equation people do not operate as the Listeners operate. The equation people did get us here without detection. We were here before Center knew of us. Having done it once, however, I’m not sure we could do it a second time. The people here, now aware of the chink in their defenses, will take steps to insure it won’t come about a second time.
– So that’s it, said Tennyson. There is no way we can come again. There is nothing we can take back as proof. Our word is all we have, and that will not be accepted by the theologians. No matter what we might take back, they could always say it was something we’d picked up along the way.
– Do you mean to say, Jill asked, that we have made this trip for nothing?
What was the answer to that? Tennyson asked himself. Could what little they had to tell give Theodosius and those who supported him the resolve to fight a little longer? Would what they had to say give the theologians some pause, stave off a little longer their take-over of Vatican and the Search Program? There was, he told himself, a bare chance that it might, but more than likely not for long – at best a short breathing spell.
Why, he wondered, had he (or Jill) not been able to foresee this situation? They had talked about it, of course – the necessity of returning from Heaven with some proof, one way or another. But they had given no adequate thought to what such proof must be. Why had they not realized the near impossibility of obtaining unquestioned proof?
If they only had more time, they could work it out. It seemed, however, that they had little time. There was a danger here, a danger that he could not define, but a danger that every fiber of his being insisted that they faced. And Whisperer agreed.
Failure, he thought. They had accomplished their mission and still they faced failure.
What the hell could he do, or Jill, or the two of them together? One thing, he knew, they could not do. They could not turn tail and run, not for a while at least.
– If we could only get word back to Theodosius, said Jill. Word that we are here and it isn’t Heaven.
– I can take back word, said Whisperer.
– But who could you tell it to? There is no one on End of Nothing you can talk with. Not Theodosius, not Ecuyer….
– There are the Old Ones, said Whisperer. I can talk with them. The Old One above Decker’s cabin could take the message to Theodosius.
– But we need you here.
– It would only take a while.
– No, said Tennyson, we do not want you to leave, even for a while. We might have great need of you.
– Then I can send another Duster. One of my flock brothers would carry the message for me. I told you, didn’t I, that there are Dusters here?
– Yes, you did, said Jill.
– Then not to worry, said Whisperer. I’ll ask one of them.
Fifty-seven
When a monk brought word that an Old One was coming up the esplanade Cardinal Theodosius went out to the basilica to meet him.
The Old One spun sedately up to the steps, halted his spinning and settled to the pavement. He instantly began his vibrating drumming and finally he managed words.
‘I return your visit,’ he said.
‘I thank you for it,’ said Theodosius. ‘It is gracious of you. We should get together often.’
‘I also bring you word,’ said the Old One. ‘I have a message for you, brought me by a Duster.’
‘Whisperer? Decker’s Duster?’
‘No, not the Whisperer. One of our long-lost Dusters, happily home again. Once there were many of them here, then they went away. We had despaired of ever seeing them again. We thought of them, strangely enough, as our special children. Now one of them came back to us; we hope that others may.’
‘I feel happy for you,’ said Theodosius. ‘You said the Duster brought a message.’
‘A message for you, Cardinal. The Tennyson and the Jill reached Heaven, but it is not Heaven.’
‘Thank God for that!’
‘You did not wish it Heaven?’
‘Some of us had hoped it would not be.’
‘Also,’ said the Old One, ‘that the Jill and the Tennyson will be returning.’
‘When?’
‘Soon, the Duster said. They’ll be returning soon.’
‘Fine. I shall be waiting for them.’
‘I suggested,’ said the Old One, ‘that when they did return, they arrive upon this esplanade.’
‘How will they know?’
‘The Duster went back to this not-Heaven to tell them. I had it in mind that the two of us might wait here to greet them.’
‘We may have to wait a while.’
‘I have patience for long waiting and I think you have as well.’
‘That is fine. We both are full of patience and we have much to talk about. We can talk away the hours.’
‘Your pardon, please,’ said the Old One, ‘but talking in your method is laborious for me. I cannot talk for long.’
‘In that case, we shall share a mutual silence. Perhaps the two of us may find we have no need of talk. Perhaps we can commune together.’
‘That is a noble thought,’ said the Old One. ‘We’ll attempt communing.’
‘If you don’t mind,’ said Theodosius, ‘I think I’ll get a stool. It is silly that a robot should ever need a stool, but I have become accustomed to a stool. When I visit Jill in the library, I always sit on one. I know it is a ridiculous habit, but….’
‘I’ll wait for you while you go to get it,’ said the Old One.
He waited on the esplanade while the cardinal went to get his stool.
Fifty-eight
Haystack was asleep again. He slept a great part of the time, or perhaps he only closed his eyes, all thirteen of them. Haystack didn’t move around a lot, and if his eyes were closed, there was no way to tell if he was asleep or only shutting out the world. Haystack more than likely was bored, thought the Bubbly that Decker had named Smoky. There were times when Smoky had been convinced that he should get rid of Haystack, but on more deliberate consideration had always kept him on. Despite his slothfulness and his unkemptness, Haystack was a wise old bird. It would be hard to get another like him – impossible, more than likely. Also, once one had taken on another as a triad partner, the relationship was such that one shrank from disrupting it. It took a long time to build up a smoothly operating triad, and Haystack had been with him longer than he could remember. One would think, Smoky told himself, that in all that time the two of them should have become so accustomed to one another that they would be inseparable as a result of the close personal ties that entwined them both. They were inseparable all right, thought Smoky, but not because of any strong ties – close only because Haystack would not allow himself to be pried away. There was some psychological factor that made Haystack, in spite of all his wisdom, an insecure personality. He must have someone to hang on to, someone to shield him against the world. He might complain and fulminate about the racket that Plopper made, he might even threaten to take off, to break up the triad, but he would never do it because he knew that safety and security lay within the triad.