Project Pope

Twenty-two

'His retirement planet. Most everyone has a favorite planet. How about you, Jason?

Tennyson shook his head. 'I have never thought about it.

'Well, go on and sit in front of the fire. Put your feet up on the hearth if you want to. You can't damage anything here. This place is built to use. I'll join you as soon as I can find two clean glasses. No ice, though.

'Who needs ice? said Tennyson.

Seen from the inside, the cabin was larger than it seemed from the outside. There was only the one room. One corner was fixed up as a kitchen with a small wood stove and shelves attached to the wall. A kettle was simmering on the stove. A bed stood against one wall. Above it was a shelf of books. In the corner next to the fireplace was a flat-topped table and on it stood a group of small carvings. The Wayfarer captain, Tennyson vaguely recalled, had told him something about the carvings.

Decker came back with two glasses. He handed one of them to Tennyson and poured. He set the bottle on the hearth within easy reach. Settling back into his chair, he took a long swallow of the liquor.

'God, that's good, he said. 'You forget how good it is. Each time you forget.

They sat in silence for a long time, drinking, looking at the fire.

Finally, Decker asked, 'How go things at Vatican? Up here on my hill, I hear rumors, but that's all. The whole place, Vatican and village, crawls with rumors. A man never knows what to believe. Generally I wind up believing none of it.

'Probably you are wise, said Tennyson. 'I live at Vatican and half of what I hear is hard to believe. Once I get really settled in, I may know better how to evaluate what I hear. I met His Holiness the other day.

'So?

'What do you mean- so?

'What was your impression?

'Disappointment, said Tennyson. 'He seemed petty to me. Maybe on big, deep, important questions he can be all solid wisdom. But on the little worries, he is as confused as the rest of us. Maybe more confused. I was surprised that he would concern himself with all the pettiness.

'You talking about the Heaven business?

'How would you know, Decker?

'Rumor. I told you there is rumor piled on rumor. Heaven is all the village talks about.

'Much the same is true at Vatican, said Tennyson. 'There's a lot of mumbling over the question, which it seems to me is a simple one. Mary either found Heaven or she found someplace else that she thinks is Heaven. I understand Vatican has ways to go and see. But they flap their hands and claim there are no coordinates. Mary maybe could go back and pick up coordinates, but Ecuyer is doubtful she will go; he thinks she is afraid to go.

'And what do you think?

'My opinion is worthless.

'Nevertheless, what do you think?

'I think Vatican, the real Vatican, the official Vatican, wants to wash its hands of it. Vatican officials are the ones who are afraid, not Mary. Mary may be afraid as well, of course, but Vatican is afraid right along with her. No one in authority wants to know what it's all about. It appears to me they may be afraid it actually is Heaven.

'Undoubtedly you are right, said Decker. 'The cardinals and the other theological hot-shots have spent these thousand years trying to get things figured out. They're clever — you have to give them that. They've pulled in tons of data from all over the universe — whatever the universe may be. Chances are it's not what you and I think it is. They've fed this data into His Holiness and His Holiness, like any sharp computer, has correlated it, probably to a point where they may think they are beginning to see the shape of things, or at least glimpse the shape of things. They may have built up a tentative, but beautiful, theory, perhaps rather delicate in its structure. Mostly it hangs together, mostly the different factors fit, but there are bound to be discrepancies. With certain modifications in the basic theory, the discrepancies may be made to fit. Vatican, more than likely, is just now beginning to believe that another thousand years is all that is needed to nail the whole thing down. And then this silly woman goes to Heaven and Heaven, the authentic Christian Heaven, is the one thing that will knock that beautiful, lovely, half-formed theory all to hell. It is the one piece of evidence, should it prove to be true, that would negate all the rest of it.

'I'm not sure, said Tennyson, 'that what you say is the whole of it. Maybe what Vatican fears is a wholehearted reversion of the unofficial Vatican, the under-Vatican, to the Christian faith. That faith undoubtedly still has the capacity for a strong hold on your ordinary robot. You must remember that many robots are Earth-forged and thus closer to humans than the more modern robots that were constructed since the exodus from Earth. Among humans, Christianity still remains a powerful force. Five thousand years after Jesus, it still is a faith sufficiently satisfying to be accepted by huge masses of humanity. While Vatican is not adverse to most of their robots continuing to believe, marginally, in Christianity, it would be a great embarrassment and an impediment to the work that Vatican is doing if there was a strong, perhaps fanatical, resurgence of the faith. Heaven, I am convinced, could do exactly that.

'Certainly you are right, said Decker, 'but I still believe that what Vatican fears is any factor that would upset the theory of the universe they seem to be evolving.

'But wouldn't you think, asked Tennyson, 'that they would want to know? What are they gaining by sticking their heads in the sand, hoping that by doing nothing, Heaven will go away?

'Eventually, said Decker, 'they will come around to a practical point of view. Whatever else they are, they are not fools. But right now they're recoiling from the shock. Give them a while and they'll get their feet back under them.

He reached for the bottle and held it up in invitation. Tennyson held out his glass. Decker filled both glasses and set the bottle back on the hearth.

'Think of it, said Decker. 'A concept built up painfully through the centuries by a rather ordinary life form on an ordinary planet of an ordinary sun, finally culminating in what amounted to an act of faith, continued by that faith, fed by that faith, and now threatening to topple a millennium of concentrated effort by a brainy group of thinkers. Man is not the smartest animal in the galaxy, by no means the most intelligent. Could it be possible, Jason, that man, through sheer intuition, through his yearning and his hope, could have found a truth that-

'I don't know, said Tennyson. 'No one does.

'It is an intriguing thought, said Decker.

'A terrifying thought, said Tennyson.

'If only Vatican were not so single-minded, so hell-bent in their effort to discover the final faith and truth of the universe, do you have any idea of what they could do, what they represent?

'No, I don't, said Tennyson. 'I have no idea what they have.

'They know the answers, I am certain, to questions few others have ever thought to ask. They have dug deeper, I am convinced, into the core of universal knowledge than anyone possibly could guess. They have the clout, the power, the glory that would overshadow this galaxy if they could bring themselves to use it. Thank God, they can't bring themselves to use it. They are so obsessed with this other business, they have no room for power and glory.

Decker set his glass on the hearth, got up and went back to the kitchen area, lifted the lid of a kettle and used a spoon to stir whatever was cooking in it.

In the corner, hovering a few inches above the table on which sat the small group of carven stones, a small puff of diamond dust sparkled in the light from the flickering fireplace flames. Tennyson jerked upright, slopping some of the drink out of his glass. The other day, he remembered, the day that he had first met Decker, he'd seen this glitter of diamond dust poised over Decker's shoulder. He had turned away his head and when he'd turned it back, the glitter had been gone. But the same glitter- he was sure it was the same glitter — this time did not go away. It stayed above the table.

Decker came back to the fire, picked up his glass and settled in his chair.

'How about staying for supper? he asked. 'I have stew, more than enough for the two of us. I'll stir up a pan of cornbread and pop it in the oven. We'll have it warm. I've run out of coffee, but I have tea.

'Tea is fine, said Tennyson.

'I'll crank up Old Betsy and take you home, said Decker. 'It'll be a dark night. Walking, you might lose your way. Unless you'd want to stay the night. You could have the bed. I have extra blankets. I could stretch out on the floor.

'I should get back sometime this evening.

'No problem. You pick the time.

'Tom, said Tennyson, 'I had the impression you were noncommunicative. I'd been told you were stand-offish.

'Charley tell you that?

'I think so. I talked to no one else about you.

'Everyone else would have told you the same if you had asked.

'But I didn't ask.

'That's the point, said Decker. 'Even now you haven't asked. When did I come here? How did I come here? Why did I come here?

'Well, hell, I haven't told you anything about myself, either, said Tennyson. 'Although I wouldn't really mind. What I did or was never seemed important.

'Story is, said Decker, 'that you were on the lam. That's what the village says.

'It's true, said Tennyson. 'You want to know the details?

'Not in the least, said Decker. 'Here, let me fill your glass.

They sat in silent companionship, drinks in hand, watching the fire.

Decker stirred in his chair. 'To appreciate Vatican's viewpoint, he said, 'you have to ask yourself what a robot is. Too often we make the mistake of thinking of him as a mechanical man, and that's not what he is. He is a whole lot more than that and a great deal less. I suspect that a robot often thinks of himself as a slightly different human, and in this, he is as wrong as we are. It's strange that both robot and human should make the same mistake.

'The one question that must first occur to us is to ask ourselves if a robot is capable of love. Of loyalty, yes; of responsibility, yes; of logic, yes. But how about love? Can a robot actually love anyone or anything at all? The robot has no spouse, no children, no kin of any sort, no blood relatives. Love is a biological emotion. It should not be expected of a robot, nor should a robot expect to experience it. Because he has no one to love, a robot has no one to protect or care for — he doesn't even have to worry about himself. With minimal repair and maintenance, he theoretically can live forever. He does not have the specter of old age to worry over. He does not have to amass a fortune to care for himself in his later years. In the way of personal relationships, he actually has nothing at all. Which leaves a big hole in his life, a lot of emptiness.

'Perhaps, said Tennyson, 'he would not know about the emptiness. He would not be aware that he is empty.

'That might be true if robots lived entirely by themselves, if they lived apart from biological beings. But they don't; I don't think they can. They're hung up on humans; they must have their humans. And all these years, observing humans, they must realize, at least subconsciously, what they are missing.

'So you think, said Tennyson, 'that, lacking the ability and opportunity to love, they turned to religion to fill the emptiness. But that makes no great amount of sense; religion is based on love.

'You forget, said Decker, 'that love is not the only factor contributing to religion. There is faith as well. At times a very dogged faith, and a robot is so constituted that he could operate a long way on dogged faith alone. I would think that he could become, with very little effort, a fanatic that would put to shame any human zealot.

'But is what Vatican has a religion? Tennyson asked. 'There are times when I think it's not.

'It probably started out to be, said Decker, 'and even now many of the simple members of Vatican still think religion is their true vocation. But over the years, Vatican's objective has changed. I am sure of that. The Search now is aimed at universal patterns, at what any cardinal probably would define as universal truths. Which, when you come right down to it, would be far more attractive to the robotic mentality than any kind of faith. If, when they reach the end of the road they are following, they find, perhaps with some surprise, that after all they've discovered the true universal theology, they'll feel fairly good about it.

'But if they come up with something else, said Tennyson, 'they'll not mind at all.

'That's exactly it, said Decker. 'You hit it on the head.

The little puff of diamond dust still hung above the table, hovering like a protective wing over the huddled group of carvings. At times it sparkled, but most of the time it simply hung there, motionless, as if it might be watching.

The question rose to Tennyson's tongue, but he shut it off. Decker must see the little puff of dust himself, must be aware that his guest also was seeing it. If any comment was called for, it was Decker's place to make it. So far no questions had been asked, and that was the way it should be.

Decker said, 'Back to the Heaven incident. Have you seen the tape?

'It's not a tape, said Tennyson. 'It's a cube. And, no, I haven't seen it. I've seen others, but not the Heaven cube. I had not wanted to ask. It seemed a sort of private thing.

'You know, of course — in fact, you said that Vatican has a way to go and see.

'That is true, said Tennyson, 'but there are no coordinates.

'I have a hunch, said Decker, then he said no more. Tennyson waited.

'Yes? he finally asked.

'I have a hunch, said Decker, 'I know where Heaven is.