Clifford Simak - Project Pope

— That one's mine, said Jill.

The fifth one was a sickly green with both its equations and diagrams in a somber golden brown.

— How can they be sure? Tennyson asked Whisperer. Are you sure they know where Heaven is?

— They do not know of it as Heaven. They know it by another name. In a distant sector of the galaxy lies a famous place. Unknown to us, of course, but famous.

— And this famous place is Heaven?

— They're quite sure it is, said Whisperer. It has the shining towers and the noise that you call music and steep stairs leading up to it.

They had been moving toward the five cubes. As they moved toward them, the cubes had been moving, too, so that when they came close to them, the cubes had spread out and now closed in to form a circle with the two of them in the center of it.

The rose-red cube was facing them, and now that they were close to it, it wiped away the equation that it had been displaying and began replacing it with another, forming the new equation slowly so that it could be read even by one who was unfamiliar with that kind of communication.

— We welcome you, the equation said. Are you ready for our venture?

— Whisperer, said Tennyson. Whisperer!

There was no answer; there was no need of one, for it was quite apparent that it was not they who were reading the equation — it was Whisperer and because Whisperer was there, linked with them, they understood it, too.

— You do nothing, said the equation, flowing smoothly. You will simply stand where you are. And do nothing. Is that understood?

— We understand, said Whisperer, and as he spoke the words, the answer he had given appeared as a brief and simple equation on the surface of the rose-red equation person, printed there, thought Jill, so that the other cubes might know the answer that Whisperer had made.

It's all damn foolishness, thought Tennyson, but he had no more than thought it than both Jill and Whisperer came swarming in on him, burying his mind so he could think no further, extinguishing the cynicism and the doubt that had come welling up in him.

Now another equation was forming slowly on the rose-red blackboard and Tennyson caught the beginning of Whisperer's translation — then they were in Heaven.

They stood in a central plaza, and all around them reared the soaring towers. Celestial music came down upon them from the towers, enveloping them so that all the world seemed music. The paving of the plaza was gold, or at least gold color, and the towers were shining white, so shining and so white that they seemed illuminated by a light within them. There was a holiness, or what appeared a holiness, and it all was sanctified.

Tennyson shook his head. There was something wrong. They stood in the center of the plaza and the music filled the place and the towers were white and shining towers, but there was no one there. To one side stood the five equation people, and Whisperer, a small globe of glittering dust, was floating there above them, but there was no one else. The place was empty; they stood alone within it. Heaven, to all appearances, was uninhabited.

'What's the matter? asked Jill. She stepped away from Tennyson and turned slowly to look around the plaza.

'There is something wrong, isn't there? she asked. 'For one thing, there is no one here.

'For another, said Tennyson, 'there aren't any doors. None in the buildings. Not what we think of as doors. There are only holes. Round holes. Mouse holes. Eight feet or so above street level.

It was true, she saw. And there weren't any windows. In all the soaring height of the towers, there weren't any windows.

'There are no windows, she said. 'You'd think there would be windows.

A chill breeze came blowing down the plaza and Tennyson shivered at its touch.

There were, he saw, between the towers, what seemed to be narrow streets. Here, he thought, they must stand at the heart of the city, if it was a city. He looked up at the towers and realized that they were much taller than he at first had thought they were. They rose high into the blue, so high that the last glitter of them was lost in the blueness of the sky. At first, too, he had thought that there were many buildings, each one supporting its individual tower, but now it appeared possible that there might be only one building, enclosing the sprawling square in which they stood, with the towers placed at regular intervals. What he had thought of as narrow streets between the separate buildings might be no more than tunnels, cut at street level through the massive structure.

The building (or buildings) was of flawless white that did not have the look of stone. It had the look of ice, ice frozen from the purest water, ice with no air bubbles or other imperfections in it. That couldn't be, he told himself. If this great structure was not stone, neither was it ice.

All the time the music poured in upon them, engulfing them, seeping into them — an indescribable music that made one think it was more than music, or music raised to a poignancy no human composer had ever quite achieved.

Whisperer spoke to them.

— This place, he said, is not as empty as it seems. There are many here. This place teems with life.

As if on signal, life appeared.

Out of one of the narrow streets (or tunnels?), a massive head pushed out. It was a worm head. The front of it was flattened and heavily armored, a thick and heavy carapace covering the entire front part of the head. Behind the carapace, on either side of it, huge compound eyes looked out. Antennae sprouted from the top of the head. The head stood tall. Tennyson, gagging in distaste, estimated the top of the head stood a good six feet above ground level.

The worm emerged — it continued coming out, the long, thick body tracking behind the armored head. Once a fair length of it was out, it began to elevate its front end higher off the ground. Slender jointed legs that had been flattened to enable it to pass through the tunnel began to straighten up, lifting the body until it stood two feet taller than it had before.

As more of it emerged, it began to turn toward those who were standing in the plaza. Tennyson and Jill began slowly backing away, but the five equation beings stood their ground. Their blackboard sides were blurring in flashing colors as the equations raced.

Then all the worm was out of the tunnel, at least thirty feet of it, standing tall, well supported by the close-set legs.

The worm changed its direction again, angling away, back toward the structure of towering white. Its movement appeared to be purposeful. It gave no indication it had noticed those who were in the plaza.

It cams to a halt under one of the eight-foot-high mouse holes and reared up. Its forward legs caught hold of the edge of the hole and began to lever itself into it. They watched as the worm drew its entire body through the hole and disappeared.

Tennyson let out his breath in relief.

'Let's have a look, he said. 'Let's see what we can see.

They found out very little. The narrow streets did turn out to be tunnels, set at intervals along the structure, which turned out to be one building rather than many separate ones set together. But the tunnels were closed. Inside of them, thirty feet or so in from the opening, the way was blocked by doors. The doors were not white but blue. They filled the tunnels, wedged close against the tunnels' curving sides. There seemed no way to open them. Tennyson and Jill pushed hard against several of them and failed to budge them. It did seem, in a couple of instances, that they could feel some give, but that was all.

'They're tension doors, said Tennyson. 'I'm almost certain of that. Push against one of them hard enough and it will open. But we haven't the strength.

'The worm came through it, said Jill.