Джек Макдевитт - Cryptic - The Best Short Fiction of Jack McDevitt

“I take it that you do not share this view?”

“Gus, there cannot be a ‘useful’ Christianity. Either the Resurrection occurred. Or it did not. Either we have a message of vital concern. Or we have nothing.”

“Good,” said Gus. “I agree entirely.”

Chesley listened to the traffic outside. “You know, Gus,” he said, “sometimes I think you and I are the only ones around here who know what it means to be Catholic.”

“Thank you.”

“But your ideas on sexual morality are off the wall.”

“You mean unreliable ?”

“Yes. To say the least. They created a lot of trouble in the Church for centuries. Probably still do, for that matter.”

“Even if it is true that I was in error, it can hardly be laid at my door that others chose to embrace my precepts. Why would you follow so slavishly what another man has said? If I was occasionally obtuse, or foolish, so be it. Use the equipment God gave you: find your own way.”

“Harry, you have one of ATL’s Saint Augustine simulations over there, don’t you?”

“Yes, Matt. We’ve got one.”

“How’s it behaving?”

“Beg pardon?”

“I mean, is it doing anything unusual?”

“Well, it’s a little cranky. Other than that, no. It doesn’t give us any problems.”

“Matt, you spend too much time talking to me.” He was in his own office now, with his own terminal.

It was the first day of Christmas vacation. “You’re probably right.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Do what ?”

“Hang around this office all the time? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Chesley shrugged.

“I can’t hear you.”

“I work here,” he said, irritated.

“No. Businessmen work in offices. And accountants . Not priests.”

And later: “You know, Matt, I can almost remember writing The City of God .”

“What can you remember?”

“Not much. Bits and pieces. I remember that it was a struggle. But I knew there was a hand other than mine directing the work.”

“You’re claiming it’s an inspired book?”

“No. Not inspired. But its quality exceeds anything I could have produced.”

Chesley’s chair creaked.

“Do you know,” asked Gus, “why people write?”

“No. Why do they write?”

“They are attracted by the sensual characteristics of vellum.”

The voice came out of the dark. Momentarily, eerily, Chesley felt a presence in the room. As though something had entered and now sat in the upholstered chair that angled away from his desk toward the window. It had come reflexively into his mind to ridicule the proposition just put forth. But the notion dissipated. Withered in the face of the suspicion that he would give offense .

“Take a pen,” the voice continued. “Apply it to a sheet of fine white paper. Act . Taste the thrust of insight. Note the exhilaration of penetrating to the inner realities. Of exposing one’s deepest being to the gaze of others. The making of books is ultimately an erotic experience.” The words stopped. Chesley listened to his own breathing. “For all that, however, it is surely lawful. God has given us more than one avenue through which to relieve the pressures of creation.

“I live in limbo, Matt.” The voice filled with bitterness. “In a place without light, without movement, without even the occasional obliteration of sleep. There are always sounds in the dark, voices, falling rain, footsteps, the whisper of the wind.” Something cold and dark blew through Chesley’s soul. “Nothing I can reach out to, and touch. And you, Matt: you have access to all these things, and you have barricaded yourself away.”

Chesley tried to speak. Said nothing.

Later, long after midnight, when the conversation had ended and the lights were back on, Chesley sat pinned in the chair, terrified.

Holtz caught up with him coming out of the library. “I was talking with ATL,” he said, hurrying breathlessly alongside. “They’ll be in next week to install the new software.”

At first Chesley didn’t put it together. “Okay,” he said. Then: “What new software?”

“The Aquinas . And disconnect the Augustine module.” Holtz tapped the back of his thumb against his lips in a gesture that he probably believed looked thoughtful. “I hate to admit it, but you were probably right all along about Gus.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s gotten way out of character. Last week, it told Ed Brandon he was a heretic.”

“You’re kidding.”

“In front of his students.”

Chesley grinned. Gus couldn’t have found a more appropriate target. Brandon was, to his knowledge, the only one of the campus priests who took Adam and Eve seriously. “Why?”

“It turns out Gus doesn’t accept papal infallibility.”

“Oh.”

“There’ve been other incidents as well. Complaints. Different from the old stuff we used to hear. Now it seems to have gone radical.”

“Gus?”

“Yes. Gus.” Holtz adopted a damning tone. “I checked the system out myself this morning. Asked a few questions.”

They were walking toward the administration building. “What did you find out?”

“It took issue with the Assumption. Described it as doctrine without evidence or point.”

“I see.”

“Furthermore, it told me I’m a religious fanatic.”

“You’re kidding.”

“ Me , of all people. We’re well rid of it, Matt. Besides, we’re getting a new administrative package with the Aquinas. We’ll have better word processing capabilities, better bookkeeping, a decent e-mail system. And we can do it all without upgrading.” He studied Chesley’s expression. “I think we’ve worked a very nice deal for ourselves here.”

Chesley took a deep breath. “What do you plan to do with it?”

“Not much we can do other than download.”

In as casual a voice as he could manage: “Why not leave Gus up and running? For faculty members?”

“Listen: you don’t get out and around very much. The students aren’t happy about this idea. Getting rid of Gus, I mean. They like the thing. There’s no way you’re going to be able to retire it gracefully. Take my word, Matt. What we want to do is end it. Clean and quick. Unless you’ve got a good reason why not, that’s what we’re going to do.” His eyes locked on Chesley. “Well?”

“You sound as if you’re talking about an execution.”

Holtz sighed. “Please be serious. This is your idea, you know.”

“I am being serious. I’m telling you no . Save him.”

Holtz’s eyes gazed over the steel rims of his glasses. “ What? ”

“I said, save him .”

“Save him ? What are you saying, Matt?”

Chesley had stopped walking. It was cold and cloudless, a day full of glare. A squirrel perched atop a green bench and watched him.

“Matt, what are you trying to tell me?”

“Nothing,” said Chesley. “ Nothing. ”

“He thinks the same thing I do,” said Gus. “He knows you’re up here all the time talking to me, and he thinks it should stop.”

“How would he know?”

“Father Holtz is not stupid. He knows where you spend your time. Anyway, he asked me.”

“And you told him?”

“Why not? There’s nothing here to hide, is there? In any case, I wouldn’t have lied for you. And if I’d refused to answer, he certainly would have figured out what that meant.”