18
Captain Sir Henry Quill opened the door of the late Lieutenant Mellon'squarters and went in, followed by Mike the Angel. The dead man's gearhad to be packed away so that it could be given to his nearest of kinwhen the officers and crew of the _Brainchild_ returned to Earth.Regulations provided that two officers must inventory his personaleffects and those belonging to the Space Service.
"Does Chief Pasteur know what killed him yet, Captain?" Mike asked.
Quill shook his head. "No. He wants my permission to perform anautopsy."
"Are you going to let him?"
"I think not. We'll put the body in the freezer and have the autopsyperformed on Earth." He looked around the room, seeing it for the firsttime.
"If you don't," said Mike, "you've got three suspected killers on yourhands."
Quill was unperturbed. "Don't be ridiculous, Golden Wings."
"I'm not," Mike said. "I hit him in the pit of his stomach. ChiefPasteur filled him full of sedative. Mister Vaneski shot him with astun beam. He died. Which one of us did it?"
"Probably no single one of them, but a combination of all three," saidCaptain Quill. "Each action was performed in the line of duty andwithout malice aforethought--without even intent to harm permanently,much less to kill. There will have to be a court-martial, of course--or,at the very least, a board of inquiry will be appointed. But I amcertain you'll all come through any such inquiry scatheless." He pickedup a book from Mellon's desk. "Let's get about our business, MisterGabriel. Mark down: Bible, one."
Mike put it down on the list.
"_International Encyclopedia_, English edition. Thirty volumes andindex."
Mike put it down.
"_The Oxford-Webster Dictionary of the English Language_--
"_Hallbert's Dictionary of Medical Terms_--
"_The Canterbury Theological Dictionary_--
"_The Christian Religion and Symbolic Logic_, by Bishop K. F. Costin--
"_The Handbook of Space Medicine_--"
As Captain Quill called out the names of the books and put them into thepacking case he'd brought, Mike marked them down--while something beganticking in the back of his mind.
"Item," said Captain Quill, "one crucifix." He paused. "Beautifullycarved, too." He put it into the packing case.
"Excuse me, Captain," said Mike suddenly. "Let me take a look atsomething, will you?" Excitedly, he leaned over and took some of thebooks out, looking at the pages of each one.
"I'll be damned," he said after a moment. "Or I _should_ be--for beingsuch a stupid idiot!"
Captain Quill narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about, MisterGabriel?"
"I'm not sure yet, Captain," Mike hedged. "May I borrow these threebooks?" He held them up in his hands.
"May I be so bold as to ask _why_, Mister Gabriel?"
"I just want to look at them, sir," Mike said. "I'll return them withina few hours."
"Mister Gabriel," Captain Quill said, "after what happened last night, Iam suspicious of everything that goes on aboard this ship. But--yes. Youmay take them. However, I want them returned before we land tomorrowmorning."
Mike blinked. Neither he nor anyone else--with the exception of CaptainQuill and Lieutenant Commander von Liegnitz, the navigator, knew thedestination of the ship. Mike hadn't realized they were that close totheir goal. "I'll have them back by then," he promised.
"Very well. Now let's get on about our work."
The job was completed within forty-five minutes. A man can't carry agreat deal with him on a spaceship. When they were through, Mike theAngel excused himself and went to his quarters. Two hours after that hewent to the officers' wardroom to look up Pete Jeffers. Pete hadn't beenin his quarters, and Mike knew he wasn't on duty by that time. Sureenough, Jeffers was drinking coffee all by himself in the wardroom. Helooked up when Mike came in.
"Hullo, Mike," he said listlessly. "Come sit. Have some coffee."
There was a faint aroma in the air which indicated that there was morein the cup than just coffee. "No, thanks, Pete. I'll sit this one out. Iwanted to talk to you."
"Sit. I am drinking a toast to Mister Lew Mellon." He pointed at thecoffee. "Sure you won't have a mite? It's sweetened from the grape."
"No, thanks again." Mike sat down. "It's Mellon I wanted to talk about.Did you know him well, Pete?"
"Purty well," Pete said, nodding. "Yeah, purty well. I always figuredhim for a great little bloke. Can't figure what got into him."
"Me either. Pete, you told me he was an Anglo-Catholic--a good one, yousaid."
"'At's right."
"Well, how did you mean that?"
Pete frowned. "Just what I said. He studied his religion, he went toMass regularly, said his prayers--that sort of thing. And he was, I willsay, a Christian gentleman in every sense of the word." There wasirritation in his voice, as though Mike had impugned the memory of afriend.
"Don't get huffy, Pete; he struck me as a pretty nice person, too--"
"Until he flipped his lid," said Pete. "But that might happen toanybody."
"Sure. But what I want to know--and don't get sore--is, did he show anykind of--well, _instability_ before this last outbreak?"
"Like what?"
"I mean, was he a religious nut? Did he act 'holier than thou' or--well,was he a fanatic, would you say?"
"No, I wouldn't say so. He didn't talk much about it. I guess younoticed that. I mean, he didn't preach. He smoked some and had his glassof wine now and then--even had a cocktail or two on occasion. His viewson sex were orthodox, I reckon--I mean, as far as I know. He'd tell anoff-color story, if it wasn't _too_ bad. But he'd get up and leavequietly if the boys started tellin' about the women they'd made.Fornication and adultery just weren't his meat, I'd say."
"I know he wasn't married," Mike said. "Did he date much?"
"Some. He liked to dance. Women seemed to like him."
"How about men?"
"Most of the boys liked him."
"That's not what I meant."
"Oh. Was he queer?" Pete frowned. "I'd damn near stake my life that hewasn't."
"You mean he didn't practice it?"
"I don't believe he even thought about it," Pete said. "Course, youcan't tell what's really goin' on in a man's mind, but--" His frownbecame a scowl. "Damn it, Mike, just because a man isn't married by thetime he's thirty-five and practices Christian chastity while he's singledon't necessarily mean he's a damn fairy!"
"I didn't say it did. I just wondered if you'd heard anything."
"No more'n I've heard about you--who are in exactly the same position!"
"Exactly," Mike agreed. "That's what I wanted to know. Pete, if you'vegot it to spare, I'll join you in that toast."
Pete Jeffers grinned. "Comin' right up, buddy-boy."
He poured two more cups of coffee, spiked them from a small flask ofbrandy, and handed one to Mike. They drank in silence.
Fifteen minutes later, Mike the Angel was in the little office thatLeda Crannon shared with Dr. Fitzhugh. She was alone.
"How's the girl today?" he asked.
"Beat," she said with a forced smile.
"You look beautiful," he said. He wasn't lying. She looked drawn andtired, but she still looked beautiful.
"Thanks, Mike. What can I do for you?"
Mike the Angel pulled up a chair and sat down. "Where's Doc Fitz?"
"He's still trying to get information out of Snookums. It's a weirdthing, Mike--a robot with a soul."
"You don't mind talking about it?"
"No; go ahead if you want."
"All right, answer me a question," he said. "Can Snookums read English?"
"Certainly. And Russian, and German, French, Chinese, and most of theother major languages of Earth."
"He could read a book, then?"
"Yes. But not unless it was given to him and he was specifically told touse its contents as data."
"Good," said Mike. "Now, suppose Snookums was given complete data on acertain fie
ld of knowledge. Suppose further that this field isinternally completely logical, completely coherent, completelyself-consistent. Suppose it could even be reduced to a series of axiomsand theorems in symbolic logic."
"All right," she said. "So?"
"Now, further suppose that this system, this field of knowledge is,right now, in constant use by millions of human beings, even though mostof them are unaware of the implications of the entire field. CouldSnookums work with such a body of knowledge?"
"Sure," said Leda. "Why not?"
"What if there was absolutely no way for Snookums to experiment withthis knowledge? What if he simply did not have the equipment necessary?"
"You mean," she asked, "something like astrophysics?"
"No. That's exactly what I don't mean. I'm perfectly well aware that itisn't possible to test astrophysical theories directly. Nobody has beenable to build a star in the lab so far.
"But it _is_ possible to test the theories of astrophysics analogicallyby extrapolating on data that _can_ be tested in a physics lab.
"What I'm talking about is a system that Snookums, simply because he iswhat he is, cannot test or experiment upon, in any way whatsoever. Asystem that has, in short, no connection with the physical worldwhatsoever."
Leda Crannon thought it over. "Well, assuming all that, I imagine thatit would eventually ruin Snookums. He's built to experiment, and if he'skept from experimenting for too long, he'll exceed the optimum randomityof his circuits." She swallowed. "If he hasn't already."
"I thought so. And so did someone else," said Mike thoughtfully.
"Well, for Heaven's sake! What is this system?" Leda asked in suddenexasperation.
"You're close," said Mike the Angel.
"What are you talking about?"
"Theology," said Mike. "He was pumped full of Christian theology, that'sall. Good, solid, Catholic theology. Bishop Costin's mathematicalsymbolization of it is simply a result of the verbal logic that had beensmoothed out during the previous two thousand years. Snookums couldreduce it to math symbols and equations, anyway, even if we didn't haveBishop Costin's work."
He showed her the book from Mellon's room.
"It doesn't even require the assumption of a soul to make it foul up arobot's works. He doesn't have any emotions, either. And he can't handlesomething that he can't experiment with. It would have driven himinsane, all right. But he _isn't_ insane."
Leda looked puzzled. "But--"
"Do you know why?" Mike interrupted.
"No."
"Because he found something that he could experiment with. He found amaterial basis for theological experimentation."
She looked still more puzzled. "What could that be?"
"Me," said Mike the Angel. "Me. Michael Raphael Gabriel. I'm anangel--an archangel. As a matter of fact, I'm _three_ archangels. Forall I know, Snookums has equated me with the Trinity."
"But--how did he get that idea?"
"Mostly from the Book of Tobit," said Mike. "That's where an archangeltakes the form of a human being and travels around with Tobit theYounger, remember? And, too, he probably got more information from thefirst part of Luke's Gospel, where Gabriel tells the Blessed Virgin thatshe's about to become a mother."
"But would he have figured that out for himself?"
"Possibly," said Mike, "but I doubt it. He was told that I was anangel--literally."
"Let me see that book," she said, taking _The Christian Religion andSymbolic Logic_ from Mike's hand. She opened it to the center. "Ididn't know anyone had done this sort of work," she said.
"Oh, there was a great fuss over the book when it came out. There werethose who said that the millennium had arrived because the truth of theChristian faith had been proved mathematically, and therefore allrational people would have to accept it."
She leafed through the book. "I'll bet there are still some who stillbelieve that, just like there are some people who still think Euclidiangeometry must necessarily be true because it can be 'proved'mathematically."
Mike nodded. "All Bishop Costin did--all he was _trying_ to do--was toprove that the axioms of the Christian faith are logicallyself-consistent. That's all he ever claimed to have done, and he did abrilliant job of it."
"But--how do you know this is what Snookums was given?"
"Look at the pages. Snookums' waldo fingers wrinkled the pages that way.Those aren't the marks of human fingers. Only two of Mellon's otherbooks were wrinkled that way."
She jerked her head up from the book, startled. "_What?_ This is LewMellon's book?"
"That's right. So are the other two. A Bible and a theologicaldictionary. They're wrinkled the same way."
Her eyes were wide, bright sapphires. "But _why_? Why would he do such athing, for goodness' sake?"
"I don't know why it was done," Mike said slowly, "but I doubt if it wasfor goodness' sake. We haven't gotten to the bottom of this hanky-pankyyet, I don't think.
"Leda, if I'm right--if this _is_ what has been causing Snookums' oddbehavior--can you cure him?"
She looked at the book again and nodded. "I think so. But it will take alot of work. I'll have to talk to Fitz about it. We'll have to keep thisbook--and the other two."
Mike shook his head. "No can do. Can you photocopy them?"
"Certainly. But it'll take--oh, two or three hours per book."
"Then you'd better get busy. We're landing in the morning."
She nodded. "I know. Captain Quill has already told us."
"Fine, then." He stood up. "What will you do? Simply tell Snookums toforget all this stuff?"
"Good Heavens no! It's too thoroughly integrated with every other bit ofdata he has! You might be able to take one single bit of data out thatway, but to jerk out a whole body of knowledge like this wouldcompletely randomize his circuits. You can pull out a tooth by yankingwith a pair of forceps, but if you try to take out a man's appendix thatway, you'll lose a patient."
"I catch," Mike said with a grin. "Okay. I'll get the other two booksand you can get to work copying them. Take care."
"Thanks, Mike."
As he walked down the companionway, he cursed himself for being a fool.If he'd let things go on the way they were, Leda might have weanedherself away from Snookums. Now she was interested again. But therecould have been no other way, of course.