A Canticle For Leibowitz Part 22

LADY REPORTER: May we quote you on that?

DEFENSE MINISTER: Certainly, Madam-but only in my obituary, not sooner.

LADY REPORTER: Thank you. I'll prepare it in advance.

Like other abbots before him, the Dom Jethrah Zerchi was by nature not an especially contemplative man, although as spiritual ruler of his community he was vowed to foster the development of certain aspects of the contemplative life in this flock, and, as a monk, to attempt the cultivation of a contemplative disposition in himself. Dom Zerchi was not very good at either of these. His nature impelled him toward action even in thought; his mind refused to sit still and contemplate. There was a quality of restlessness about him which had driven him to the leaders.h.i.+p of the flock; it made him a bolder ruler, occasionally even a more successful ruler, than some of his predecessors, but that same restlessness could easily become a liability, or even a vice.

Zerchi was vaguely aware, most of the time, of his own inclination toward hasty or impulsive action when confronted by unslayable dragons. Just now, however, the awareness was not vague but acute. It operated in unfortunate retrospect. The dragon had already bitten St. George.

The dragon was an Abominable Autoscribe, and its malignant enormity, electronic by disposition, filled several cubical units of hollow wall s.p.a.ce and a third of the volume of the abbot's desk. As usual, the contraption was on the blink. It miscapitalized, mispunctuated, and interchanged various words. Only a moment ago, it had committed electrical lese majeste lese majeste on the person of the sovereign abbot, who, after calling a computer repairman and waiting three days for him to appear, had decided to repair the stenographic abomination himself. The floor of his study was littered with typed sc.r.a.ps of trial dictation. Typical among these was one which bore the information: on the person of the sovereign abbot, who, after calling a computer repairman and waiting three days for him to appear, had decided to repair the stenographic abomination himself. The floor of his study was littered with typed sc.r.a.ps of trial dictation. Typical among these was one which bore the information: testing tesTing testing? TESting testing? d.a.m.natioN?

whY the craZY capiTALs# now Is the tiMe foR alL gooD memoriZERS to Gum to tHe aCHe of the bookLEGgerS?

Drat; caN yOu do beTTer in LAtin# now traNsLaTe; nECCesse Est epistULam sacri coLLegio mIttendAm esse statim dictem? What's wrong WITH tHe blasTED THing# Zerchi sat on the floor in the midst of the litter and tried to ma.s.sage the involuntary tremor out of his forearm, which had been recently electrified while exploring the Autoscribe's intestinal regions. The muscular twitching reminded him of the galvanic response of a severed frog's leg. Since he had prudently remembered to disconnect the machine before tampering with it, he could only suppose that the fiend who invented the thing had provided it with facilities for electrocuting customers even without power. While tweaking and tugging at connections in a search for loose wires, he had been a.s.saulted by a high voltage filter capacitor which had taken advantage of an opportunity to discharge itself to ground through the person of the Reverend Father Abbot when Reverend Father's elbow brushed against the cha.s.sis. But Zerchi had no way of knowing whether he had fallen victim to a law of Nature for filter capacitors or to a cunningly devised b.o.o.by trap aimed at discouraging customer-tampering. Anyway, he had fallen. His posture on the floor had come about involuntarily. His only claim to competence at the repair of polylinguistic transcription devices lay in his proud record of once having extracted a dead mouse from the information storage circuitry, thereby correcting a mysterious tendency on the part of the machine to write double syllables (doudoubleble sylsylabablesles). Having discovered no dead mice this time, he could feel for loose wires and hope Heaven had granted him charismata as an electronic healer. But it was apparently not so.

"Brother Patrick!" he called toward the outer office, and climbed wearily to his feet.

"Hey, Brother Pat!" he shouted again.

Presently the door opened and his secretary waddled in, glanced at the open wall cabinets with their stupefying maze of computer circuitry, scanned the cluttered floor, then warily studied his spiritual ruler's expression. "Shall I call the repair service again, Father Abbot?"

"Why bother?" Zerchi grunted. "You've called them three times. They've made three promises. We've waited three days. I need a stenographer. Now! Preferably a Christian. That That thing-" he waved irritably toward the Abominable Autoscribe-"is a d.a.m.ned infidel or worse. Get rid of it. I want it out of here." thing-" he waved irritably toward the Abominable Autoscribe-"is a d.a.m.ned infidel or worse. Get rid of it. I want it out of here."

"The APLAC?"

"The APLAC. Sell it to an atheist. No, that wouldn't be kind. Sell it as junk. I'm through with it. Why, for Heaven's sake, did Abbot Boumous-may his soul be blessed-ever buy the silly contraption?"

"Well, Domne, they say your predecessor was fond of gadgets, and it is is convenient to be able to write letters in languages you yourself can't speak." convenient to be able to write letters in languages you yourself can't speak."

"It is? You mean it would would be. That contraption-listen, Brother, they claim it thinks. I didn't believe it at first. Thought, implying rational principle, implying soul. Can the principle of a 'thinking machine'-man-made-be a rational soul? Bah! It seemed a thoroughly pagan notion at first. But do you know what?" be. That contraption-listen, Brother, they claim it thinks. I didn't believe it at first. Thought, implying rational principle, implying soul. Can the principle of a 'thinking machine'-man-made-be a rational soul? Bah! It seemed a thoroughly pagan notion at first. But do you know what?"

"Father?"

"Nothing could be that perverse without premeditation! It must must think! It knows good and evil, I tell you, and it chose the latter. Stop that snickering, will you? It's not funny. The notion isn't even pagan. Man made the contraption, but he didn't make its principle. They speak of the vegetative principle as a soul, don't they? A vegetable soul? And the animal soul? Then the rational human soul, and that's all they list in the way of incarnate vivifying principles, angels being disembodied. But how do we know the list is comprehensive? Vegetative, animative, rational-and then what else? That's what else, right there. That thing. And it think! It knows good and evil, I tell you, and it chose the latter. Stop that snickering, will you? It's not funny. The notion isn't even pagan. Man made the contraption, but he didn't make its principle. They speak of the vegetative principle as a soul, don't they? A vegetable soul? And the animal soul? Then the rational human soul, and that's all they list in the way of incarnate vivifying principles, angels being disembodied. But how do we know the list is comprehensive? Vegetative, animative, rational-and then what else? That's what else, right there. That thing. And it fell. fell. Get it out of here-But first I've got to get a radiogram off to Rome." Get it out of here-But first I've got to get a radiogram off to Rome."

"Shall I get my pad, Reverend Father?"

"Do you speak Alleghenian?"

"No, I don't."

"Neither do I, and Cardinal Hoffstraff doesn't speak SouthWest."

"Why not Latin, then?"

"Which Latin? The Vulgate or Modern? I don't trust my own Anglo-Latin, and if I did, he'd he'd probably not trust his." He frowned at the bulk of the robotic stenographer. Brother Patrick frowned with him, then stepped over to the cabinets and began peering into the maze of subminiature circuit components. probably not trust his." He frowned at the bulk of the robotic stenographer. Brother Patrick frowned with him, then stepped over to the cabinets and began peering into the maze of subminiature circuit components.

"No mouse," the abbot a.s.sured him.

"What are all these little k.n.o.bs?"

"Don't touch!" Abbot Zerchi yelped as his secretary curiously fingered one of several dozen sub-cha.s.sis dial settings. These sub-cha.s.sis controls were mounted in neat square array in a box, the cover of which the abbot had removed, bore the irresistible warning: FACTORY ADJUSTMENTS ONLY. Abbot Zerchi yelped as his secretary curiously fingered one of several dozen sub-cha.s.sis dial settings. These sub-cha.s.sis controls were mounted in neat square array in a box, the cover of which the abbot had removed, bore the irresistible warning: FACTORY ADJUSTMENTS ONLY.

"You didn't move it, did you?" he demanded, going to Patrick's side.

"I might have wiggled it a little, but I think it's back where it was."

Zerchi showed him the warning on the box's cover. "Oh," said Pat, and both of them stared.

"It's the punctuation, mostly, isn't it, Reverend Father?"

"That and stray capitals, and a few confused words."

They contemplated the squiggles, quiggles, quids, thingumbobs, and doohickii in mystified silence.

"Did you ever hear of the Venerable Francis of Utah?" the abbot asked at last.

"I don't recall the name, Domne. Why?"

"I was just hoping he's in a position to pray for us right now, although I don't believe he was ever canonized. Here, let's try turning this whatsis up a bit."

"Brother Joshua used to be some kind of an engineer. I forget what. But he was in s.p.a.ce. They have to know a lot about computers.

"I've already called him He's afraid to touch it. Here, maybe it needs-"

Patrick edged away. "If you would excuse me, m'Lord, I-"

Zerchi glanced up at his wincing scribe. "Oh, ye of little faith!" he said, correcting another FACTORY ADJUSTMENT.

"I thought I heard someone outside."

"Before the c.o.c.k crows thrice-besides, you touched the first k.n.o.b, didn't you?"

Patrick wilted. "But the cover was off, and..."

"Hinc igitur effuge. Out, out, before I decide it was your fault." Out, out, before I decide it was your fault."

Alone again, Zerchi inserted the wall plug, sat at his desk, and, after muttering a brief prayer to Saint Leibowitz (who in recent centuries had come into wider popularity as the patron saint of electricians than he had ever won as the founder of the Albertian Order of Saint Leibowitz), flipped the switch. He listened for spitting and hissing noises, but none came. He heard only the faint clicking of delay relays and the familiar purr of timing motors as they came up to full speed. He sniffed. No smoke or ozone to be detected. Finally, he opened his eyes. Even the indicator lights of the desktop control panel were burning as usual. FACTORY ADJUSTMENTS ONLY, indeed!

Somewhat rea.s.sured, he switched the format selector to RADIOGRAM, turned the process selector to DICTATE-RECORD, the translator unit to SOUTHWEST IN and ALLEGHENIAN OUT, made certain the transcription switch was on OFF, keyed his microphone b.u.t.ton and began dictating: "Priority Urgent: To His Most Reverend Eminence, Sir Eric Cardinal Hoffstraff, Vicar Apostolic Designate, Provisional Vicariate Extraterrestris, Sacred Congregation of Propaganda, Vatican, New Rome...

"Most Eminent Lord: In view of the recent renewal of world tensions, hints of a new international crisis, and even reports of a clandestine nuclear armaments race, we should be greatly honored if Your Eminence deems it prudent to counsel us concerning the present status of certain plans held in abeyance. I have reference to matters outlined in the Motu proprio Motu proprio of Pope Celestine the Eighth, of happy memory, given on the Feast of the Divine Overshadowing of the Holy of Pope Celestine the Eighth, of happy memory, given on the Feast of the Divine Overshadowing of the Holy Virgin, Anno Domini Virgin, Anno Domini 3735, and beginning with the words-" he paused to look through the papers on his desk-" 3735, and beginning with the words-" he paused to look through the papers on his desk-" "Ab hac planeta nativitatis aliquos filios Ecclesiae usque ad planetas solium alienorum iam abisse et numquam redituros esse intelligimus." "Ab hac planeta nativitatis aliquos filios Ecclesiae usque ad planetas solium alienorum iam abisse et numquam redituros esse intelligimus." Refer also to the confirming doc.u.ment of Anno Domini 3749, Refer also to the confirming doc.u.ment of Anno Domini 3749, Quo peregrinatur grex, pastor secure, Quo peregrinatur grex, pastor secure, authorizing the purchase of an island, uh-certain vehicles. Lastly refer to authorizing the purchase of an island, uh-certain vehicles. Lastly refer to Cam belli nunc remote, Cam belli nunc remote, of the late Pope Paul, Anno Domini 3756, and the correspondence which followed between the Holy Father and my predecessor, culminating with an order transferring to us the task of holding the plan of the late Pope Paul, Anno Domini 3756, and the correspondence which followed between the Holy Father and my predecessor, culminating with an order transferring to us the task of holding the plan Quo peregrinatur Quo peregrinatur in a state of, uh-suspended animation, but only so long as Your Eminence approves. Our state of readiness with respect to in a state of, uh-suspended animation, but only so long as Your Eminence approves. Our state of readiness with respect to Quo peregrinatur Quo peregrinatur has been maintained, and should it become desirable to execute the plan, we would need perhaps six weeks' notice..." has been maintained, and should it become desirable to execute the plan, we would need perhaps six weeks' notice..."

While the abbot dictated, the Abominable Autoscribe did no more than record his voice and translate it into a phoneme code on tape. After he had finished speaking he switched the process selector to a.n.a.lYZE and pressed a b.u.t.ton marked TEXT PROCESSING. The ready-lamp winked off. The machine began processing.

Meanwhile, Zerchi studied the doc.u.ments before him.

A chime sounded. The ready-lamp winked on. The machine was silent. With only one nervous glance at the FACTORY ADJUSTMENT ONLY box, the abbot dosed his eyes and pressed the WRITE b.u.t.ton.

Clatterty-chat-clatter-spatter-pip popperty-kak-fub-clotter, the automatic writer chattered away at what he hoped would be the text of the radiogram. He listened hopefully to the rhythm of the keys. That first the automatic writer chattered away at what he hoped would be the text of the radiogram. He listened hopefully to the rhythm of the keys. That first clattery-chat-clatter-spatter-pip clattery-chat-clatter-spatter-pip had sounded quite authoritative. He tried to hear the rhythms of Alleghenian speech in the sound of the typing, and after a time he decided that there was indeed a certain Allegheny lilt mixed into the rattle of the keys. He opened his eyes. Across the room, the robotic stenographer was briskly at work. He left his desk and went to watch it work. With utmost neatness, the Abominable Autoscribe was writing the Alleghenian equivalent of: had sounded quite authoritative. He tried to hear the rhythms of Alleghenian speech in the sound of the typing, and after a time he decided that there was indeed a certain Allegheny lilt mixed into the rattle of the keys. He opened his eyes. Across the room, the robotic stenographer was briskly at work. He left his desk and went to watch it work. With utmost neatness, the Abominable Autoscribe was writing the Alleghenian equivalent of: [image]

"Hey, Brother Pat!"

He turned off the machine in disgust. Holy Leibowitz! Did we labor for this? He could not see that it was any improvement over a carefully trimmed goose-quill and a pot of mulberry ink.

"Hey, Pat!"

There was no immediate response from the outer office, but after a few seconds a monk with a red beard opened the door, and, after glancing at the open cabinets, the littered floor, and the abbot's expression, he had the gall to smile.

"What's the matter, Magister meus? Don't you like our modem technology?"

"Not particularly, no!" Zerchi snapped. "Hey, Pat!" Pat!"

"He's out, m'Lord."

"Brother Joshua, can't you fix this thing? Really."

"Really?-No, I can't."

"I've got to send a radiogram."

"That's too bad, Father Abbot. Can't do that either. They Just took our crystal and padlocked the shack."

"They?"

"Zone Defense Interior. All private transmitters have been ordered off the air"

Zerchi wandered to his chair and sank into it. "A defense alert. Why?"

Joshua shrugged. "There's talk about an ultimatum. That's all I know, except what I hear from the radiation counters."

"Still rising?"

"Still rising."

"Call Spokane."

By midafternoon the dusty wind had come. The wind came over the mesa and over the small city of Sanly Bowitts. It washed over the surrounding countryside, noisily through the tall corn in the irrigated fields, tearing streamers of blowing sand from the sterile ridges. It moaned about the stone walls of the ancient abbey and about the aluminum and gla.s.s walls of the modern additions to the abbey. It besmirched the reddening sun with the dirt of the land, and sent dust devils scurrying across the pavement of the six-lane highway that separated the ancient abbey from its modern additions, On the side road which at one point flanked the highway and led from the monastery by way of a residential suburb into the city, an old beggar clad in burlap paused to listen to the wind. The wind brought the throb of practice rocketry explosively from the south. Ground-to-s.p.a.ce interceptor missiles were being fired toward target orbits from a launching range far across the desert. The old man gazed at the faint red disk of the sun while he leaned on his staff and muttered to himself or to the sun, "Omens, omens-"

A group of children were playing in the weed-filled yard of a hovel just across the side road, their games proceeding under the mute but all-seeing auspices of a gnarled black woman who smoked a weed-filled pipe on the porch and offered an occasional word of solace or remonstrance to one or another tearful player who came as plaintiff before the grandmotherly court of her hovel porch.

One of the children soon noticed the old tramp who stood across the roadway, and presently a shout went up: "Lookit, lookit! It's old Lazar! Auntie say, he be old Lazar, same one 'ut the Lor' Hesus raise up! Lookit! Lazar! Lazar!"

The children thronged to the broken fence. The old tramp regarded them grumpily for a moment, then wandered on along the road. A pebble skipped across the ground at his feet.

"Hey, Lazar...!"

"Auntie say, what the Lor' Hesus raise up, it stay up! Lookit him! Ya! Still huntin' for the Lor' 'ut raise him. Auntie say-"

Another rock skipped after the old man, but he did not look back. The old woman nodded sleepily. The children returned to their games. The dust storm thickened.

Across the highway from the ancient abbey, atop one of the new aluminum and gla.s.s buildings, a monk on the roof was sampling the wind. He sampled it with a suction device which ate the dusty air and blew the filtered wind to the intake of an air compressor on the floor below. The monk was no longer a youth, but not yet middle-aged. His short red beard seemed electrically charged, for it gathered pendant webs and streamers of dust; he scratched it irritably from time to time, and once he thrust his chin into the end of the suction hose; the result caused him to mutter explosively, then to cross himself.

The compressor's motor coughed and died. The monk switched off the suction device, disconnected the blower hose and pulled the device across the roof to the elevator and into the cage. Drifts of dust had settled in the corners. He closed the gate and pressed the Down b.u.t.ton.

In the laboratory on the uppermost floor, he glanced at the compressor's gauge-it registered MAX NORM-he closed the door, removed his habit, shook the dust out of it, hung it on a peg, and went over it with the section device. Then, going to the deep sheet-steel sink at the end of the laboratory workbench; he turned on the cold water and let it rise to the 200 Jug mark. Thrusting his head into the water, he washed the mud from his beard and hair. The effect was pleasantly icy. Dripping and sputtering, he glanced at the door. The likelihood of visitors just now seemed small. He removed his underwear, climbed into the tank, and settled back with a s.h.i.+very sigh.

Abruptly the door opened. Sister Helene came in with a tray of newly uncrated gla.s.sware. Startled, the monk leaped to his feet in the tub.

"Brother Joshua!" the sister shrieked. Half a dozen beakers shattered on the floor.

The monk sat down with a splash that sprayed the room. Sister Helene clucked, sputtered, squeaked, dumped the tray on the workbench, and fled. Joshua vaulted out of the sink and donned his habit without bothering to dry himself or put on his underwear. When he got to the door, Sister Helene was already out of the corridor-probably out of the building and halfway to the sister's chapel just down the side lane. Mortified, he hastened to complete his labors.

He emptied the suction device's contents and collected a sample of the dust in a phial. He took the phial to the workbench, plugged in a pair of headphones, and held the phial at a measured distance from the detector element of a radiation counter while he consulted his watch and listened.

The compressor had a built-in counter. He pressed a stud marked: Reset. The whirling decimal register flipped back to zero and began counting again. He stopped it after one minute and wrote the count on the back of his hand. It was mostly plain air, filtered and compressed; but there was a whiff of something else.

He closed the lab for the afternoon. He went down to the office on the subjacent floor, wrote the count on a wall chart, eyed its perplexing upswing; then sat at his desk and flipped the viewphone switch. He dialed by feel, while gazing at the telltale wallchart. The screen flashed, the phone beeped, and the viewer fluttered into focus on the back of an empty desk chair. After a few seconds a man slid into the chair and peered into the viewer. "Abbot Zerchi here," the abbot grunted. "Oh, Brother Joshua. I was about to call you. Have you been taking a bath?"

"Yes, m'Lord Abbot."

"You might at least blus.h.!.+"

"I am."

"Well, it doesn't show up on the viewer. Listen. On this this side of the highway, there's a sign just outside our gates. You've noticed it, of course? It says, 'Women Beware. Enter Not Lest'-and so forth. You've noticed it?" side of the highway, there's a sign just outside our gates. You've noticed it, of course? It says, 'Women Beware. Enter Not Lest'-and so forth. You've noticed it?"

"Surely, m'Lord."

"Take your baths on this this side of the sign." side of the sign."

"Certainly."

"Mortify yourself for offending Sister's modesty. I'm aware that you haven't got any. Listen, I suppose you can't even bring yourself to pa.s.s the reservoir without jumping in, baby-spanking bald, for a swim."

"Who told you that, m'Lord? I mean-I've only waded-"

"Ye-e-s-s? Well, never mind. Why did you call me?"

"You wanted me to call Spokane."

"Oh, yes. Did you?"

"Yes." The monk gnawed at a bit of dry skin at the corner of his wind-cracked lips and paused uneasily. "I talked to Father Leone. They've noticed it too."

"The increased radiation count?"

"That's not all." He hesitated again. He did not like saying it. To communicate a fact seemed always to lend it fuller existence.