Project Pope by Clifford D. Simak Page B

the velvet glove.”
    â€œThat could be it. He’s a pleasant-enough robot—I almost said a pleasant-enough old man. Pleasant enough, but stubborn. I argued with him and he didn’t budge an inch.”
    â€œThis job?”
    â€œThey want a history of Vatican written. The cardinal claims they have no one who can do it; hinted that a robot could not be trained to do it. Would you believe it—they have a complete record of everything that’s happened here, all that’s been done here, since the first ship arrived. All stored and waiting for retrieval. I said no, of course. Maybe, come to think of it, I didn’t say a flat-out no. Actually, I think I said I’d have to think about it. I probably gave the impression I was going to say no.”
    â€œAnd are you?”
    â€œJason, I honestly don’t know. Think of it! The story is all there. Waiting for someone to dig it out. It’s been there all these years and not been touched by anyone.”
    â€œBut what good will it do you if you can’t get it out?”
    â€œThat’s right. No good at all. Jason, do I look like a dirty sneak?”
    â€œWell, yes, now that I think of it.”
    â€œI’d never be able to live with myself,” said Jill, “if I didn’t have a shot at it.”
    â€œJill, it doesn’t track. First they refuse to let you write about this place, then they hand the story to you on a silver platter. Unless, of course, they do badly want the history written and are convinced they can keep you here.”
    â€œIf so,” she said, “they must be awfully sure of themselves.”
    â€œThat’s what Ecuyer said the other night. That they are sure of themselves.”
    â€œJason, we may have been a pair of fools to come here. If Vatican wants nothing to leak out, the one sure way to do it would be to make sure that no one, once they got here, could leave.”
    â€œBut there are all the pilgrims. The pilgrims come and go.”
    â€œThe cardinal half-explained that to me. The pilgrims, it seems, don’t count. They come from scattered planets, only a few from each one. Apparently they are tied up with screwball cults that have little standing. No one would pay attention to what any cult member said, even to the cult, perhaps, if it was said collectively. Whatever word the pilgrims carry back would be put down as religious ravings.”
    â€œVatican has a lot to hide,” Tennyson said thoughtfully. “There is Ecuyer’s Search Program, which the pilgrims might not know about, might have no inkling of. Maybe it’s the Search Program, not Vatican itself, that is important. The searchers are milking knowledge from the universe, from all of space and time—and maybe other places outside of space and time. If there’s any such place.”
    â€œHeaven could be. If there’s a place like Heaven.”
    â€œThe point is that no one else has anything like it. The Search people have miles of files crammed with the information they’ve pilfered. It’s all there. What are they going to do with it?”
    â€œMaybe they really are feeding it to the Pope.”
    â€œSome Pope,” Tennyson remarked. “No, I can’t think that’s entirely it. Ecuyer said something else. I’m trying to remember exactly what. I think it was that Project Pope had become, over the years, no more than an excuse for keeping on with the Search Program. I think that was it. He suggested that I not mention it to Vatican. Gave the impression that some of the old Vatican crowd might be stuffy.”
    â€œVatican has its worries,” said Jill. “The cardinal let some of them out. Sort of talking the worries out to me, although I doubt he thought of it that way. He, and possibly some of the other cardinals, think someone is stealing from Vatican. ‘Nibbling away’ was the way he put it. What seemed to worry him the most was no one