Read Project Pope for Free Online Page B

confusing because there was too much in it, much of which was unhuman, nuances that had no parallel to the way a human thought or saw; start to follow the lines of it and one soon lost oneself. The line that first manifested itself became something else and the pattern that the viewer thought he’d puzzled out became another pattern and then another and another, each one more confusing than the last. There was no end to it. A man probably could spend the rest of his days sitting in front of it and staring at it, trying to puzzle out and resolve the flowing of it and in the end always getting lost.
    On the front of the table stood the large topaz crystal, and there had been some progress in its shaping since the day before, although he never had been able to catch the actual shaping of anything that Whisperer did. In each instance, the piece changed from time to time and that was all. It wasn’t carving, for there were no chips, no material that had been cut away to effect the shaping, and yet, despite this, it was not molding either, for the finished parts had sharp lines as if the material had been cut away—not rounded edges as if it had been molded. Whisperer used no tools, of course—there was no way in which he could use tools. He was as close to nothing as one could imagine. And yet he got things done. He talked mind to mind, he changed the shape of gems, he slithered in and out; he was, seemingly, everywhere at once.
    Watching, Decker saw the slight flicker of the diamond dust that was Whisperer, hovering above the topaz crystal.
    â€”You’re hiding again, he said in his mind to Whisperer.
    â€”Decker, you know well I do not hide from you. It’s that you do not see.
    â€”Can’t you occasionally brighten up a bit? Can’t you shine a little more? You’re always sneaking up.
    â€”Now you needle me, said Whisperer. I never do any sneaking up. You are aware of me. You know when I am here.
    And that was right, thought Decker. He did know when he was here. He sensed him, although how he sensed him, he had no idea. It was just knowing he was there. An impression, knowing that this little puff of diamond dust (although he was certain there was much more to Whisperer than a puff of dust) was somewhere very close.
    And the question—always the question—of what he was. He could have asked him, Decker thought, could even ask him now, but somehow it had always seemed a question that was inappropriate. He had wondered at first if his simply thinking it, wondering about it, might not be equivalent to asking, speculating that whatever lay in his mind might be apparent to Whisperer. But over long months, it had become apparent that it was not, that this strange being either could not, or would not, read his mind. To communicate with Whisperer, he had to bring the words up into a certain segment of his mind and there expose them to Whisperer. This constituted talking to him; thinking was not talking. But how he talked with him, how he communicated with Whisperer or read what he in turn should tell him was still a mystery. There was no explanation, no human explanation, of the process that made it possible.
    â€”We didn’t do too badly on the last trip, Decker said. The topaz made it worth our while. And you were the one who nosed it out. You showed me where to find it. There was nothing showing in the gravel. Not a single glint. Just water-worn pebbles. But you showed me where to reach in and find it. Damned if I can figure how you do it.
    â€”Luck, said Whisperer. No more than luck. Sometimes your luck, sometimes mine. Time before, it was you who found the ruby.
    â€”A small one, Decker said.
    â€”But of the finest water.
    â€”Yes, I know. It’s a beauty. Small as it is, it is still perfect. Have you decided yet if you want to do something with it?
    â€”I am tempted, yes. I’ll have to think some more upon it. It would be so small. So small for you, I mean.