Dark Benediction

Mulreany kept patience with an effort. “To make nitroglycerin for curing heart trouble is good, to make it for blowing open safes is bad. The stuff itself is morally neutral. The same goes for mutant animals. As pets, okay; as replacements for humans, no.”

“Yeah, but you’d just as soon see them dead, eh?”

Mulreany hesitated. “I admit a personal dislike for them.”

“This one?”

“What about her?”

“Better dead, eh?”

“You couldn’t admit she might be human?”

“Don’t know her that well. Human? How do you mean—biologically? Obviously not. Theologically? Why should you care?”

“I’m interested in your particular attitude, buster.”

Mulreany gazed at him, gathering a glower. “I’m a little doubtful about my status here,” he growled. “I came for information; the roles got switched somewhere. Okay, Norris, but I’m sick of neo-pagan innocents like you. Now sit down, or show me the door.”

Norris sat down slowly.

The priest watched the small neutroid for a moment before speaking. “She’s alive, performs the function of living, is evidently aware. Life—a kind of functioning. A specific life—an in-variant kind of functioning—with sameness-of-self about it. Invariance of functioning—a principle. Self, soul, call it what you like. Whatever’s alive has it.” He paused to watch Norris doubtfully.

Norris nodded curtly. “Go on.”

“Doesn’t have to be anything immortal about it. Not unless she were known to be human. Or intelligent.”

“You heard her,” Anne snapped.

“I’ve heard metal boxes speak with great wisdom,” Mulreany said sourly. “And if I were a Hottentot, a vocalizing computer would…”

“Skip the analogies. Go on.”

“What’s intelligence? A function of Man, immortal. What’s Man? An intelligent immortal creature, capable of choice.”

“Quit talking in circles.”

“That’s the point. I can’t—not where Peony’s concerned. What do you want to know? If I think she’s equal to Man? Give me all the intelligence test results, and all the data you can get—I still couldn’t decide.”

“Whattaya need? Mystic writings in the sky?”

“Precisely.”

“I feel a bush being beat about,” Anne said suddenly. “Is this guy going to make things tough, or isn’t he?”

Mulreany looked puzzled again.

“To the point, then,” Norris said. “Would you applaud if she gets the gasser?”

“Hardly.”

“If you had it to decide for yourself—”

“What? Whether to destroy her or not?” Mulreany snorted irritably. “Not if there was the least doubt in my mind about her. She’s a shadow in the brush. Maybe it’s ten to one that the shadow’s a bear and not a man—but on the one chance, don’t shoot, son, don’t shoot.”

“You think the authorities have a right to kill her, maybe?” Anne asked.

“Who, him?” Mulreany jerked his head toward Norris.

“Well, say him.”

“I’d have to think about it. But I don’t think so.”

“Why? The government made her. Why can’t it un-make her?”

“Made her? Did it now?”

“Delmont did,” Norris corrected.

“Did he now?” said Mulreany.

“Why not?” Anne snorted.

“I, the State, am Big Fertility,” Norris said sourly; then baiting

Mulreany: “Thou shalt accept no phallus but the evolvotron.” Mulreany reddened, slapped his knee, and chortled. The Norrises exchanged puzzled glances.

“I feel an affinity,” Anne murmured suspiciously.

Norris came slowly to his feet. “If you talk to anybody about Peony, you may be responsible for her death.”

“I don’t quite see—”

“You don’t need to.”

Mulreany shrugged.

“Tell O’Reilley the same.”

Mulreany nodded. “You’ve got my word.”

“Your which?”

“Sorry, I forgot. Ancient usage. I won’t mention Peony. I’ll see that O’Reilley doesn’t.”

Norris led him to the door. The priest was obviously suppressing large quantities of curiosity, but contained it well. On the steps, he paused to look back, wearing a curious smirk.

“It just occurred to me—if the child is ‘human’ in the broad sense, she’s rather superior to you and I.”

“Why?”

“Hasn’t picked an apple yet.” Norris shrugged slightly.

“And Inspector—if Delmonte made her—ask yourself: Just what was it that he ‘made’?” He nodded quickly. “Goodnight.”

“What do you make of him?” Anne hissed nervously.

“Backworldsman. Can’t say.”

“Fool, why’d you bring him in?”

“I’m no good at conspiracies.”

“Then you will do it?”

“What?”

“Hide her, or something.”

He stared at her doubtfully. “The only thing I can hope to do is falsify the test reports and send her back to O’Reilley as a standard model.”

“That’s better than nothing.”

“And then spend the rest of our days waiting for it to be uncovered,” he added grimly.

“You’ve got to, Terry.”

Maybe, he thought, maybe.

If he gave her back to O’Reilley, there was a good chance she’d be discovered when the auditor came to microfilm the records and check inventory. He certainly couldn’t keep her himself—not with other Bio-agents wandering in and out every few days. She could not be hidden.

He sat down for a smoke and watched Anne tiptoe to the sofa with the sleeping Peony. It would be easy to obey the law, turn her over to Franklin, and tell Anne that he had done something else with her, something like…