I disembarked into a cool, partly overcast afternoon, found transportation almost immediately, and set out for Dave's office address.
A before-the-storm feeling came over me as I entered and crossed the town. A dark wall of clouds continued to build in the west. Later, standing before the building where Dave did business, the first few drops of rain were already spattering against its dirty brick front. It would take a lot more than that to freshen it, though, or any of the others in the area. I would have thought he'd have come a little further than this by now.
I shrugged off some moisture and went inside.
The directory gave me directions, the elevator elevated me, my feet found the way to his door. I knocked on it. After a time, I knocked again and waited again. Again, nothing. So I tried it, found it open, and went on in.
It was a small, vacant waiting room, green-carpeted. The reception desk was dusty. I crossed and peered around the plastic partition behind it.
The man had his back to me. I drummed my knuckles against the partitioning. He heard it and turned.
Yes?
Our eyes met, his still framed by horn-rims and just as active; lenses thicker, hair thinner, cheeks a trifle lower.
His question mark quivered in the air, and nothing in his gaze moved to replace it with recognition. He had been bending over a sheaf of schematics. A lopsided basket of metal, quartz, porcelain, and glass rested on a nearby table.
My name is Donne, John Donne, I said. I am looking for David Fentris.
I am David Fentris.
Good to meet you, I said, crossing to where he stood. I am assisting in an investigation concerning a project with which you were once associated ...
He smiled and nodded, accepted my hand and shook it.
The Hangman, of course. Glad to know you, Mister Donne.
Yes, the Hangman, I said. I am doing a report ...
... And you want my opinion as to how dangerous it is. Sit down. He gestured toward a chair at the end of his work bench. Care for a cup of tea?
No, thanks.
I'm having one.
Well, in that case ...
He crossed to another bench. No cream. Sorry.
That's all right ... How did you know it involved the Hangman?
He grinned as he brought me my cup. Because it's come back, he said, and it's the only thing I've been connected with that warrants that much concern.
Do you mind talking about it?
Up to a point, no.
What's the point?
If we get near it, I'll let you know.
Fair enough ... How dangerous is it?
I would say that it is harmless, he replied, except to three persons.
Formerly four?
Precisely.
How come?
We were doing something we had no business doing.
That being ... ?
For one thing, attempting to create an artificial intelligence.
Why had you no business doing that?
A man with a name like yours shouldn't have to ask.
I chuckled.
If I were a preacher, I said, I would have to point out that there is no biblical injunction against it, unless you've been worshipping it on the sly.
He shook his head.
Nothing that simple, that obvious, that explicit. Times have changed since the Good Book was written, and you can't hold with a purely fundamentalist approach in complex times. What I was getting at was something a little more abstract. A form of pride, not unlike the classical hubris, the setting up of oneself on a level with the Creator.
Did you feel that, pride?
Yes.
Are you sure it wasn't just enthusiasm for an ambitious project that was working well?
Oh, there was plenty of that. A manifestation of the same thing.
I do seem to recall something about man being made in the Creator's image, and something else about trying to live up to that. It would seem to follow that exercising one's capacities along similar lines would be a step in the right direction, an act of conformance with the Divine ideal, if you'd like.
But I don't like. Man cannot really create. He can only rearrange what is already present. Only God can create.
Then you have nothing to worry about.
He frowned. Then, No, he said. Being aware of this and still trying is where the presumption comes in.
Were you really thinking that way when you did it? Or did all this occur to you after the fact?
He continued to frown.
I am no longer certain.
Then it would seem to me that a merciful God would be inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt.
He gave me a wry smile.
Not bad, John Donne. But I feel that judgment may already have been entered and that we may have lost four to nothing.
Then you see the Hangman as an avenging angel?
Sometimes. Sort of. I see it as being returned to exact a penalty.
Just for the record, I suggested, if the Hangman had had full access to the necessary equipment and was able to construct another unit such as itself, would you consider it guilty of the same thing that is bothering you?
He shook his head.
Don't get all cute and Jesuitical with me, Donne. I'm not that far away from fundamentals. Besides, I'm willing to admit I might be wrong and that there may be other forces driving it to the same end.
Such as?
I told you I'd let you know when we reached a certain point. That's it.
Okay, I said. But that sort of blank-walls me, you know. The people I am working for would like to protect you people. They want to stop the Hangman. I was hoping you would tell me a little more, if not for your own sake, then for the others'. They might not share your philosophical sentiments, and you have just admitted you may be wrong ... Despair, by the way, is also considered a sin by a great number of theologians.
He sighed and stroked his nose, as I had often seen him do in times long past.
What do you do, anyhow? he asked me.
Me, personally? I'm a science writer. I'm putting together a report on the device for (he agency that wants to do the protecting. The better my report, the better their chances.
He was silent for a time, then, I read a lot in the area, but I don't recognize your name, he said.
Most of my work has involved petrochemistry and marine biology, I said.
Oh ... You were a peculiar choice then, weren't you?
Not really. I was available, and the boss knows my work, knows I'm good.
He glanced across the room, to where a stack of cartons partly obscured what I (hen realized to be a remote-access terminal. Okay. If he decided to check out my credentials now, John Donne would fall apart. It seemed a hell of a time to get curious, though, after sharing his sense of sin with me. He must have thought so, too, because he did not look that way again.
Let me put it this way ... he finally said, and something of the old David Fentris at his best took control of his voice. For one reason or the other, I believe that it wants to destroy its former operators. If it is the judgment of the Almighty, that's all there is to it. It will succeed. If not, however, I don't want any outside protection. I've done my own repenting and it is up to me to handle the rest of the situation myself, too. I will stop the Hangman personally, right here, before anyone else is hurt.
How? I asked him.
He nodded toward the glittering helmet.
With that, he said.
How? I repeated.
The Hangman's telefactor circuits are still intact. They have to be: they are an integral part of it. It could not disconnect them without shutting itself down. If it comes within a quarter mile of here, that unit will be activated. It will emit a loud humming sound and a light will begin to blink behind that meshing beneath the forward ridge. I will then don the helmet and take control of the Hangman. I will bring it here and disconnect its brain.
How would you do the disconnect?
He reached for the schematics he had been looking at when I had come in.