rr.eastofealing-第43部分

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ad。　'Now　I　understand。'
　'Then　bully　for　you；　John。　e　on　let's　get　out；　someone　will　see　us。'　Pooley　fanned　at　his　nose　and　rubbed　at　his　shirt…sleeves。
　'No；　no。　Don't　you　understand　what　it's　doing？　Why　it's　here？'
　'No。　Nor　why　I　should　be。'
　'It　is　what　the　Professor　told　us。'　Omally　struck　his　fist　to　his　temple。　'Numerology；　the　power　lies　in　the　numbers　themselves。　Can't　you　see　it？　This　whole　madhouse　is　the　product　of　mathematics。　Mankind　did　not　invent　mathematics　nor　discover　it。　No　the　science　of　mathematics　was　given　to　him　that　he　might　misuse　it　to　his　ruin。　That　he　might　eventually　create　all　this。'　Omally　spread　out　his　arms　to　enpass　the　world　they　now　inhabited。　'Don't　you　understand？'
　Jim　shook　his　head。　'Pissed　again；'　said　he。　'And　this　time　as　Pope。'
　Omally　continued；　his　voice　rising　in　pitch　as　the　revelation　struck　him　like　a　thunderbolt。　'The　machine　has　now　perfected　the　art。　It　has　mastered　the　science；　it　can　break　anything　down　to　its　mathematical　equivalent。　Once　it　has　the　formula　it　can　then　rebuild；　recreate　everything。　An　entire　brand　new　world　built　from　the　ashes　of　the　old；　enpassing　everything。'
　'But　all　it　does　is　churn　out　the　same　old　stuff　over　and　over　again。'
　Omally　clambered　to　his　feet　and　turned　upon　him。　'Yes；　you　damn　fool；　because　there　is　one　number　it　can　never　find。　It　found　the　number　of　a　man；　but　there　is　one　more　number；　one　more　equation　which　never　can　be　found。'
　'Go　on　then；　have　your　spasm。'
　'The　soul。　That's　what　the　old　man　was　trying　to　tell　us。　Don't　you　see　it；　Jim？'
　'I　see　that；'　said　Pooley；　pointing　away　over　John's　shoulder。　'But　I　don't　believe　it。'
　Omally　turned　to　catch　sight　of　a　gaunt　angular　figure　clad　in　the　shredded　remnants　of　a　tweed　suit；　who　was　stealing　purposefully　towards　them。
　'The　Saints　be　praised。'
　'Holmes；'　gasped　Pooley。　'But　how。。。　？　It　cannot　be。'
　'You　can't　keep　a　good　man　down。'
　Sherlock　Holmes　gestured　towards　them。　'e；'　he　mouthed。
　Jim　put　his　hand　to　Omally's　arm。　'What　if　he　starts　clearing　his　throat？'
　Omally　shrugged　helplessly。　'e　on；　Jim；'　he　said；　trundling　Marchant　towards　the　skulking　detective。
　Holmes　drew　them　into　the　shadows。　There　in　the　half…light　his　face　seemed　drawn　and　haggard；　although　a　fierce　vitality　shone　in　his　eyes。　'Then　only　we　three　remain。'　It　was　a　statement　rather　than　a　question。　Omally　nodded　slowly。　'And　do　you　know　what　must　be　done？'
　'We　do　not。'
　'Then　I　shall　tell　you；　but　quickly；　for　we　have　little　or　no　time。　We　are　going　to　poison　it；'　said　Sherlock　Holmes。　'We　are　going　to　feed　it　with　death。'　The　cold　determination　of　his　words　and　the　authority　with　which　he　spoke　to　them　seemed　absolute。
　'Poison　it？'　said　Jim。　'But　how？'
　Holmes　drew　out　a　sheaf　of　papers　from　his　pocket；　even　in　the　semi…darkness　the　Professor's　distinctive　Gothic　penmanship　was　instantly　recognizable。　'Feed　it　with　death。　The　Professor　formulated　the　final　equation。　He　knew　that　he　might　not　survive　so　he　entrusted　a　copy　to　me。　What　he　began　so　must　we　finish。'
　'Hear；　hear。'
　'puters　are　the　products　of　diseased　minds；　but　they　will　react　only　to　precise　stimuli。　Feed　them　gibberish　and　you　will　not　confuse　them。　But　feed　them　with　correctly…coded　instructions　and　they　will　react　and　function　accordingly；　in　their　own　unholy　madness。　Professor　Slobe　formulated　the　final　programme。　It　will　direct　the　machine　to　reverse　its　functions；　leading　ultimately　to　its　own　destruction。　This　programme　will　override　any　failsafe　mechanism　the　machine　has。　I　must；　however；　gain　access　to　one　of　the　terminals。'
　'And　how　do　you　propose　to　do　that？'　Jim　enquired　as　he　slyly　drained　the　last　drop　from　his　hip…flask。　'They　all　seem　a　little　busy　at　present。'
　Sherlock　Holmes　drew　out　his　gun。　'This　is　a　Forty…four　Magnum；　biggest。。。'
　'Yes；　we　are　well　aware　of　that。　It　might；　however；　attract　a　little　too　much　attention。'
　'My　own　thoughts　entirely。　I　was　wondering；　therefore；　if　you　two　gentlemen　might　be　prevailed　upon　to　create　some　kind　of　diversion。'
　'Oh　yes？'　said　Pope　John。　'What；　such　as　drawing　the　demonic　horde　down　about　our　ears　whilst　you　punch　figures　into　a　puter　terminal？'
　Holmes　nodded　grimly。　'Something　like　that。　I　will　require　at　least　six　clear　minutes。　I　know　I　am　asking　a　lot。'
　'You　are　asking　everything。'
　Holmes　had　no　answer　to　make。
　John　stared　hard　into　the　face　of　Jim　Pooley。
　The　other　shrugged。　'What　the　heck？'　said　he。
　'What　indeed？'　Omally　climbed　on　to　his　bike。　'Room　for　one　more　up　front。'
　Jim　smiled　broadly　and　tore　off　his　metallic　balaclava。　'Then　we　won't　be　needing　these　any　more。'
　'No；'　said　John；　removing　his　own。　'I　think　not。'　Raising　his　hand　in　a　farewell　salute　he　applied　his　foot　to　the　pedal。　'Up　the　Rebels。'
　'God　for　Harry；'　chorused　Pooley；　as　the　two　launched　forward　across　the　floor；　bound　for　destiny　upon　the　worn　wheels　of　Marchant　the　Wonder　Bike。
　A　strange　vibration　swept　up　the　mainframe　of　the　great　puter。　The　figures　moving　upon　its　face　stiffened；　frozen　solid。　Diamond…tipped　lights　began　to　flicker　and　flash；　forming　into　sequences；　columns；　and　star…shapes；　and　pyramids；　veering　and　changing；　pulsing　faster　and　faster。　A　low　purr　of　ominous　humming　rose　in　pitch；　growing　to　a　siren…screaming　crescendo；　as　the　machine's　defence　system　suddenly　registered　the　double　image　coursing　across　the　floor　of　its　very　sanctum　sanctorum。　A　ripple　of　startled　movement　spread　out　from　the　base；　as　the　terminal　operators　took　in　the　horror。　Their　heads　rose　to　face　the　mainframe；　their　mouths　opened；　and　the　curiously　mechanical　coughing　sounds　issued　forth；　swelling　to　an　atavistic　howl。
　'Do　you　think　they've　tumbled　us；　John？'　Pooley　clapped　his　hands　across　his　ears　and　Omally　sank　his　head　between　his　shoulders　as　the　two　zig…zagged　on　between　the　sea　of　terminals　and　their　shrieking；　howling　operators。　The　robots　were　rising　to　their　feet；　stretching　out　their　arms　towards　their　master；　their　heads　thrown　back；　their　mouths　opening　and　closing。　They　stormed　from　their　seats　to　pursue　the　intruders。
　At　the　back　of　the　hall　a　stealthy　figure　in　shredded　tweed　slipped　into　a　vacant　chair　and　flexed　his　long　slim　fingers。
　'Get　away　there！'　Pooley　levelled　his　travelling　hobnail　towards　a　shrieking　figure　looming　before　them。　He　caught　it　a　mighty　blow　to　the　chest　and　toppled　it　down　across　the　face　of　a　terminal；　tearing　it　from　its　mounts　amidst　a　tangle　of　sparking　wires　and　scrambled　mechanisms。
　'Nice　one；　Jim。'
　'Hard　to　port；　John。'
　Omally　spun　a　hasty；　wheel…screeching　left　turn；　dodging　a　cluster　of　straining　hands　which　clawed　towards　them。　They　dived　off　down　another　line　of　abandoned　terminals；　the　robots　now　scrambling　over　them；　faces　contorted　in　hatred；　anxious　to　be　done　with　the　last　of　their　sworn　enemy。　Small　black　boxes　were　being　drawn　into　the　light；　emitting　sinister　crackles　of　blue　fire。　The　chase　was　on　in　earnest。　And　there　were　an　awful　lot　of　the　blighters；　with　just　two　men　to　the　bike。
　The　figures　on　the　high　gantries　now　ran　to　and　fro　in　a　fever　of　manic　industry。　They　worked　with　inhuman　energy；　tending　and　caring　to　their　dark　master。　The　lights　about　them　streamed　up　the　dead　black　face；　throbbing　in　'V　formations；　travelling　down　again　to　burst　into　pentacles　and　cuneiform。　They　became　a　triple…six　logo　a　hundred　feet　high　which　reformed　into　the　head　of　a　horned　goat；　the　eyes　ringed　in　blood…red　laser　fire。　Blackpool　illuminations　it　was　not。
　Holmes　laboured　away　at　his　terminal；　but　here　and　there　his　trembling　fingers　faltered　and　he　punched　in　an　incorrect　digit。　Cursing　bitterly；　he　was　forced　to　erase　an　entire　line　and　begin　again。
　'You　bastard。'　A　clawed　hand　tore　off　Pooley's　right　shirt…sleeve。　'I'm　down　to　the　arm。　Let's　get　out　of　here；　John！'
　'Strike　that　man。'　As　a　foaming　psychotic　rose　up　before　them；　Pooley　levelled　another　flailing　boot。　The　floor　was　now　a　hell…house　of　confusion。　The　robots　were　fighting　with　one　another；　each　desperate　to　wring　the　life　from　Pooley　and　Omally。　The　cycling　duo　thundered　on。　Omally　wore　the　orange　jersey。　The　tour　de　Brentford　was　very　much　on　the　go。
　'Get　a　move