age。
'Fuck me；' said John Omally； which was quite unbeing of a Pope。 'Would you look at that holy show？'
'Unholy show； John。 That is disgusting。'
'Yes； though； isn't it？ And that。' Jim followed Omally's pointing finger。 'You'd need to be double…jointed。'
'There's something inscribed there； John。 You know the Latin； what does it say？'
Omally leant forward and perused the inscription； 'Oh；' said he at length； his voice having all the fun of herpes about it； 'that is what it says。'
'Exit does it say？'
Omally turned towards the grinning idiot。 'Give me that hip…flask； you are a fool。'
'And you a Pope。 Drink your own。'
'Give me that flask。'
'Well； only a small sip； don't want your judgement being impaired。' Pooley began to hiccup。
Omally guzzled more than his fair share。 'It's in there；' he said； wiping his chin and returning the flask to Pooley。
'What is？' Jim shook the flask against his ear and gave the self…made Pope a disparaging look。
'The big It； you damned fool。'
'Then next right turn and on your bike。 We don't want to do anything silly now； do we？'
Omally nodded gloomily。 'We must； stick your tattooed mitt up against it。'
'I can think of a million reasons why not。'
'And me。 For the Professor； eh Jim？'
'For the Professor； then。' Jim pressed his hand to the door and it moved away before his touch。
Omally took up his bike； and the two men stepped cautiously through the opening。
'Oh； bloody hell；' whispered Jim。
'Yes； all of that。'
They stood now in the vestibule of what was surely a great cathedral。 But its size was not tailored to the needs of man。 It was the hall of giants。 The two stared about them in an attempt to take it in。 It was simply too large。 The scale of its construction sent the mind reeling。 The temperature had dropped another five degrees at least； yet the smell was ripe as a rotten corpse。
'The belly of the beast；' gasped Pooley。 'Let's go back。 The utter cold； the feeling； the stench； I can't stand it。'
'No； Jim； look； there it is。'
Ahead； across an endless expanse of shining black marble floor； spread the congregation； row upon regimental row。 Countless figures crouched before as many flickering terminal screens； paying obeisance to their dark master。 For there； towering towards eternity； rising acre upon vertical acre； spreading away in every direction； was the mainframe of the great puter。 Billions of housed microcircuits； jet…black boxes stacked one upon another in a jagged endless wall。 Upon giddy stairways and catwalks； minuscule figures moved upon its face； attending to its needs。 Feeding it； pampering it with knowledge； gorging its insatiable appetite。
I AM LATEINOS； I AM ROMIITH。
The Latin； the formula； words reduced to their base ponents； stripped of their flesh； reduced to the charred black dust of their skeletons； to the equations which were the music of the spheres； the grand high opera of all existence。 Omally slumped forward on to his knees。 'I see it；' he whispered hoarsely； his eyes starting from his head。 '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