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“Without the two diamonds fitted into it, the device didn'tfunction as I had intended but it enabled Darwin to gain somemeasure of control over the poor fellow,” Babbage continued.“Though why he should want it, I don't know. Nor do I care.”
“But surely he gave some indication why Speke was important tohim?” Burton asked.
“Maybe. I forget. It's beside the point. What matters is thatthe Pelletier diamonds were just two of seven, and the remainingfive recently appeared in London. Obviously, by hook or by crook, Ihad to have them-the Francois Garnier Collection.”
“So you chose by crook. ”
“I selected the most efficient and immediate method,” Babbageanswered. “These black diamonds, you see, Sir Richard, can containand maintain an electrical field, no matter how slight it may be.Do you understand the significance?”
“Not really.”
“Then I shall put it into simple terms. At death, there is asurge of electrical activity in the human brain-a transmission, ifyou will. The Choir Stones are so sensitive that, if they are closeenough, they will receive and store that transmission. Memories,sir-they hold memories. I intend to die in their presence. Myintellect will be imprinted upon them. Brunel will then set theminto the machinery of this probability calculator, which, like itspredecessor, is designed to process the information recorded intheir structure. In other words, the essence of Charles Babbagewill live on-or, rather, think on-in this device.”
Burton laughed mirthlessly. “You mean to achieveimmortality?”
“I mean for my intellect to survive.”
“And your soul?”
Babbage clucked with irritation. “Pshaw! I no more believe inthat superstitious claptrap than you do! I refer to my thoughtprocesses! The quintessence of myself!”
“Nonsense! A human being adds up to far more than the electricalfield generated by, or contained within, the spongy matter of hisbrain. What about the heart, sir? What about emotion? What abouthow he feels about his memories-his triumphs and regrets?”
Now it was the elderly scientist's turn to laugh. “Firstly,there is absolutely no empirical evidence that emotion is housed inthe heart,” he said scornfully. “And secondly, even if it was, itis eminently disposable! What good has emotion ever done except towound and anger and weaken and give rise to humanity's mostprimitive and animalistic urges? Surely you're not going to lectureme about the majesty of love?”
“No, I'm not. I do say, though, that there are certain decisionsa man is called upon to make which transcend the dictates ofreason.”
“Balderdash! Those are simply occasions where a lesser intellectstruggles; where intelligence gives up and submits to emotionalimpulses. I design machines that decide the best course of actionbased upon logic. ”
Burton fought to keep his mind focused, his head from nodding.His fever was raging now. The room was spi
“No, Sir Charles, it won't do,” he rasped. “You have overlookedthe fact that a mind separated from the heart entirely eliminatesethics and morality. Look at what you and Brunel have done tonight.You have stolen! You've performed what to you is merely an act oflogical necessity-but did you for one minute consider theconsequences for Mr. Brundleweed? In a few hours from now he'llawaken to find his business in ruins. His reputation will suffer.His income will be devastated. He and his family will be penalisedfor your actions.”
“Irrelevant!” Babbage jerked. “The man is nothing but a commonmerchant.”
“And what of his son or his daughter? Do you know theirdestiny?”
Babbage licked his lips. “What are you talking about? I don'teven know whether he has a son or daughter. I know nothing aboutthe man!”
“Exactly! You know nothing about him, yet you judge himdispensable. What if one of his children was destined to discover acure for influenza, or the secret of perpetual motion, or a systemby which poverty could be eliminated? What might you have deprivedus of?”
The old man looked disconcerted. “None of that is certain,” heprotested. “And since they are a lower class of people, it ishighly unlikely.”
“Your disdain for the working classes is well known, SirCharles. Perhaps that is why you seek to replace them with thinkingmachines. But your contempt does not eliminate the possibility thatsomeone in the Brundleweed family might one day play a crucial rolein our social evolution.”
The king's agent fought the impulse to vomit. An unbearablehammering assaulted the i
“It's a very simple equation,” Babbage grumbled. “A matter ofprobability. We can state that maybe Brundleweed's children willbecome an important influence to future generations, but we canalso state that I, Charles Babbage, am already an importantinfluence and will continue to be so.”
“Conceit!”
“Fact! I can certainly make the world a more efficientplace!”
“But maybe,” Burton whispered, “efficiency isn't all it's heldup to be. Maybe it's the inefficiencies and mistakes that give usthe best impetus to change and grow and improve!”
“No! Miscalculations slow us down! I don't make them. I dealonly with the proven and the certain, yet who can dispute that I amevolved? Hand me the diamonds!”
Burton passed the five black gemstones to the old man.
“You can kill me now,” Babbage said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Kill me, Sir Richard. Brunel will do the rest.”
With a shaking hand, Burton pulled the blade from hisswordstick.
“Are you sure? You really want me to kill you?”
“Of course I do. Get on with it, man! I have work to do!”
“You are absolutely certain that your memories will betransferred to the diamonds?”
“Yes!”
“Then you illustrate my argument admirably. Nothing in life iscertain, Sir Charles. The diamonds are fakes.” He stepped forwardand plunged his rapier into the scientist's heart. “Do you now getmy point?”
Babbage whispered: “Fakes?”
He died. His corpse slid from Burton's sword and crumpled to thefloor.
The king's agent turned and faced the Steam Man.
The hulking machine stood motionless but for the bellows on itsshoulder, which scraped up and down incessantly. Little more thanan inch of the cigar remained.
Bells chimed: “The Francois Garnier Collection is notgenuine?”
“The stones are onyx crystals.”
“Impossible.”
“Look for yourself.”
Burton stepped back. Brunel lumbered past him and retrieved astone from Babbage's hand, holding it up with a pincer whileanother arm held a magnifying tool in front of it.
Burton had no idea what the engineer used for eyes.
“You are correct,” Brunel rang. “Then Babbage is dead and hisdevice is useless.”
The king's agent felt his knees giving way. He sheathed hissword.
“I can't fight you, Brunel. I'm not sure I can even stand up formuch longer. The best I can do is offer some advice.”
“Advice?”
“Stop associating with insane scientists. The authorities arealready concerned about you after your involvement with Darwin andhis cronies. This latest caper will do your reputation no good atall. Redeem yourself, Isambard. Redeem yourself.”
Even as the words left his lips, the room began to reel andBurton staggered to one side and collapsed onto the floor.
The massive engineer loomed over him. “Sir Richard, there arethose in my faction who would have me kill you.”
“I don't doubt it,” Burton whispered, as darkness pushed in atthe periphery of his vision. “And I bet John Speke is foremostamong them.”
“You are wrong. Lieutenant Speke is no longer affiliated withthe Technologists. He and a small group of Eugenicists absconded toPrussia some weeks ago.”
Burton's eyes began to close. “Do your worst,” he said sleepily.“I'm at your mercy.”