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THE VARIABLE MAN
ILLUSTRATED BY EBEL
ILLUSTRATED BY EBEL
He fixed things—clocks, refrigerators, vidsenders and destinies. But he had no business in the future, where the calculators could not handle him. He was Earth’s only hope—and its sure failure!
He repaired stuff—clocks, refrigerators, video senders, and even futures. But he had no place in the future, where the computers couldn’t deal with him. He was Earth’s only hope—and its guaranteed downfall!
Security Commissioner Reinhart rapidly climbed the front steps and entered the Council building. Council guards stepped quickly aside and he entered the familiar place of great whirring machines. His thin face rapt, eyes alight with emotion, Reinhart gazed intently up at the central SRB computer, studying its reading.
Security Commissioner Reinhart quickly ascended the front steps and walked into the Council building. The Council guards moved aside promptly, allowing him to enter the familiar space filled with the sounds of bustling machines. His thin face focused, eyes shining with emotion, Reinhart stared intently at the central SRB computer, examining its display.
“Straight gain for the last quarter,” observed Kaplan, the lab organizer. He grinned proudly, as if personally responsible. “Not bad, Commissioner.”
“Straight gain for the last quarter,” Kaplan, the lab organizer, said with a grin, as if he were personally responsible. “Not bad, Commissioner.”
“We’re catching up to them,” Reinhart retorted. “But too damn slowly. We must finally go over—and soon.”
“We’re catching up to them,” Reinhart shot back. “But way too slowly. We need to move forward—and fast.”
Kaplan was in a talkative mood. “We design new offensive weapons, they counter with improved defenses. And nothing is actually made! Continual improvement, but neither we nor Centaurus can stop designing long enough to stabilize for production.”
Kaplan was feeling chatty. “We create new offensive weapons, and they respond with better defenses. And nothing ever gets made! It’s all about constant improvement, but neither we nor Centaurus can pause long enough to settle on something for production.”
“It will end,” Reinhart stated coldly, “as soon as Terra turns out a weapon for which Centaurus can build no defense.”
“It will end,” Reinhart said coldly, “as soon as Terra makes a weapon that Centaurus cannot defend against.”
“Every weapon has a defense. Design and discord. Immediate obsolescence. Nothing lasts long enough to—”
“Every weapon has a defense. Design and conflict. Immediate obsolescence. Nothing lasts long enough to—”
“What we count on is the lag,” Reinhart broke in, annoyed. His hard gray eyes bored into the lab organizer and Kaplan slunk back. “The time lag between our offensive design and their counter development. The lag varies.” He waved impatiently toward the massed banks of SRB machines. “As you well know.”
“What we rely on is the lag,” Reinhart interrupted, frustrated. His hard gray eyes stared intensely at the lab organizer, causing Kaplan to shrink back. “The time lag between our offensive design and their counter development. The lag varies.” He gestured impatiently toward the rows of SRB machines. “As you know.”
At this moment, 9:30 AM, May 7, 2136, the statistical ratio on the SRB machines stood at 21-17 on the Centauran side of the ledger. All facts considered, the odds favored a successful repulsion by Proxima Centaurus of a Terran military attack. The ratio was based on the total information known to the SRB machines, on a gestalt of the vast flow of data that poured in endlessly from all sectors of the Sol and Centaurus systems.
At 9:30 AM on May 7, 2136, the statistical ratio on the SRB machines was 21-17 in favor of the Centauran side. Taking everything into account, the chances of Proxima Centaurus successfully repelling a military attack from Earth were looking good. This ratio was derived from all the information that the SRB machines had, reflecting a comprehensive analysis of the massive amount of data that continuously streamed in from all areas of the Sol and Centaurus systems.
21-17 on the Centauran side. But a month ago it had been 24-18 in the enemy’s favor. Things were improving, slowly but steadily. Centaurus, older and less virile than Terra, was unable to match Terra’s rate of technocratic advance. Terra was pulling ahead.
21-17 in favor of the Centaurans. But just a month ago, it was 24-18 for the enemy. Things were getting better, slowly but surely. Centaurus, older and not as vigorous as Terra, couldn’t keep up with Terra’s pace of technological progress. Terra was taking the lead.
“If we went to war now,” Reinhart said thoughtfully, “we would lose. We’re not far enough along to risk an overt attack.” A harsh, ruthless glow twisted across his handsome features, distorting them into a stern mask. “But the odds are moving in our favor. Our offensive designs are gradually gaining on their defenses.”
“If we went to war right now,” Reinhart said thoughtfully, “we would lose. We’re not far enough along to risk an open attack.” A harsh, ruthless light twisted across his handsome features, turning them into a stern mask. “But the odds are shifting in our favor. Our offensive strategies are gradually gaining on their defenses.”
“Let’s hope the war comes soon,” Kaplan agreed. “We’re all on edge. This damn waiting….”
“Let’s hope the war comes soon,” Kaplan agreed. “We’re all on edge. This damn waiting….”
The war would come soon. Reinhart knew it intuitively. The air was full of tension, the elan. He left the SRB rooms and hurried down the corridor to his own elaborately guarded office in the Security wing. It wouldn’t be long. He could practically feel the hot breath of destiny on his neck—for him a pleasant feeling. His thin lips set in a humorless smile, showing an even line of white teeth against his tanned skin. It made him feel good, all right. He’d been working at it a long time.
The war would come soon. Reinhart sensed it instinctively. The air was charged with tension, the elan. He left the SRB rooms and rushed down the hallway to his heavily guarded office in the Security wing. It wouldn't be long now. He could almost feel the hot breath of fate on his neck—an enjoyable sensation for him. His thin lips formed a humorless smile, revealing a straight line of white teeth against his tanned skin. It felt good, no doubt about it. He’d been working toward this for a long time.
First contact, a hundred years earlier, had ignited instant conflict between Proxima Centauran outposts and exploring Terran raiders. Flash fights, sudden eruptions of fire and energy beams.
First contact, a hundred years earlier, had sparked immediate conflict between Proxima Centauran outposts and exploring Terran raiders. Quick skirmishes, sudden bursts of fire and energy beams.
And then the long, dreary years of inaction between enemies where contact required years of travel, even at nearly the speed of light. The two systems were evenly matched. Screen against screen. Warship against power station. The Centauran Empire surrounded Terra, an iron ring that couldn’t be broken, rusty and corroded as it was. Radical new weapons had to be conceived, if Terra was to break out.
And then there were the long, dull years of no action between enemies where getting in touch took years of travel, even at almost the speed of light. The two systems were equally strong. Screen against screen. Warship against power station. The Centauran Empire surrounded Earth, an unbreakable iron ring, rusty and corroded as it was. New radical weapons had to be developed if Earth was going to break free.
Through the windows of his office, Reinhart could see endless buildings and streets, Terrans hurrying back and forth. Bright specks that were commute ships, little eggs that carried businessmen and white-collar workers around. The huge transport tubes that shot masses of workmen to factories and labor camps from their housing units. All these people, waiting to break out. Waiting for the day.
Through the windows of his office, Reinhart could see endless buildings and streets, with people rushing back and forth. Bright dots that were commute ships, small capsules that carried businessmen and office workers around. The massive transport tubes that shot lots of workers to factories and labor camps from their homes. All these people, waiting to break free. Waiting for the day.
Reinhart snapped on his vidscreen, the confidential channel. “Give me Military Designs,” he ordered sharply.
Reinhart turned on his vidscreen, the secure channel. “Show me Military Designs,” he commanded firmly.
He sat tense, his wiry body taut, as the vidscreen warmed into life. Abruptly he was facing the hulking image of Peter Sherikov, director of the vast network of labs under the Ural Mountains.
He sat there tense, his lean body tight, as the screen lit up. Suddenly, he was looking at the large image of Peter Sherikov, the head of the huge network of labs beneath the Ural Mountains.
Sherikov’s great bearded features hardened as he recognized Reinhart. His bushy black eyebrows pulled up in a sullen line. “What do you want? You know I’m busy. We have too much work to do, as it is. Without being bothered by—politicians.”
Sherikov’s rugged bearded face tightened as he saw Reinhart. His thick black eyebrows shot up in a scowl. “What do you want? You see I’m busy. We have too much work to do already, without being disturbed by—politicians.”
“You’ll find a regular departmental report plate filed in the usual way, around your office someplace. If you’ll refer to that you’ll know exactly what we—”
“You’ll find a typical departmental report plate stored in the usual way, somewhere in your office. If you check that, you’ll know exactly what we—”
“I’m not interested in that. I want to see what you’re doing. And I expect you to be prepared to describe your work fully. I’ll be there shortly. Half an hour.”
“I’m not interested in that. I want to see what you’re doing. And I expect you to be ready to explain your work in detail. I’ll be there soon. In about half an hour.”
Reinhart cut the circuit. Sherikov’s heavy features dwindled and faded. Reinhart relaxed, letting his breath out. Too bad he had to work with Sherikov. He had never liked the man. The big Polish scientist was an individualist, refusing to integrate himself with society. Independent, atomistic in outlook. He held concepts of the individual as an end, diametrically contrary to the accepted organic state Weltansicht.
Reinhart turned off the circuit. Sherikov’s rough features diminished and disappeared. Reinhart relaxed, exhaling. It was a shame he had to work with Sherikov. He had never liked the guy. The big Polish scientist was a lone wolf, unwilling to fit into society. He was independent, with a mindset focused on the individual. He believed that individuals were an end in themselves, completely opposed to the commonly accepted view of society as an organic whole.
But Sherikov was the leading research scientist, in charge of the Military Designs Department. And on Designs the whole future of Terra depended. Victory over Centaurus—or more waiting, bottled up in the Sol System, surrounded by a rotting, hostile Empire, now sinking into ruin and decay, yet still strong.
But Sherikov was the lead research scientist, overseeing the Military Designs Department. The future of Terra depended entirely on Designs. It was either victory over Centaurus or more waiting, trapped in the Sol System, surrounded by a decaying, hostile Empire that was sinking into ruin but still powerful.
Reinhart got quickly to his feet and left the office. He hurried down the hall and out of the Council building.
Reinhart quickly got up and left the office. He rushed down the hall and out of the Council building.
A few minutes later he was heading across the mid-morning sky in his highspeed cruiser, toward the Asiatic land-mass, the vast Ural mountain range. Toward the Military Designs labs.
A few minutes later, he was speeding across the mid-morning sky in his high-speed cruiser, heading toward the Asian landmass, the massive Ural mountain range. Toward the Military Designs labs.
Sherikov met him at the entrance. “Look here, Reinhart. Don’t think you’re going to order me around. I’m not going to—”
Sherikov met him at the entrance. “Listen up, Reinhart. Don’t think you can boss me around. I’m not going to—”
“Take it easy.” Reinhart fell into step beside the bigger man. They passed through the check and into the auxiliary labs. “No immediate coercion will be exerted over you or your staff. You’re free to continue your work as you see fit—for the present. Let’s get this straight. My concern is to integrate your work with our total social needs. As long as your work is sufficiently productive—”
“Take it easy.” Reinhart walked alongside the bigger man. They went through the check and entered the auxiliary labs. “No immediate pressure will be put on you or your team. You’re free to keep working as you wish—for now. Let’s be clear. My goal is to align your work with our overall social needs. As long as your work is productive enough—”
Reinhart stopped in his tracks.
Reinhart froze in place.
“Pretty, isn’t he?” Sherikov said ironically.
“Good-looking, isn’t he?” Sherikov said sarcastically.
“What the hell is it?
"What the heck is it?"
“Icarus, we call him. Remember the Greek myth? The legend of Icarus. Icarus flew…. This Icarus is going to fly, one of these days.” Sherikov shrugged. “You can examine him, if you want. I suppose this is what you came here to see.”
“Icarus, that’s what we call him. Remember the Greek myth? The story of Icarus. Icarus flew…. This Icarus is going to fly, one of these days.” Sherikov shrugged. “You can look him over, if you want. I guess this is what you came here to see.”
“How does he look?”
“How does he look now?”
Rising up in the center of the chamber was a squat metal cylinder, a great ugly cone of dark gray. Technicians circled around it, wiring up the exposed relay banks. Reinhart caught a glimpse of endless tubes and filaments, a maze of wires and terminals and parts criss-crossing each other, layer on layer.
Rising up in the center of the chamber was a short, thick metal cylinder, a big, unattractive cone of dark gray. Technicians were moving around it, connecting the exposed relay banks. Reinhart caught a glimpse of endless tubes and filaments, a tangled web of wires, terminals, and components overlapping each other, layer upon layer.
“What is it?” Reinhart perched on the edge of a workbench, leaning his big shoulders against the wall. “An idea of Jamison Hedge—the same man who developed our instantaneous interstellar vidcasts forty years ago. He was trying to find a method of faster than light travel when he was killed, destroyed along with most of his work. After that ftl research was abandoned. It looked as if there were no future in it.”
“What is it?” Reinhart sat on the edge of a workbench, leaning his broad shoulders against the wall. “An idea from Jamison Hedge—the same guy who created our instant interstellar vidcasts forty years ago. He was working on a way to travel faster than light when he was killed, losing most of his research. After that, ftl research was dropped. It seemed like there was no future in it.”
“Wasn’t it shown that nothing could travel faster than light?”
“Wasn't it shown that nothing could move faster than light?”
“The interstellar vidcasts do! No, Hedge developed a valid ftl drive. He managed to propel an object at fifty times the speed of light. But as the object gained speed, its length began to diminish and its mass increased. This was in line with familiar twentieth-century concepts of mass-energy transformation. We conjectured that as Hedge’s object gained velocity it would continue to lose length and gain mass until its length became nil and its mass infinite. Nobody can imagine such an object.”
“The interstellar vidcasts do! No, Hedge developed a valid ftl drive. He managed to propel an object at fifty times the speed of light. But as the object accelerated, its length started to shrink and its mass increased. This was consistent with familiar concepts from the twentieth century about mass-energy transformation. We speculated that as Hedge’s object picked up speed, it would keep losing length and gaining mass until its length became zero and its mass infinite. Nobody can picture such an object.”
“Go on.”
"Continue."
“But what actually occurred is this. Hedge’s object continued to lose length and gain mass until it reached the theoretical limit of velocity, the speed of light. At that point the object, still gaining speed, simply ceased to exist. Having no length, it ceased to occupy space. It disappeared. However, the object had not been destroyed. It continued on its way, gaining momentum each moment, moving in an arc across the galaxy, away from the Sol system. Hedge’s object entered some other realm of being, beyond our powers of conception. The next phase of Hedge’s experiment consisted in a search for some way to slow the ftl object down, back to a sub-ftl speed, hence back into our universe. This counterprinciple was eventually worked out.”
“But here’s what actually happened. Hedge’s object kept losing length and gaining mass until it hit the theoretical limit of speed, the speed of light. At that point, even as it continued to speed up, the object simply stopped existing. With no length, it no longer occupied space. It vanished. However, the object hadn’t been destroyed. It continued moving forward, gaining momentum with each moment, traveling in an arc across the galaxy, away from the Sol system. Hedge’s object entered some other realm of existence, beyond what we can imagine. The next phase of Hedge’s experiment involved finding a way to slow down the ftl object, bringing it back to a sub-ftl speed, hence back into our universe. This counterprinciple was eventually figured out.”
“With what result?”
“With what outcome?”
“The death of Hedge and destruction of most of his equipment. His experimental object, in re-entering the space-time universe, came into being in space already occupied by matter. Possessing an incredible mass, just below infinity level, Hedge’s object exploded in a titanic cataclysm. It was obvious that no space travel was possible with such a drive. Virtually all space contains some matter. To re-enter space would bring automatic destruction. Hedge had found his ftl drive and his counterprinciple, but no one before this has been able to put them to any use.”
“The death of Hedge and the destruction of most of his equipment. His experimental object, when re-entering the space-time universe, materialized in space that was already occupied by matter. With an incredible mass, just below infinity level, Hedge’s object exploded in a massive cataclysm. It was clear that no space travel was feasible with such a drive. Almost all of space contains some matter. Re-entering space would result in automatic destruction. Hedge had discovered his FTL drive and his counterprinciple, but no one before this had been able to put them to any use.”
Reinhart walked over toward the great metal cylinder. Sherikov jumped down and followed him. “I don’t get it,” Reinhart said. “You said the principle is no good for space travel.”
Reinhart walked over to the huge metal cylinder. Sherikov jumped down and followed him. “I don’t understand,” Reinhart said. “You claimed the principle isn’t useful for space travel.”
“That’s right.”
"Exactly."
“What’s this for, then? If the ship explodes as soon as it returns to our universe—”
“What’s this for, then? If the ship blows up as soon as it comes back to our universe—”
“This is not a ship.” Sherikov grinned slyly. “Icarus is the first practical application of Hedge’s principles. Icarus is a bomb.”
“This isn’t a ship.” Sherikov grinned slyly. “Icarus is the first real use of Hedge’s principles. Icarus is a bomb.”
“So this is our weapon,” Reinhart said. “A bomb. An immense bomb.”
“So this is our weapon,” Reinhart said. “A bomb. An enormous bomb.”
“A bomb, moving at a velocity greater than light. A bomb which will not exist in our universe. The Centaurans won’t be able to detect or stop it. How could they? As soon as it passes the speed of light it will cease to exist—beyond all detection.”
“A bomb, traveling faster than light. A bomb that won’t exist in our universe. The Centaurans won’t be able to see or stop it. How could they? As soon as it surpasses the speed of light, it will disappear—beyond all detection.”
“But—”
“But—”
“Icarus will be launched outside the lab, on the surface. He will align himself with Proxima Centaurus, gaining speed rapidly. By the time he reaches his destination he will be traveling at ftl-100. Icarus will be brought back to this universe within Centaurus itself. The explosion should destroy the star and wash away most of its planets—including their central hub-planet, Armun. There is no way they can halt Icarus, once he has been launched. No defense is possible. Nothing can stop him. It is a real fact.”
“Icarus will be launched outside of the lab, on the surface. He will align himself with Proxima Centauri, gaining speed rapidly. By the time he reaches his destination, he will be traveling at ftl-100. Icarus will be brought back to this universe within Centaurus itself. The explosion should destroy the star and wipe out most of its planets—including their central hub-planet, Armun. Once Icarus has been launched, there’s no way to stop him. No defense is possible. Nothing can halt him. It’s a fact.”
“When will he be ready?”
“When will he be set?”
Sherikov’s eyes flickered. “Soon.”
Sherikov’s eyes shifted. “Soon.”
“Exactly how soon?”
“How soon is soon?”
The big Pole hesitated. “As a matter of fact, there’s only one thing holding us back.”
The big Pole hesitated. “Actually, there’s just one thing keeping us from moving forward.”
Sherikov led Reinhart around to the other side of the lab. He pushed a lab guard out of the way.
Sherikov guided Reinhart to the other side of the lab. He shoved a lab guard aside.
“See this?” He tapped a round globe, open at one end, the size of a grapefruit. “This is holding us up.”
“See this?” He tapped a round globe, open at one end, the size of a grapefruit. “This is what’s holding us up.”
“What is it?”
"What's that?"
“The central control turret. This thing brings Icarus back to sub-ftl flight at the correct moment. It must be absolutely accurate. Icarus will be within the star only a matter of a microsecond. If the turret does not function exactly, Icarus will pass out the other side and shoot beyond the Centauran system.”
“The central control turret. This device brings Icarus back to sub-light flight at the right moment. It has to be spot on. Icarus will be inside the star for just a microsecond. If the turret doesn’t work perfectly, Icarus will zip out the other side and shoot past the Centauran system.”
“How near completed is this turret?”
“How close is this turret to being finished?”
Sherikov hedged uncertainly, spreading out his big hands. “Who can say? It must be wired with infinitely minute equipment—microscope grapples and wires invisible to the naked eye.”
Sherikov hesitated, spreading his large hands. “Who knows? It must be set up with incredibly tiny equipment—microscope grips and wires that you can't see with the naked eye.”
“Can you name any completion date?”
“Can you provide a completion date?”
Sherikov reached into his coat and brought out a manila folder. “I’ve drawn up the data for the SRB machines, giving a date of completion. You can go ahead and feed it. I entered ten days as the maximum period. The machines can work from that.”
Sherikov reached into his coat and pulled out a manila folder. “I’ve put together the data for the SRB machines, including a completion date. You can go ahead and input it. I set the maximum period to ten days. The machines can operate based on that.”
Reinhart accepted the folder cautiously. “You’re sure about the date? I’m not convinced I can trust you, Sherikov.”
Reinhart took the folder carefully. “Are you sure about the date? I’m not sure I can trust you, Sherikov.”
Sherikov’s features darkened. “You’ll have to take a chance, Commissioner. I don’t trust you any more than you trust me. I know how much you’d like an excuse to get me out of here and one of your puppets in.”
Sherikov's expression grew serious. "You'll have to take a chance, Commissioner. I don't trust you any more than you trust me. I know how much you'd love an excuse to get me out of here and replace me with one of your puppets."
Reinhart studied the huge scientist thoughtfully. Sherikov was going to be a hard nut to crack. Designs was responsible to Security, not the Council. Sherikov was losing ground—but he was still a potential danger. Stubborn, individualistic, refusing to subordinate his welfare to the general good.
Reinhart studied the massive scientist thoughtfully. Sherikov was going to be a tough challenge. Designs reported to Security, not the Council. Sherikov was losing influence—but he was still a potential threat. Stubborn, independent, refusing to put his own well-being above the greater good.
“All right.” Reinhart put the folder slowly away in his coat. “I’ll feed it. But you better be able to come through. There can’t be any slip-ups. Too much hangs on the next few days.”
“All right.” Reinhart carefully put the folder away in his coat. “I’ll handle it. But you better be able to deliver. There can't be any mistakes. Too much relies on the next few days.”
“If the odds change in our favor are you going to give the mobilization order?”
“If the odds shift in our favor, will you give the mobilization order?”
“Yes,” Reinhart stated. “I’ll give the order the moment I see the odds change.”
“Yes,” Reinhart said. “I’ll give the order as soon as I see the odds shift.”
Standing in front of the machines, Reinhart waited nervously for the results. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. The day was warm, a pleasant May afternoon. Outside the building the daily life of the planet went on as usual.
Standing in front of the machines, Reinhart waited anxiously for the results. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The day was warm, a nice May afternoon. Outside the building, the normal rhythm of life on the planet continued as usual.
As usual? Not exactly. The feeling was in the air, an expanding excitement growing every day. Terra had waited a long time. The attack on Proxima Centaurus had to come—and the sooner the better. The ancient Centauran Empire hemmed in Terra, bottled the human race up in its one system. A vast, suffocating net draped across the heavens, cutting Terra off from the bright diamonds beyond…. And it had to end.
As usual? Not really. There was a buzz in the air, an excitement building day by day. Terra had waited a long time. The attack on Proxima Centaurus was inevitable—and the sooner it happened, the better. The old Centauran Empire surrounded Terra, trapping humanity in its own system. A huge, suffocating net stretched across the sky, isolating Terra from the bright stars beyond... And it had to end.
The new ratio appeared.
The new ratio showed up.
Reinhart gasped. 7-6. Toward Terra!
Reinhart gasped. 7-6. Towards Terra!
Within five minutes the emergency mobilization alert had been flashed to all Government departments. The Council and President Duffe had been called to immediate session. Everything was happening fast.
Within five minutes, the emergency mobilization alert had been sent to all government departments. The Council and President Duffe had been summoned for an immediate session. Everything was happening quickly.
But there was no doubt. 7-6. In Terra’s favor. Reinhart hurried frantically to get his papers in order, in time for the Council session.
But there was no doubt. 7-6. In Terra’s favor. Reinhart hurried frantically to get his papers in order, in time for the Council session.
At histo-research the message plate was quickly pulled from the confidential slot and rushed across the central lab to the chief official.
At histo-research, the message plate was quickly taken out of the confidential slot and rushed across the main lab to the chief official.
“Look at this!” Fredman dropped the plate on his superior’s desk. “Look at it!”
“Check this out!” Fredman dropped the plate on his boss’s desk. “Look at it!”
Harper picked up the plate, scanning it rapidly. “Sounds like the real thing. I didn’t think we’d live to see it.”
Harper grabbed the plate, quickly examining it. “Sounds like the real deal. I didn’t think we’d ever see it.”
Fredman left the room, hurrying down the hall. He entered the time bubble office. “Where’s the bubble?” he demanded, looking around.
Fredman left the room, rushing down the hall. He walked into the time bubble office. “Where’s the bubble?” he asked, glancing around.
One of the technicians looked slowly up. “Back about two hundred years. We’re coming up with interesting data on the War of 1914. According to material the bubble has already brought up—”
One of the technicians looked up slowly. “Going back about two hundred years. We’re getting some interesting data on the War of 1914. Based on the material the bubble has already brought up—”
“Cut it. We’re through with routine work. Get the bubble back to the present. From now on all equipment has to be free for Military work.”
“Cut it. We're done with routine work. Bring the bubble back to the present. From now on, all equipment needs to be available for military work.”
“But—the bubble is regulated automatically.”
"But—the bubble is automatically regulated."
“You can bring it back manually.”
“You can bring it back manually.”
“It’s risky.” The technician hedged. “If the emergency requires it, I suppose we could take a chance and cut the automatic.”
“It’s risky,” the technician said cautiously. “If the emergency calls for it, I guess we could take a chance and disable the automatic.”
“The emergency requires everything,” Fredman said feelingly.
“The emergency requires everything,” Fredman said with emotion.
“But the odds might change back,” Margaret Duffe, President of the Council, said nervously. “Any minute they can revert.”
“But the odds could change back,” Margaret Duffe, President of the Council, said anxiously. “They could flip at any moment.”
“This is our chance!” Reinhart snapped, his temper rising. “What the hell’s the matter with you? We’ve waited years for this.”
“This is our chance!” Reinhart snapped, his temper flaring. “What’s wrong with you? We’ve waited years for this.”
The Council buzzed with excitement. Margaret Duffe hesitated uncertainly, her blue eyes clouded with worry. “I realize the opportunity is here. At least, statistically. But the new odds have just appeared. How do we know they’ll last? They stand on the basis of a single weapon.”
The Council was buzzing with excitement. Margaret Duffe hesitated, unsure, her blue eyes filled with worry. “I know this opportunity is here. At least, according to the statistics. But the new odds have just come out. How do we know they’ll hold up? They rely on just one weapon.”
“You’re wrong. You don’t grasp the situation.” Reinhart held himself in check with great effort. “Sherikov’s weapon tipped the ratio in our favor. But the odds have been moving in our direction for months. It was only a question of time. The new balance was inevitable, sooner or later. It’s not just Sherikov. He’s only one factor in this. It’s all nine planets of the Sol System—not a single man.”
“You're mistaken. You don't understand the situation.” Reinhart managed to keep his composure with great effort. “Sherikov's weapon shifted the odds in our favor. But the chances have been changing in our direction for months. It was just a matter of time. The new balance was bound to happen, sooner or later. It's not just Sherikov. He's only one part of this. It's all nine planets of the Sol System—not just one person.”
One of the Councilmen stood up. “The President must be aware the entire planet is eager to end this waiting. All our activities for the past eighty years have been directed toward—”
One of the council members stood up. “The President should know that the whole world is eager to put an end to this waiting. Everything we've done for the past eighty years has been aimed at—”
Reinhart moved close to the slender President of the Council. “If you don’t approve the war, there probably will be mass rioting. Public reaction will be strong. Damn strong. And you know it.”
Reinhart stepped closer to the slim President of the Council. “If you don’t approve the war, there’s likely going to be mass rioting. The public’s reaction will be intense. Really intense. And you know it.”
Margaret Duffe shot him a cold glance. “You sent out the emergency order to force my hand. You were fully aware of what you were doing. You knew once the order was out there’d be no stopping things.”
Margaret Duffe gave him a cold look. “You sent out the emergency order to push me into action. You knew exactly what you were doing. You understood that once the order was out, there’d be no turning back.”
A murmur rushed through the Council, gaining volume. “We have to approve the war!… We’re committed!… It’s too late to turn back!”
A murmur spread through the Council, growing louder. “We have to approve the war!… We’re in this now!… It’s too late to back out!”
Shouts, angry voices, insistent waves of sound lapped around Margaret Duffe. “I’m as much for the war as anybody,” she said sharply. “I’m only urging moderation. An inter-system war is a big thing. We’re going to war because a machine says we have a statistical chance of winning.”
Shouts, angry voices, constant waves of sound surrounded Margaret Duffe. “I’m as much for the war as anyone,” she said sharply. “I’m just advocating for moderation. A war between systems is a huge deal. We're going to war because a machine claims we have a statistical chance of winning.”
“There’s no use starting the war unless we can win it,” Reinhart said. “The SRB machines tell us whether we can win.”
“There’s no point in starting the war unless we can win it,” Reinhart said. “The SRB machines tell us if we can win.”
“They tell us our chance of winning. They don’t guarantee anything.”
“They tell us our chance of winning. They don’t promise anything.”
“What more can we ask, beside a good chance of winning?”
"What more can we ask for, besides a good shot at winning?"
Margaret Duffe clamped her jaw together tightly. “All right. I hear all the clamor. I won’t stand in the way of Council approval. The vote can go ahead.” Her cold, alert eyes appraised Reinhart. “Especially since the emergency order has already been sent out to all Government departments.”
Margaret Duffe clenched her jaw. “Fine. I hear the noise. I won't block the Council's approval. The vote can move forward.” Her sharp, watchful eyes assessed Reinhart. “Especially since the emergency order has already been sent to all Government departments.”
“Good.” Reinhart stepped away with relief. “Then it’s settled. We can finally go ahead with full mobilization.”
“Good.” Reinhart stepped back, feeling relieved. “Then it’s settled. We can finally move forward with full mobilization.”
Mobilization proceeded rapidly. The next forty-eight hours were alive with activity.
Mobilization moved quickly. The next forty-eight hours were filled with activity.
Reinhart attended a policy-level Military briefing in the Council rooms, conducted by Fleet Commander Carleton.
Reinhart attended a high-level military briefing in the council rooms, led by Fleet Commander Carleton.
“You can see our strategy,” Carleton said. He traced a diagram on the blackboard with a wave of his hand. “Sherikov states it’ll take eight more days to complete the ftl bomb. During that time the fleet we have near the Centauran system will take up positions. As the bomb goes off the fleet will begin operations against the remaining Centauran ships. Many will no doubt survive the blast, but with Armun gone we should be able to handle them.”
“You can see our strategy,” Carleton said. He drew a diagram on the blackboard with a wave of his hand. “Sherikov says it’ll take eight more days to finish the FTL bomb. During that time, the fleet we have near the Centauran system will get into position. As the bomb goes off, the fleet will start operations against the remaining Centauran ships. Many will likely survive the blast, but with Armun gone, we should be able to handle them.”
Reinhart took Commander Carleton’s place. “I can report on the economic situation. Every factory on Terra is converted to arms production. With Armun out of the way we should be able to promote mass insurrection among the Centauran colonies. An inter-system Empire is hard to maintain, even with ships that approach light speed. Local war-lords should pop up all over the place. We want to have weapons available for them and ships starting now to reach them in time. Eventually we hope to provide a unifying principle around which the colonies can all collect. Our interest is more economic than political. They can have any kind of government they want, as long as they act as supply areas for us. As our eight system planets act now.”
Reinhart took over for Commander Carleton. “I can give you an update on the economic situation. Every factory on Terra has switched to producing weapons. Now that Armun is out of the picture, we should be able to encourage widespread rebellion in the Centauran colonies. Maintaining an inter-system Empire is tough, even with ships that can almost travel at the speed of light. Local warlords should start emerging everywhere. We need to have weapons ready for them and ships deploying now to reach them in time. Ultimately, we hope to provide a unifying principle that the colonies can rally around. Our focus is more on economic interests than political ones. They can establish whatever type of government they want, as long as they function as supply bases for us, just like our eight system planets do now.”
Carleton resumed his report. “Once the Centauran fleet has been scattered we can begin the crucial stage of the war. The landing of men and supplies from the ships we have waiting in all key areas throughout the Centauran system. In this stage—”
Carleton continued with his report. “Once we’ve scattered the Centauran fleet, we can enter the critical phase of the war. This involves landing troops and supplies from the ships we have on standby in all the key areas across the Centauran system. In this phase—”
Reinhart moved away. It was hard to believe only two days had passed since the mobilization order had been sent out. The whole system was alive, functioning with feverish activity. Countless problems were being solved—but much remained.
Reinhart moved away. It was hard to believe that only two days had gone by since the mobilization order was issued. The whole system was buzzing, operating with intense energy. Countless issues were being addressed—but there was still a lot to do.
He entered the lift and ascended to the SRB room, curious to see if there had been any change in the machines’ reading. He found it the same. So far so good. Did the Centaurans know about Icarus? No doubt; but there wasn’t anything they could do about it. At least, not in eight days.
He got into the elevator and rode up to the SRB room, eager to see if there had been any updates on the machines’ readings. It was the same as before. So far, so good. Did the Centaurans know about Icarus? No question; but there was nothing they could do about it. At least, not in eight days.
Kaplan came over to Reinhart, sorting a new batch of data that had come in. The lab organizer searched through his data. “An amusing item came in. It might interest you.” He handed a message plate to Reinhart.
Kaplan approached Reinhart, going through a fresh batch of data that had just arrived. The lab organizer sifted through his information. “I found something interesting. You might want to check it out.” He handed a message plate to Reinhart.
It was from histo-research:
It was from history research:
May 9, 2136
This is to report that in bringing the research time bubble up to the present the manual return was used for the first time. Therefore a clean break was not made, and a quantity of material from the past was brought forward. This material included an individual from the early twentieth century who escaped from the lab immediately. He has not yet been taken into protective custody. Histo-research regrets this incident, but attributes it to the emergency.
E. Fredman
May 9, 2136
This is to report that when bringing the research time bubble up to the present, the manual return was used for the first time. As a result, a clean break was not achieved, and some material from the past was brought forward. This material included an individual from the early twentieth century who immediately escaped from the lab. He has not yet been taken into protective custody. Histo-research regrets this incident but blames it on the emergency.
E. Fredman
Reinhart handed the plate back to Kaplan. “Interesting. A man from the past—hauled into the middle of the biggest war the universe has seen.”
Reinhart handed the plate back to Kaplan. "Interesting. A guy from the past—pulled into the middle of the biggest war the universe has ever seen."
“Strange things happen. I wonder what the machines will think.”
“Strange things happen. I wonder what the machines will think.”
“Hard to say. Probably nothing.” Reinhart left the room and hurried along the corridor to his own office.
"Hard to say. Probably nothing." Reinhart left the room and hurried down the hallway to his office.
As soon as he was inside he called Sherikov on the vidscreen, using the confidential line.
As soon as he got inside, he called Sherikov on the video screen using the secure line.
The Pole’s heavy features appeared. “Good day, Commissioner. How’s the war effort?”
The Pole's strong features showed up. “Hey, Commissioner. How's the war going?”
“Fine. How’s the turret wiring proceeding?”
“Fine. How's the turret wiring going?”
A faint frown flickered across Sherikov’s face. “As a matter of fact, Commissioner—”
A slight frown passed over Sherikov’s face. “Actually, Commissioner—”
“What’s the matter?” Reinhart said sharply.
"What's up?" Reinhart asked sharply.
Sherikov floundered. “You know how these things are. I’ve taken my crew off it and tried robot workers. They have greater dexterity, but they can’t make decisions. This calls for more than mere dexterity. This calls for—” He searched for the word. “—for an artist.”
Sherikov struggled. “You know how it is. I’ve taken my team off it and tried using robots. They’re more skilled, but they can’t make decisions. This needs more than just skill. This needs—” He searched for the right word. “—an artist.”
Reinhart’s face hardened. “Listen, Sherikov. You have eight days left to complete the bomb. The data given to the SRB machines contained that information. The 7-6 ratio is based on that estimate. If you don’t come through—”
Reinhart's expression stiffened. "Listen, Sherikov. You have eight days left to finish the bomb. The data provided to the SRB machines included that information. The 7-6 ratio is based on that estimate. If you don't deliver—"
Sherikov twisted in embarrassment. “Don’t get excited, Commissioner. We’ll complete it.”
Sherikov turned red with embarrassment. “Don’t get worked up, Commissioner. We’ll finish it.”
“I hope so. Call me as soon as it’s done.” Reinhart snapped off the connection. If Sherikov let them down he’d have him taken out and shot. The whole war depended on the ftl bomb.
“I hope so. Call me as soon as it’s done.” Reinhart ended the call abruptly. If Sherikov failed them, he’d make sure he was eliminated. The entire war hinged on the ftl bomb.
The vidscreen glowed again. Reinhart snapped it on. Kaplan’s face formed on it. The lab organizer’s face was pale and frozen. “Commissioner, you better come up to the SRB office. Something’s happened.”
The vidscreen lit up again. Reinhart turned it on. Kaplan's face appeared on it. The lab organizer looked pale and frozen. "Commissioner, you need to come up to the SRB office. Something's happened."
“What is it?”
"What's going on?"
“I’ll show you.”
"I'll show you."
Alarmed, Reinhart hurried out of his office and down the corridor. He found Kaplan standing in front of the SRB machines. “What’s the story?” Reinhart demanded. He glanced down at the reading. It was unchanged.
Alarmed, Reinhart rushed out of his office and down the hallway. He found Kaplan standing in front of the SRB machines. “What’s going on?” Reinhart demanded. He looked down at the reading. It was the same.
Kaplan held up a message plate nervously. “A moment ago I fed this into the machines. After I saw the results I quickly removed it. It’s that item I showed you. From histo-research. About the man from the past.”
Kaplan nervously held up a message plate. “A moment ago, I fed this into the machines. After I saw the results, I quickly removed it. It’s that item I showed you. From histo-research. About the guy from the past.”
“What happened when you fed it?”
“What happened when you fed it?”
Kaplan swallowed unhappily. “I’ll show you. I’ll do it again. Exactly as before.” He fed the plate into a moving intake belt. “Watch the visible figures,” Kaplan muttered.
Kaplan swallowed unhappily. “I’ll show you. I’ll do it again. Exactly like before.” He placed the plate onto the moving intake belt. “Keep an eye on the visible figures,” Kaplan muttered.
Reinhart watched, tense and rigid. For a moment nothing happened. 7-6 continued to show. Then—
Reinhart watched, tense and rigid. For a moment, nothing happened. 7-6 continued to display. Then—
The figures disappeared. The machines faltered. New figures showed briefly. 4-24 for Centaurus. Reinhart gasped, suddenly sick with apprehension. But the figures vanished. New figures appeared. 16-38 for Centaurus. Then 48-86. 79-15 in Terra’s favor. Then nothing. The machines whirred, but nothing happened.
The figures disappeared. The machines hesitated. New figures flashed briefly. 4-24 for Centaurus. Reinhart gasped, suddenly feeling a wave of anxiety. But the figures vanished. New numbers showed up. 16-38 for Centaurus. Then 48-86. 79-15 in Terra’s favor. Then nothing. The machines hummed, but nothing happened.
Nothing at all. No figures. Only a blank.
Nothing at all. No numbers. Just emptiness.
“What’s it mean?” Reinhart muttered, dazed.
“What does it mean?” Reinhart muttered, confused.
“It’s fantastic. We didn’t think this could—”
“It’s amazing. We didn’t think this could—”
“What’s happened?”
“What happened?”
“The machines aren’t able to handle the item. No reading can come. It’s data they can’t integrate. They can’t use it for prediction material, and it throws off all their other figures.”
“The machines can’t process the item. They can’t get any readings. It’s data they can’t combine. They can’t use it for predictive analysis, and it messes up all their other figures.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“It’s—it’s a variable.” Kaplan was shaking, white-lipped and pale. “Something from which no inference can be made. The man from the past. The machines can’t deal with him. The variable man!”
“It’s—it’s a variable.” Kaplan was trembling, lips pale and ashen. “Something that can't be predicted. The man from the past. The machines can’t handle him. The variable man!”
II
Thomas Cole was sharpening a knife with his whetstone when the tornado hit.
Thomas Cole was sharpening a knife with his whetstone when the tornado struck.
The knife belonged to the lady in the big green house. Every time Cole came by with his Fixit cart the lady had something to be sharpened. Once in awhile she gave him a cup of coffee, hot black coffee from an old bent pot. He liked that fine; he enjoyed good coffee.
The knife belonged to the woman in the big green house. Every time Cole came by with his Fixit cart, the woman had something that needed sharpening. Occasionally, she would give him a cup of coffee, hot black coffee from an old bent pot. He liked that; he enjoyed good coffee.
The day was drizzly and overcast. Business had been bad. An automobile had scared his two horses. On bad days less people were outside and he had to get down from the cart and go to ring doorbells.
The day was rainy and gray. Business had been slow. A car had startled his two horses. On gloomy days, fewer people were outside, and he had to get out of the cart and go ring doorbells.
But the man in the yellow house had given him a dollar for fixing his electric refrigerator. Nobody else had been able to fix it, not even the factory man. The dollar would go a long way. A dollar was a lot.
But the guy in the yellow house had given him a dollar for fixing his electric refrigerator. No one else had been able to fix it, not even the factory technician. That dollar would stretch a long way. A dollar was a lot.
He knew it was a tornado even before it hit him. Everything was silent. He was bent over his whetstone, the reins between his knees, absorbed in his work.
He knew it was a tornado even before it hit him. Everything was silent. He was bent over his whetstone, the reins between his knees, focused on his work.
He had done a good job on the knife; he was almost finished. He spat on the blade and was holding it up to see—and then the tornado came.
He had done a great job on the knife; he was almost done. He spat on the blade and was holding it up to look at it—then the tornado hit.
All at once it was there, completely around him. Nothing but grayness. He and the cart and horses seemed to be in a calm spot in the center of the tornado. They were moving in a great silence, gray mist everywhere.
All of a sudden, it was everywhere around him. Nothing but gray. He, the cart, and the horses seemed to be in a calm place at the eye of the storm. They were moving through a deep silence, with gray mist all around.
And while he was wondering what to do, and how to get the lady’s knife back to her, all at once there was a bump and the tornado tipped him over, sprawled out on the ground. The horses screamed in fear, struggling to pick themselves up. Cole got quickly to his feet.
And while he was trying to figure out what to do and how to return the lady's knife to her, suddenly there was a jolt and the tornado knocked him over, leaving him sprawled on the ground. The horses cried out in fear, struggling to get back up. Cole quickly got to his feet.
Where was he?
Where is he?
The grayness was gone. White walls stuck up on all sides. A deep light gleamed down, not daylight but something like it. The team was pulling the cart on its side, dragging it along, tools and equipment falling out. Cole righted the cart, leaping up onto the seat.
The grayness was gone. White walls rose up on all sides. A bright light shone down, not sunlight but something similar. The team was pulling the cart on its side, dragging it along, with tools and equipment falling out. Cole fixed the cart, jumping up onto the seat.
And for the first time saw the people.
And for the first time, saw the people.
Men, with astonished white faces, in some sort of uniforms. Shouts, noise and confusion. And a feeling of danger!
Men with shocked, pale faces, wearing some kind of uniforms. Shouts, noise, and chaos. And a sense of danger!
Cole headed the team toward the door. Hoofs thundered steel against steel as they pounded through the doorway, scattering the astonished men in all directions. He was out in a wide hall. A building, like a hospital.
Cole led the team to the door. Hooves pounded against metal as they burst through the doorway, scattering the stunned men in all directions. He stepped into a wide hallway. The building resembled a hospital.
The hall divided. More men were coming, spilling from all sides.
The hall split apart. More men were arriving, pouring in from every direction.
Shouting and milling in excitement, like white ants. Something cut past him, a beam of dark violet. It seared off a corner of the cart, leaving the wood smoking.
Shouting and bustling with excitement, like white ants. Something shot past him, a beam of dark violet. It scorched a corner of the cart, leaving the wood smoldering.
Cole felt fear. He kicked at the terrified horses. They reached a big door, crashing wildly against it. The door gave—and they were outside, bright sunlight blinking down on them. For a sickening second the cart tilted, almost turning over. Then the horses gained speed, racing across an open field, toward a distant line of green, Cole holding tightly to the reins.
Cole felt fear. He kicked at the scared horses. They reached a big door, crashing wildly against it. The door gave way—and they were outside, bright sunlight streaming down on them. For a nauseating second, the cart tilted, almost tipping over. Then the horses picked up speed, racing across an open field, toward a distant line of green, with Cole holding tightly to the reins.
Behind him the little white-faced men had come out and were standing in a group, gesturing frantically. He could hear their faint shrill shouts.
Behind him, the little white-faced men had come out and were standing in a group, gesturing wildly. He could hear their faint, high-pitched shouts.
The woods were artificial. Some kind of park. But the park was wild and overgrown. A dense jungle of twisted plants. Everything growing in confusion.
The woods were fake. Some sort of park. But the park was wild and overgrown. A thick jungle of tangled plants. Everything grew in chaos.
The park was empty. No one was there. By the position of the sun he could tell it was either early morning or late afternoon. The smell of the flowers and grass, the dampness of the leaves, indicated morning. It had been late afternoon when the tornado had picked him up. And the sky had been overcast and cloudy.
The park was empty. No one was there. By the position of the sun, he could tell it was either early morning or late afternoon. The scent of the flowers and grass, along with the dampness of the leaves, suggested it was morning. It had been late afternoon when the tornado had lifted him up. The sky had been overcast and cloudy.
Cole considered. Clearly, he had been carried a long way. The hospital, the men with white faces, the odd lighting, the accented words he had caught—everything indicated he was no longer in Nebraska—maybe not even in the United States.
Cole thought about it. It was obvious he had been taken a long way from home. The hospital, the men with pale faces, the weird lighting, the accented words he had heard—everything suggested he was no longer in Nebraska—maybe not even in the United States.
Some of his tools had fallen out and gotten lost along the way. Cole collected everything that remained, sorting them, running his fingers over each tool with affection. Some of the little chisels and wood gouges were gone. The bit box had opened, and most of the smaller bits had been lost. He gathered up those that remained and replaced them tenderly in the box. He took a key-hole saw down, and with an oil rag wiped it carefully and replaced it.
Some of his tools had fallen out and gotten lost along the way. Cole gathered everything that was left, sorting them and running his fingers over each tool with affection. Some of the small chisels and wood gouges were gone. The bit box had opened, and most of the smaller bits were missing. He collected the ones that were still there and carefully put them back in the box. He took down a keyhole saw, wiped it clean with an oil rag, and put it back in its place.
Above the cart the sun rose slowly in the sky. Cole peered up, his horny hand over his eyes. A big man, stoop-shouldered, his chin gray and stubbled. His clothes wrinkled and dirty. But his eyes were clear, a pale blue, and his hands were finely made.
Above the cart, the sun rose slowly in the sky. Cole looked up, his rough hand shielding his eyes. He was a big man, hunched over, with a gray, stubbly chin. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty. But his eyes were bright, a light blue, and his hands were well-shaped.
He could not stay in the park. They had seen him ride that way; they would be looking for him.
He couldn't stay in the park. They had seen him ride that way; they would be searching for him.
Far above something shot rapidly across the sky. A tiny black dot moving with incredible haste. A second dot followed. The two dots were gone almost before he saw them. They were utterly silent.
Far above, something zipped quickly across the sky. A small black dot moving at an amazing speed. A second dot followed. The two dots disappeared almost before he noticed them. They were completely silent.
Cole frowned, perturbed. The dots made him uneasy. He would have to keep moving—and looking for food. His stomach was already beginning to rumble and groan.
Cole frowned, feeling uneasy. The dots were making him anxious. He needed to keep moving—and searching for food. His stomach was already starting to grumble and growl.
Work. There was plenty he could do: gardening, sharpening, grinding, repair work on machines and clocks, fixing all kinds of household things. Even painting and odd jobs and carpentry and chores.
Work. There was a lot he could do: gardening, sharpening, grinding, repairing machines and clocks, fixing all sorts of household items. Even painting, doing odd jobs, carpentry, and chores.
He could do anything. Anything people wanted done. For a meal and pocket money.
He could do anything. Anything people needed done. For a meal and some extra cash.
Reinhart hurried, racing his cruiser at top speed, followed by a second ship, a military escort. The ground sped by below him, a blur of gray and green.
Reinhart rushed, speeding his cruiser at full throttle, trailed by a second ship, a military escort. The ground flew by beneath him, a blur of gray and green.
The remains of New York lay spread out, a twisted, blunted ruin overgrown with weeds and grass. The great atomic wars of the twentieth century had turned virtually the whole seaboard area into an endless waste of slag.
The ruins of New York were spread out, a twisted, damaged wreck covered in weeds and grass. The massive atomic wars of the twentieth century had turned almost the entire coastal region into an endless wasteland of debris.
Slag and weeds below him. And then the sudden tangle that had been Central Park.
Slag and weeds beneath him. And then the sudden mess that used to be Central Park.
Histo-research came into sight. Reinhart swooped down, bringing his cruiser to rest at the small supply field behind the main buildings.
Histo-research came into view. Reinhart swooped down, landing his cruiser at the small supply field behind the main buildings.
Harper, the chief official of the department, came quickly over as soon as Reinhart’s ship landed.
Harper, the head of the department, rushed over as soon as Reinhart’s ship arrived.
“Frankly, we don’t understand why you consider this matter important,” Harper said uneasily.
“Honestly, we don’t get why you think this is such a big deal,” Harper said, feeling uncomfortable.
Reinhart shot him a cold glance. “I’ll be the judge of what’s important. Are you the one who gave the order to bring the bubble back manually?”
Reinhart shot him a cold look. “I’ll decide what’s important. Did you give the order to bring the bubble back manually?”
“Fredman gave the actual order. In line with your directive to have all facilities ready for—”
“Fredman gave the actual order. In line with your directive to have all facilities ready for—”
Reinhart headed toward the entrance of the research building. “Where is Fredman?”
Reinhart walked toward the entrance of the research building. “Where’s Fredman?”
“Inside.”
“Inside.”
“I want to see him. Let’s go.”
“I want to see him. Let’s go.”
Fredman met them inside. He greeted Reinhart calmly, showing no emotion. “Sorry to cause you trouble, Commissioner. We were trying to get the station in order for the war. We wanted the bubble back as quickly as possible.” He eyed Reinhart curiously. “No doubt the man and his cart will soon be picked up by your police.”
Fredman met them inside. He greeted Reinhart calmly, showing no emotion. “Sorry to cause you trouble, Commissioner. We were trying to get the station ready for the war. We wanted the bubble back as quickly as possible.” He looked at Reinhart with curiosity. “I’m sure your police will pick up the man and his cart soon.”
“I want to know everything that happened, in exact detail.”
“I want to know everything that happened, in precise detail.”
Fredman shifted uncomfortably. “There’s not much to tell. I gave the order to have the automatic setting canceled and the bubble brought back manually. At the moment the signal reached it, the bubble was passing through the spring of 1913. As it broke loose, it tore off a piece of ground on which this person and his cart were located. The person naturally was brought up to the present, inside the bubble.”
Fredman shifted awkwardly. “There’s not much to say. I instructed them to cancel the automatic setting and bring the bubble back manually. At the moment the signal reached it, the bubble was passing through the spring of 1913. When it broke free, it took a chunk of ground where this person and their cart were situated. Naturally, the person was brought up to the present, inside the bubble.”
“Didn’t any of your instruments tell you the bubble was loaded?”
“Didn’t any of your instruments tell you the bubble was going to burst?”
“We were too excited to take any readings. Half an hour after the manual control was thrown, the bubble materialized in the observation room. It was de-energized before anyone noticed what was inside. We tried to stop him but he drove the cart out into the hall, bowling us out of the way. The horses were in a panic.”
“We were way too excited to take any readings. Half an hour after the manual control was switched on, the bubble appeared in the observation room. It was de-energized before anyone could see what was inside. We tried to stop him, but he pushed the cart out into the hall, knocking us aside. The horses were freaking out.”
“What kind of cart was it?”
“What type of cart was it?”
“There was some kind of sign on it. Painted in black letters on both sides. No one saw what it was.”
“There was some kind of sign on it. Painted in black letters on both sides. No one saw what it was.”
“Go ahead. What happened then?”
"Go ahead. What happened next?"
“Somebody fired a Slem-ray after him, but it missed. The horses carried him out of the building and onto the grounds. By the time we reached the exit the cart was half way to the park.”
“Someone shot a Slem-ray at him, but it missed. The horses took him out of the building and onto the grounds. By the time we got to the exit, the cart was halfway to the park.”
Reinhart reflected. “If he’s still in the park we should have him shortly. But we must be careful.” He was already starting back toward his ship, leaving Fredman behind. Harper fell in beside him.
Reinhart thought for a moment. “If he’s still in the park, we should find him soon. But we need to be cautious.” He was already heading back to his ship, leaving Fredman behind. Harper walked beside him.
Reinhart halted by his ship. He beckoned some Government guards over. “Put the executive staff of this department under arrest. I’ll have them tried on a treason count, later on.” He smiled ironically as Harper’s face blanched sickly pale. “There’s a war going on. You’ll be lucky if you get off alive.”
Reinhart stopped by his ship. He signaled for some government guards to come over. “Arrest the executive staff of this department. I’ll have them tried for treason later.” He smiled sarcastically as Harper’s face went pale. “There’s a war happening. You’ll be lucky if you get out of this alive.”
Reinhart entered his ship and left the surface, rising rapidly into the sky. A second ship followed after him, a military escort. Reinhart flew high above the sea of gray slag, the unrecovered waste area. He passed over a sudden square of green set in the ocean of gray. Reinhart gazed back at it until it was gone.
Reinhart boarded his ship and took off, quickly ascending into the sky. A second ship trailed behind him, acting as a military escort. Reinhart soared high above the sea of gray waste, the area still left untouched. He flew over a sudden patch of green surrounded by the gray ocean. Reinhart looked back at it until it disappeared from view.
Central Park. He could see police ships racing through the sky, ships and transports loaded with troops, heading toward the square of green. On the ground some heavy guns and surface cars rumbled along, lines of black approaching the park from all sides.
Central Park. He could see police ships speeding through the sky, transports filled with troops, heading toward the green expanse. On the ground, heavy artillery and armored vehicles rolled forward, lines of black converging on the park from every direction.
They would have the man soon. But meanwhile, the SRB machines were blank. And on the SRB machines’ readings the whole war depended.
They would have the guy soon. But for now, the SRB machines were blank. And the entire war depended on the readings from the SRB machines.
About noon the cart reached the edge of the park. Cole rested for a moment, allowing the horses time to crop at the thick grass. The silent expanse of slag amazed him. What had happened? Nothing stirred. No buildings, no sign of life. Grass and weeds poked up occasionally through it, breaking the flat surface here and there, but even so, the sight gave him an uneasy chill.
About noon, the cart arrived at the edge of the park. Cole paused for a moment, giving the horses a chance to graze on the thick grass. He was astonished by the silent stretch of slag. What had happened? Nothing moved. No buildings, no signs of life. Grass and weeds occasionally broke through the flat surface, popping up here and there, but even so, the scene sent a shiver down his spine.
Cole drove the cart slowly out onto the slag, studying the sky above him. There was nothing to hide him, now that he was out of the park. The slag was bare and uniform, like the ocean. If he were spotted—
Cole drove the cart slowly out onto the slag, looking up at the sky above him. There was nothing to shield him now that he was outside the park. The slag was bare and uniform, like the ocean. If he were seen—
A horde of tiny black dots raced across the sky, coming rapidly closer. Presently they veered to the right and disappeared. More planes, wingless metal planes. He watched them go, driving slowly on.
A swarm of tiny black dots raced across the sky, coming rapidly closer. They suddenly veered to the right and vanished. More planes, wingless metal planes. He continued to watch them disappear as he drove slowly on.
Half an hour later something appeared ahead. Cole slowed the cart down, peering to see. The slag came to an end. He had reached its limits. Ground appeared, dark soil and grass. Weeds grew everywhere. Ahead of him, beyond the end of the slag, was a line of buildings, houses of some sort. Or sheds.
Half an hour later, something appeared in front of him. Cole slowed down the cart, squinting to see. The slag stopped. He had reached its edge. Ground was visible, dark soil and grass. Weeds grew all over the place. In front of him, beyond the edge of the slag, was a row of buildings, either houses or sheds.
Houses, probably. But not like any he had ever seen.
Houses, most likely. But not like any he had ever seen.
The houses were uniform, all exactly the same. Like little green shells, rows of them, several hundred. There was a little lawn in front of each. Lawn, a path, a front porch, bushes in a meager row around each house. But the houses were all alike and very small.
The houses were identical, all exactly the same. Like little green shells, rows of them, several hundred. There was a small lawn in front of each one. A lawn, a pathway, a front porch, and a few bushes in a sparse row around each house. But the houses were all alike and very small.
Little green shells in precise, even rows. He urged the cart cautiously forward, toward the houses.
Little green shells in neat, even rows. He carefully pushed the cart forward, toward the houses.
No one seemed to be around. He entered a street between two rows of houses, the hoofs of his two horses sounding loudly in the silence. He was in some kind of town. But there were no dogs or children. Everything was neat and silent. Like a model. An exhibit. It made him uncomfortable.
No one seemed to be around. He walked down a street between two rows of houses, the hooves of his two horses echoing in the silence. He found himself in some sort of town. But there were no dogs or kids. Everything was tidy and quiet. Like a model. An exhibit. It made him uneasy.
A young man walking along the pavement gaped at him in wonder. An oddly-dressed youth, in a toga-like cloak that hung down to his knees. A single piece of fabric. And sandals.
A young man walking on the sidewalk stared at him in amazement. An oddly dressed guy, in a toga-like cloak that came down to his knees. Just one piece of fabric. And sandals.
Or what looked like sandals. Both the cloak and the sandals were of some strange half-luminous material. It glowed faintly in the sunlight. Metallic, rather than cloth.
Or what looked like sandals. Both the cloak and the sandals were made of some unusual half-luminous material. They glowed softly in the sunlight. Metallic, rather than fabric.
A woman was watering flowers at the edge of a lawn. She straightened up as his team of horses came near. Her eyes widened in astonishment—and then fear. Her mouth fell open in a soundless O and her sprinkling can slipped from her fingers and rolled silently onto the lawn.
A woman was watering flowers at the edge of the lawn. She stood up as his team of horses approached. Her eyes widened in shock—and then in fear. Her mouth dropped open in a silent O, and her watering can fell from her hands and rolled quietly onto the grass.
Cole blushed and turned his head quickly away. The woman was scarcely dressed! He flicked the reins and urged the horses to hurry.
Cole blushed and quickly turned his head away. The woman was hardly dressed! He snapped the reins and urged the horses to go faster.
Behind him, the woman still stood. He stole a brief, hasty look back—and then shouted hoarsely to his team, ears scarlet. He had seen right. She wore only a pair of translucent shorts. Nothing else. A mere fragment of the same half-luminous material that glowed and sparkled. The rest of her small body was utterly naked.
Behind him, the woman was still standing. He took a quick, nervous glance back—and then shouted hoarsely to his team, his ears red. He had seen correctly. She was wearing only a pair of see-through shorts. Nothing else. Just a small piece of the same glowing material that shimmered and sparkled. The rest of her petite body was completely naked.
He slowed the team down. She had been pretty. Brown hair and eyes, deep red lips. Quite a good figure. Slender waist, downy legs, bare and supple, full breasts—. He clamped the thought furiously off. He had to get to work. Business.
He slowed the team down. She had been attractive. Brown hair and eyes, deep red lips. A nice figure. Slender waist, smooth legs, bare and supple, full breasts—. He quickly shut that thought down. He needed to focus on work. Business.
Cole halted the Fixit cart and leaped down onto the pavement. He selected a house at random and approached it cautiously. The house was attractive. It had a certain simple beauty. But it looked frail—and exactly like the others.
Cole stopped the Fixit cart and jumped down onto the pavement. He picked a house at random and walked towards it carefully. The house was nice. It had a kind of simple beauty. But it looked fragile—and just like all the others.
He stepped up on the porch. There was no bell. He searched for it, running his hand uneasily over the surface of the door. All at once there was a click, a sharp snap on a level with his eyes. Cole glanced up, startled. A lens was vanishing as the door section slid over it. He had been photographed.
He stepped up onto the porch. There wasn’t a doorbell. He looked for one, running his hand awkwardly over the surface of the door. Suddenly, there was a click, a sharp snap at eye level. Cole looked up, startled. A lens disappeared as the door slid over it. He had been photographed.
While he was wondering what it meant, the door swung suddenly open. A man filled up the entrance, a big man in a tan uniform, blocking the way ominously.
While he was trying to figure out what it meant, the door suddenly swung open. A man filled the doorway, a large guy in a tan uniform, blocking the way in a threatening manner.
“What do you want?” the man demanded.
“What do you want?” the man asked.
“I’m looking for work,” Cole murmured. “Any kind of work. I can do anything, fix any kind of thing. I repair broken objects. Things that need mending.” His voice trailed off uncertainly. “Anything at all.”
“I’m looking for a job,” Cole murmured. “Any kind of job. I can do anything, fix anything. I repair broken stuff. Things that need fixing.” His voice faded off uncertainly. “Anything at all.”
“Apply to the Placement Department of the Federal Activities Control Board,” the man said crisply. “You know all occupational therapy is handled through them.” He eyed Cole curiously. “Why have you got on those ancient clothes?”
“Apply to the Placement Department of the Federal Activities Control Board,” the man said sharply. “All occupational therapy goes through them.” He looked at Cole with curiosity. “Why are you wearing those old clothes?”
“Ancient? Why, I—”
"Ancient? Why, I—"
The man gazed past him at the Fixit cart and the two dozing horses. “What’s that? What are those two animals? Horses?” The man rubbed his jaw, studying Cole intently. “That’s strange,” he said.
The man looked past him at the Fixit cart and the two sleeping horses. “What’s that? What are those animals? Horses?” The man rubbed his jaw, watching Cole closely. “That’s weird,” he said.
“Strange?” Cole murmured uneasily. “Why?”
"Strange?" Cole said uneasily. "Why?"
“There haven’t been any horses for over a century. All the horses were wiped out during the Fifth Atomic War. That’s why it’s strange.”
“There haven't been any horses for more than a hundred years. All the horses were wiped out during the Fifth Atomic War. That's why it's odd.”
Cole tensed, suddenly alert. There was something in the man’s eyes, a hardness, a piercing look. Cole moved back off the porch, onto the path. He had to be careful. Something was wrong.
Cole tensed, suddenly alert. There was something in the man’s eyes, a hardness, a piercing look. Cole stepped back off the porch and onto the path. He had to be careful. Something was off.
“I’ll be going,” he murmured.
"I'm leaving," he murmured.
“I’ll be going,” Cole repeated, moving away.
“I’m leaving,” Cole said again, stepping back.
The man whipped something from his belt, a thin metal tube. He stuck it toward Cole.
The man pulled something from his belt, a slim metal tube. He pointed it at Cole.
It was a rolled-up paper, a thin sheet of metal in the form of a tube. Words, some kind of script. He could not make any of them out. The man’s picture, rows of numbers, figures—
It was a rolled-up piece of paper, a thin sheet of metal shaped like a tube. There were words, some kind of writing. He couldn’t read any of them. The man's photo, sequences of numbers, figures—
“I’m Director Winslow,” the man said. “Federal Stockpile Conservation. You better talk fast, or there’ll be a Security car here in five minutes.”
“I’m Director Winslow,” the man said. “Federal Stockpile Conservation. You’d better talk quickly, or there’ll be a Security car here in five minutes.”
Cole moved—fast. He raced, head down, back along the path to the cart, toward the street.
Cole took off—quickly. He dashed, head down, back along the path to the cart, heading for the street.
Something hit him. A wall of force, throwing him down on his face. He sprawled in a heap, numb and dazed. His body ached, vibrating wildly, out of control. Waves of shock rolled over him, gradually diminishing.
Something struck him. A wall of force, knocking him down onto his face. He lay sprawled in a heap, numb and disoriented. His body ached, vibrating erratically, out of control. Waves of shock washed over him, gradually fading away.
He got shakily to his feet. His head spun. He was weak, shattered, trembling violently. The man was coming down the walk after him. Cole pulled himself onto the cart, gasping and retching. The horses jumped into life. Cole rolled over against the seat, sick with the motion of the swaying cart.
He unsteadily got to his feet. His head was spinning. He felt weak, broken, and was shaking uncontrollably. The man was coming down the path after him. Cole managed to pull himself onto the cart, gasping and heaving. The horses sprang into action. Cole collapsed against the seat, feeling nauseous from the jostling of the cart.
He caught hold of the reins and managed to drag himself up in a sitting position. The cart gained speed, turning a corner. Houses flew past. Cole urged the team weakly, drawing great shuddering breaths. Houses and streets, a blur of motion, as the cart flew faster and faster along.
He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up into a sitting position. The cart picked up speed, turning a corner. Houses whizzed by. Cole weakly urged the team on, taking deep, shaky breaths. Houses and streets blurred together as the cart sped faster and faster along.
Then he was leaving the town, leaving the neat little houses behind. He was on some sort of highway. Big buildings, factories, on both sides of the highway. Figures, men watching in astonishment.
Then he was leaving the town, leaving the tidy little houses behind. He was on some kind of highway. Large buildings, factories, lined both sides of the highway. People, men watching in amazement.
After awhile the factories fell behind. Cole slowed the team down. What had the man meant? Fifth Atomic War. Horses destroyed. It didn’t make sense. And they had things he knew nothing about. Force fields. Planes without wings—soundless.
After a while, the factories fell behind. Cole slowed the team down. What did the man mean? Fifth Atomic War. Horses were destroyed. It didn’t make sense. And they had things he knew nothing about. Force fields. Planes without wings—silent.
Cole reached around in his pockets. He found the identification tube the man had handed him. In the excitement he had carried it off. He unrolled the tube slowly and began to study it. The writing was strange to him.
Cole dug into his pockets and found the identification tube that the man had given him. In the excitement, he had taken it with him. He unrolled the tube slowly and started examining it. The writing was unfamiliar to him.
For a long time he studied the tube. Then, gradually, he became aware of something. Something in the top right-hand corner.
For a while, he stared at the tube. Then, slowly, he noticed something. Something in the top right corner.
A date. October 6, 2128.
A date. October 6, 2128.
But he held the paper in his hand. Thin, metal paper. Like foil. And it had to be. It said so, right in the corner, printed on the paper itself.
But he held the paper in his hand. Thin, metallic paper. Like foil. And it had to be. It said so, right in the corner, printed on the paper itself.
Cole rolled the tube up slowly, numbed with shock. Two hundred years. It didn’t seem possible. But things were beginning to make sense. He was in the future, two hundred years in the future.
Cole slowly rolled up the tube, still in shock. Two hundred years. It seemed unbelievable. But everything was starting to click. He was in the future, two hundred years into the future.
While he was mulling this over, the swift black Security ship appeared overhead, diving rapidly toward the horse-drawn cart, as it moved slowly along the road.
While he was thinking about this, the fast black Security ship showed up overhead, diving quickly toward the slow-moving horse-drawn cart on the road.
Reinhart’s vidscreen buzzed. He snapped it quickly on. “Yes?”
Reinhart’s screen buzzed. He turned it on quickly. “Yes?”
“Report from Security.”
"Security Update."
“Put it through.” Reinhart waited tensely as the lines locked in place. The screen re-lit.
“Put it through.” Reinhart waited anxiously as the lines secured their connection. The screen lit up again.
“This is Dixon. Western Regional Command.” The officer cleared his throat, shuffling his message plates. “The man from the past has been reported, moving away from the New York area.”
“This is Dixon. Western Regional Command.” The officer cleared his throat and shuffled his message plates. “The man from the past has been spotted, moving away from the New York area.”
“Which side of your net?”
“Which side of your network?”
“Outside. He evaded the net around Central Park by entering one of the small towns at the rim of the slag area.”
“Outside. He avoided the net around Central Park by entering one of the small towns on the edge of the slag area.”
“Evaded?”
“Dodged?”
“We assumed he would avoid the towns. Naturally the net failed to encompass any of the towns.”
“We thought he would stay away from the towns. So, of course, the net didn’t catch any of the towns.”
Reinhart’s jaw stiffened. “Go on.”
Reinhart clenched his jaw. “Go on.”
“He entered the town of Petersville a few minutes before the net closed around the park. We burned the park level, but naturally found nothing. He had already gone. An hour later we received a report from a resident in Petersville, an official of the Stockpile Conservation Department. The man from the past had come to his door, looking for work. Winslow, the official, engaged him in conversation, trying to hold onto him, but he escaped, driving his cart off. Winslow called Security right away, but by then it was too late.”
“He arrived in Petersville just before they closed off the park. We searched the park thoroughly, but of course, found nothing. He had already left. An hour later, we got a report from a local resident, an official from the Stockpile Conservation Department. The man from the past had shown up at his door, looking for a job. Winslow, the official, tried to engage him in conversation to keep him there, but he got away, driving off in his cart. Winslow called Security immediately, but by then it was too late.”
“Report to me as soon as anything more comes in. We must have him—and damn soon.” Reinhart snapped the screen off. It died quickly.
“Let me know as soon as you get any updates. We need to find him—and fast.” Reinhart turned off the screen. It shut down rapidly.
He sat back in his chair, waiting.
He leaned back in his chair, waiting.
Cole saw the shadow of the Security ship. He reacted at once. A second after the shadow passed over him, Cole was out of the cart, running and falling. He rolled, twisting and turning, pulling his body as far away from the cart as possible.
Cole saw the shadow of the security ship. He reacted immediately. A second after the shadow passed over him, Cole was out of the cart, running and falling. He rolled, twisting and turning, pulling his body as far away from the cart as he could.
There was a blinding roar and flash of white light. A hot wind rolled over Cole, picking him up and tossing him like a leaf. He shut his eyes, letting his body relax. He bounced, falling and striking the ground. Gravel and stones tore into his face, his knees, the palms of his hands.
There was a deafening roar and a flash of white light. A hot wind swept over Cole, lifting him up and tossing him around like a leaf. He closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax. He bounced, hitting the ground. Gravel and stones dug into his face, knees, and the palms of his hands.
Cole cried out, shrieking in pain. His body was on fire. He was being consumed, incinerated by the blinding white orb of fire. The orb expanded, growing in size, swelling like some monstrous sun, twisted and bloated. The end had come. There was no hope. He gritted his teeth—
Cole yelled out, screaming in pain. His body felt like it was on fire. He was being consumed, burnt to ashes by the blinding white orb of flames. The orb expanded, getting bigger, swelling like some enormous sun, deformed and bloated. The end had arrived. There was no hope. He clenched his teeth—
The greedy orb faded, dying down. It sputtered and winked out, blackening into ash. The air reeked, a bitter acrid smell. His clothes were burning and smoking. The ground under him was hot, baked dry, seared by the blast. But he was alive. At least, for awhile.
The greedy orb faded away, extinguishing. It flickered and then vanished, turning to ash. The air was rank with a sharp, unpleasant smell. His clothes were on fire, smoldering. The ground beneath him was hot, parched, scorched by the explosion. But he was still alive. At least, for now.
Cole opened his eyes slowly. The cart was gone. A great hole gaped where it had been, a shattered sore in the center of the highway. An ugly cloud hung above the hole, black and ominous. Far above, the wingless plane circled, watching for any signs of life.
Cole opened his eyes slowly. The cart was gone. A huge hole gaped where it had been, a shattered wound in the middle of the highway. A dark, ominous cloud hung over the hole. Far above, the wingless plane circled, looking for any signs of life.
Cole lay, breathing shallowly, slowly. Time passed. The sun moved across the sky with agonizing slowness. It was perhaps four in the afternoon. Cole calculated mentally. In three hours it would be dark. If he could stay alive until then—
Cole lay, breathing lightly, slowly. Time went by. The sun moved across the sky at a painfully slow pace. It was probably around four in the afternoon. Cole did some quick calculations in his head. In three hours, it would be dark. If he could stay alive until then—
Had the plane seen him leap from the cart?
Had the plane noticed him jump off the cart?
He lay without moving. The late afternoon sun beat down on him. He felt sick, nauseated and feverish. His mouth was dry.
He lay still. The late afternoon sun beat down on him. He felt sick, nauseous, and feverish. His mouth was dry.
Some ants ran over his outstretched hand. Gradually, the immense black cloud was beginning to drift away, dispersing into a formless blob.
Some ants crawled across his outstretched hand. Slowly, the massive black cloud started to fade, breaking apart into a shapeless mass.
The cart was gone. The thought lashed against him, pounding at his brain, mixing with his labored pulse-beat. Gone. Destroyed. Nothing but ashes and debris remained. The realization dazed him.
The cart was gone. The thought hit him hard, pounding in his head, mixing with his labored heartbeat. Gone. Destroyed. All that was left were ashes and debris. The realization stunned him.
Finally the plane finished its circling, winging its way toward the horizon. At last it vanished. The sky was clear.
Finally, the plane completed its circling, heading toward the horizon. It finally disappeared. The sky was clear.
Cole got unsteadily to his feet. He wiped his face shakily. His body ached and trembled. He spat a couple times, trying to clear his mouth. The plane would probably send in a report. People would be coming to look for him. Where could he go?
Cole got up slowly and unsteadily. He wiped his face with a shaky hand. His body ached and trembled. He spat a couple of times, trying to clear his mouth. The plane would probably send in a report. People would be coming to look for him. Where could he go?
To his right a line of hills rose up, a distant green mass. Maybe he could reach them. He began to walk slowly. He had to be very careful. They were looking for him—and they had weapons. Incredible weapons.
To his right, a range of hills rose up, a distant green mass. Maybe he could reach them. He started to walk slowly. He had to be really careful. They were looking for him—and they had weapons. Incredible weapons.
He would be lucky to still be alive when the sun set. His team and Fixit cart were gone—and all his tools. Cole reached into his pockets, searching through them hopefully. He brought out some small screwdrivers, a little pair of cutting pliers, some wire, some solder, the whetstone, and finally the lady’s knife.
He would be lucky to still be alive when the sun set. His team and the Fixit cart were gone—and so were all his tools. Cole reached into his pockets, searching through them hopefully. He pulled out some small screwdrivers, a pair of cutting pliers, some wire, some solder, the whetstone, and finally the lady’s knife.
Only a few small tools remained. He had lost everything else. But without the cart he was safer, harder to spot. They would have more trouble finding him, on foot.
Only a few small tools were left. He had lost everything else. But without the cart, he was safer, harder to notice. They would have a harder time finding him on foot.
Cole hurried along, crossing the level fields toward the distant range of hills.
Cole rushed ahead, making his way across the flat fields toward the far-off hills.
The call came through to Reinhart almost at once. Dixon’s features formed on the vidscreen. “I have a further report, Commissioner.” Dixon scanned the plate. “Good news. The man from the past was sighted moving away from Petersville, along highway 13, at about ten miles an hour, on his horse-drawn cart. Our ship bombed him immediately.”
The call came in to Reinhart almost right away. Dixon’s face appeared on the screen. “I have an update, Commissioner.” Dixon looked over the information. “Good news. The guy from the past was seen heading away from Petersville, traveling down highway 13, at around ten miles an hour, in his horse-drawn cart. Our ship hit him right away.”
“Did—did you get him?”
“Did you get him?”
“The pilot reports no sign of life after the blast.”
“The pilot reports no signs of life after the explosion.”
Reinhart’s pulse almost stopped. He sank back in his chair. “Then he’s dead!”
Reinhart felt his heart nearly stop. He slumped back in his chair. “Then he’s dead!”
“Actually, we won’t know for certain until we can examine the debris. A surface car is speeding toward the spot. We should have the complete report in a short time. We’ll notify you as soon as the information comes in.”
“Actually, we won’t know for sure until we can look at the debris. A surface car is racing toward the location. We should have the full report soon. We’ll let you know as soon as the information arrives.”
Reinhart reached out and cut the screen. It faded into darkness. Had they got the man from the past? Or had he escaped again? Weren’t they ever going to get him? Couldn’t he be captured? And meanwhile, the SRB machines were silent, showing nothing at all.
Reinhart reached out and turned off the screen. It went dark. Had they finally caught the man from the past? Or had he gotten away again? Would they ever catch him? Was it impossible to capture him? And in the meantime, the SRB machines were quiet, displaying nothing at all.
Reinhart sat brooding, waiting impatiently for the report of the surface car to come in.
Reinhart sat lost in thought, impatiently waiting for the surface car report to come in.
It was evening.
It was evening.
“Come on!” Steven shouted, running frantically after his brother. “Come on back!”
“Come on!” Steven yelled, running frantically after his brother. “Come back!”
“Catch me.” Earl ran and ran, down the side of the hill, over behind a military storage depot, along a neotex fence, jumping finally down into Mrs. Norris’ back yard.
“Catch me.” Earl ran and ran, down the side of the hill, over behind a military storage depot, along a neotex fence, jumping finally down into Mrs. Norris’ backyard.
Steven hurried after his brother, sobbing for breath, shouting and gasping as he ran. “Come back! You come back with that!”
Steven rushed after his brother, out of breath, shouting and gasping as he ran. "Come back! Give that back!"
“What’s he got?” Sally Tate demanded, stepping out suddenly to block Steven’s way.
“What does he have?” Sally Tate demanded, stepping out suddenly to block Steven’s path.
Earl came circling around from the right. In the warm gloom of evening he was almost invisible. “Here I am,” he announced. “What you going to do?”
Earl came around from the right. In the warm dimness of the evening, he was almost invisible. “Here I am,” he said. “What are you going to do?”
Steven glared at him hotly. His eyes made out the square box in Earl’s hands. “You give that back! Or—or I’ll tell Dad.”
Steven glared at him angrily. His eyes focused on the square box in Earl’s hands. “Give that back! Or—I’ll tell Dad.”
Earl laughed. “Make me.”
Earl laughed. “Go ahead.”
“Dad’ll make you.”
“Dad will make you.”
“You better give it to him,” Sally said.
“You should give it to him,” Sally said.
“Catch me.” Earl started off. Steven pushed Sally out of the way, lashing wildly at his brother. He collided with him, throwing him sprawling. The box fell from Earl’s hands. It skidded to the pavement, crashing into the side of a guide-light post.
“Catch me,” Earl called out as he took off. Steven shoved Sally aside, swinging at his brother with reckless abandon. He slammed into Earl, sending him tumbling to the ground. The box slipped from Earl’s grip, skidding across the pavement and slamming into the side of a guide-light post.
Earl and Steven picked themselves up slowly. They gazed down at the broken box.
Earl and Steven slowly got back on their feet. They looked down at the damaged box.
“See?” Steven shrilled, tears filling his eyes. “See what you did?”
“See?” Steven shouted, tears welling up in his eyes. “See what you did?”
“You did it. You pushed into me.”
“You did it. You pushed into me.”
“You did it!”’ Steven bent down and picked up the box. He carried it over to the guide-light, sitting down on the curb to examine it.
“You did it!” Steven bent down and picked up the box. He carried it over to the guide light, sitting down on the curb to check it out.
Earl came slowly over. “If you hadn’t pushed me it wouldn’t have got broken.”
Earl walked over slowly. “If you hadn’t shoved me, it wouldn’t have broken.”
Night was descending rapidly. The line of hills rising above the town were already lost in darkness. A few lights had come on here and there. The evening was warm. A surface car slammed its doors, some place off in the distance. In the sky ships droned back and forth, weary commuters coming home from work in the big underground factory units.
Night was falling quickly. The line of hills above the town had already disappeared into darkness. A few lights flickered on here and there. The evening was warm. A surface car slammed its doors somewhere in the distance. In the sky, planes droned back and forth, tired commuters returning from work at the large underground factory units.
Thomas Cole came slowly toward the three children grouped around the guide-light. He moved with difficulty, his body sore and bent with fatigue. Night had come, but he was not safe yet.
Thomas Cole walked slowly toward the three kids gathered around the guide-light. He moved with effort, his body sore and hunched from exhaustion. It was nighttime, but he still wasn't safe.
He was tired, exhausted and hungry. He had walked a long way. And he had to have something to eat—soon.
He was tired, worn out, and hungry. He had walked a long way. He needed to eat something—soon.
A few feet from the children Cole stopped. They were all intent and absorbed by the box on Steven’s knees. Suddenly a hush fell over the children. Earl looked up slowly.
A few feet away from the kids, Cole stopped. They were all focused and absorbed by the box on Steven's knees. Suddenly, a hush fell over the kids. Earl looked up slowly.
“Who are you?” Earl demanded, his voice low.
“Who are you?” Earl asked, his voice low.
“What do you want?” Sally said. The children edged away nervously. “Get away.”
“What do you want?” Sally asked. The children moved back nervously. “Leave us alone.”
Cole came toward them. He bent down a little. The beam from the guide-light crossed his features. Lean, prominent nose, beak-like, faded blue eyes—
Cole walked toward them. He bent down slightly. The light from the guide illuminated his face. He had a lean, prominent nose, sharp and beak-like, with faded blue eyes—
Steven scrambled to his feet, clutching the vidsender box. “You get out of here!”
Steven got up quickly, holding the vidsender box tightly. “You need to get out of here!”
“Wait.” Cole smiled crookedly at them. His voice was dry and raspy. “What do you have there?” He pointed with his long, slender fingers. “The box you’re holding.”
“Wait.” Cole smiled unevenly at them. His voice was rough and scratchy. “What do you have there?” He pointed with his long, thin fingers. “The box you’re holding.”
The children were silent. Finally Steven stirred. “It’s my inter-system vidsender.”
The kids were quiet. Finally, Steven moved. “It’s my inter-system vidsender.”
“Only it doesn’t work,” Sally said.
“It's just that it doesn’t work,” Sally said.
“Earl broke it.” Steven glared at his brother bitterly. “Earl threw it down and broke it.”
“Earl broke it.” Steven glared at his brother bitterly. “Earl threw it down and broke it.”
Cole smiled a little. He sank down wearily on the edge of the curb, sighing with relief. He had been walking too long. His body ached with fatigue. He was hungry, and tired. For a long time he sat, wiping perspiration from his neck and face, too exhausted to speak.
Cole smiled faintly. He wearily sank down onto the edge of the curb, sighing with relief. He had been walking for far too long. His body ached with fatigue. He was hungry and tired. For a long time, he sat there, wiping sweat from his neck and face, too exhausted to say anything.
“Who are you?” Sally demanded, at last. “Why do you have on those funny clothes? Where did you come from?”
“Who are you?” Sally asked finally. “Why are you wearing those strange clothes? Where did you come from?”
“Where?” Cole looked around at the children. “From a long way off. A long way.” He shook his head slowly from side to side, trying to clear it.
“Where?” Cole glanced at the kids. “From really far away. Really far.” He shook his head slowly, trying to clear his thoughts.
“What’s your therapy?” Earl said.
“What’s your therapy?” Earl asked.
“My therapy?”
"My therapy session?"
“What do you do? Where do you work?”
“What do you do? Where do you work?”
Cole took a deep breath and let it out again slowly. “I fix things. All kinds of things. Any kind.”
Cole took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I fix things. All kinds of things. Any kind.”
Earl sneered. “Nobody fixes things. When they break you throw them away.”
Earl scoffed. “No one repairs anything. When it breaks, you just toss it out.”
Cole didn’t hear him. Sudden need had roused him, getting him suddenly to his feet. “You know any work I can find?” he demanded. “Things I could do? I can fix anything. Clocks, type-writers, refrigerators, pots and pans. Leaks in the roof. I can fix anything there is.”
Cole didn’t hear him. A sudden need had jolted him awake, getting him up on his feet. “Do you know where I can find any work?” he asked. “Things I could do? I can fix anything. Clocks, typewriters, refrigerators, pots and pans. Leaks in the roof. I can fix anything.”
Steven held out his inter-system vidsender. “Fix this.”
Steven held out his inter-system video sender. “Fix this.”
There was silence. Slowly, Cole’s eyes focussed on the box. “That?”
There was silence. Slowly, Cole's eyes focused on the box. "That?"
“My sender. Earl broke it.”
“My sender. Earl messed it up.”
Cole took the box slowly. He turned it over, holding it up to the light. He frowned, concentrating on it. His long, slender fingers moved carefully over the surface, exploring it.
Cole picked up the box slowly. He turned it around, holding it up to the light. He frowned, focusing intently on it. His long, slender fingers moved carefully over the surface, feeling it out.
“No.” Cole shook his head vaguely. “I’m reliable.” His sensitive fingers found the studs that held the box together. He depressed the studs, pushing them expertly in. The box opened, revealing its complex interior.
“No.” Cole shook his head slightly. “I’m dependable.” His nimble fingers located the studs that held the box together. He pressed the studs in expertly. The box opened, revealing its intricate interior.
“He got it open,” Sally whispered.
“He opened it,” Sally said.
“Give it back!” Steven demanded, a little frightened. He held out his hand. “I want it back.”
“Give it back!” Steven demanded, a bit scared. He held out his hand. “I want it back.”
The three children watched Cole apprehensively. Cole fumbled in his pocket. Slowly he brought out his tiny screwdrivers and pliers. He laid them in a row beside him. He made no move to return the box.
The three kids watched Cole nervously. Cole dug around in his pocket. Slowly, he pulled out his tiny screwdrivers and pliers. He lined them up next to him. He didn’t make any move to give back the box.
“I want it back,” Steven said feebly.
“I want it back,” Steven said weakly.
Cole looked up. His faded blue eyes took in the sight of the three children standing before him in the gloom. “I’ll fix it for you. You said you wanted it fixed.”
Cole looked up. His faded blue eyes scanned the sight of the three kids standing in front of him in the dim light. “I’ll fix it for you. You said you wanted it fixed.”
“I want it back.” Steven stood on one foot, then the other, torn by doubt and indecision. “Can you really fix it? Can you make it work again?”
“I want it back.” Steven stood on one foot, then the other, plagued by doubt and uncertainty. “Can you actually fix it? Can you get it to work again?”
“Yes.”
"Yep."
“All right. Fix it for me, then.”
“All right. Fix it for me, then.”
A sly smile flickered across Cole’s tired face. “Now, wait a minute. If I fix it, will you bring me something to eat? I’m not fixing it for nothing.”
A sly smile flashed on Cole's tired face. “Hold on a second. If I fix it, will you bring me something to eat? I'm not doing it for free.”
“Something to eat?”
"Something to eat?"
“Food. I need hot food. Maybe some coffee.”
“Food. I need hot food. Maybe some coffee.”
Steven nodded. “Yes. I’ll get it for you.”
Steven nodded. “Sure. I’ll get it for you.”
Cole relaxed. “Fine. That’s fine.” He turned his attention back to the box resting between his knees. “Then I’ll fix it for you. I’ll fix it for you good.”
Cole relaxed. “Okay. That’s cool.” He turned his attention back to the box resting between his knees. “Then I’ll fix it for you. I’ll fix it really well.”
His fingers flew, working and twisting, tracing down wires and relays, exploring and examining. Finding out about the inter-system vidsender. Discovering how it worked.
His fingers moved quickly, working and twisting, tracing down wires and relays, exploring and examining. Learning about the inter-system vidsender. Figuring out how it operated.
Steven slipped into the house through the emergency door. He made his way to the kitchen with great care, walking on tip-toe. He punched the kitchen controls at random, his heart beating excitedly. The stove began to whirr, purring into life. Meter readings came on, crossing toward the completion marks.
Steven entered the house through the emergency door. He cautiously made his way to the kitchen, walking on tiptoe. He randomly pressed the kitchen controls, his heart racing with excitement. The stove started to hum, springing to life. The meter readings turned on, moving toward the completion marks.
Presently the stove opened, sliding out a tray of steaming dishes. The mechanism clicked off, dying into silence. Steven grabbed up the contents of the tray, filling his arms. He carried everything down the hall, out the emergency door and into the yard. The yard was dark. Steven felt his way carefully along.
Currently, the stove opened, sliding out a tray of steaming dishes. The mechanism clicked off, quieting into silence. Steven picked up the contents of the tray, filling his arms. He carried everything down the hall, out the emergency door, and into the yard. The yard was dark. Steven felt his way carefully as he went.
Thomas Cole got slowly to his feet as Steven came into view. “Here,” Steven said. He dumped the food onto the curb, gasping for breath. “Here’s the food. Is it finished?”
Thomas Cole slowly got up as Steven appeared. “Here,” Steven said. He dropped the food onto the curb, out of breath. “Here’s the food. Is it done?”
Cole held out the inter-system vidsender. “It’s finished. It was pretty badly smashed.”
Cole held out the inter-system video sender. “It’s done. It was pretty badly broken.”
Earl and Sally gazed up, wide-eyed. “Does it work?” Sally asked.
Earl and Sally looked up, their eyes wide with wonder. “Does it work?” Sally asked.
“Of course not,” Earl stated. “How could it work? He couldn’t—”
“Of course not,” Earl said. “How could it work? He couldn’t—”
“Turn it on!” Sally nudged Steven eagerly. “See if it works.”
“Turn it on!” Sally urged Steven excitedly. “See if it works.”
Steven was holding the box under the light, examining the switches. He clicked the main switch on. The indicator light gleamed. “It lights up,” Steven said.
Steven was holding the box under the light, checking out the switches. He turned on the main switch. The indicator light lit up. “It lights up,” Steven said.
“Say something into it.”
“Speak into it.”
Steven spoke into the box. “Hello! Hello! This is operator 6-Z75 calling. Can you hear me? This is operator 6-Z75. Can you hear me?”
Steven spoke into the box. “Hello! Hello! This is operator 6-Z75 calling. Can you hear me? This is operator 6-Z75. Can you hear me?”
In the darkness, away from the beam of the guide-light, Thomas Cole sat crouched over the food. He ate gratefully, silently. It was good food, well cooked and seasoned. He drank a container of orange juice and then a sweet drink he didn’t recognize. Most of the food was strange to him, but he didn’t care. He had walked a long way and he was plenty hungry. And he still had a long way to go, before morning. He had to be deep in the hills before the sun came up. Instinct told him that he would be safe among the trees and tangled growth—at least, as safe as he could hope for.
In the darkness, away from the beam of the guide light, Thomas Cole sat hunched over the food. He ate gratefully and quietly. It was good food, well cooked and seasoned. He drank a container of orange juice and then a sweet drink he didn’t recognize. Most of the food was unfamiliar to him, but he didn’t mind. He had walked a long way and was really hungry. And he still had a long way to go before morning. He needed to be deep in the hills before the sun came up. Instinct told him he would be safe among the trees and tangled undergrowth—at least, as safe as he could hope to be.
He ate rapidly, intent on the food. He did not look up until he was finished. Then he got slowly to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
He ate quickly, focused on the food. He didn't look up until he was done. Then he stood up slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
The three children were standing around in a circle, operating the inter-system vidsender. He watched them for a few minutes. None of them looked up from the small box. They were intent, absorbed in what they were doing.
The three kids were gathered in a circle, working the inter-system vidsender. He observed them for a few minutes. None of them glanced up from the small device. They were focused, completely absorbed in what they were doing.
“Well?” Cole said, at last. “Does it work all right?”
“Well?” Cole finally said. “Does it work okay?”
After a moment Steven looked up at him. There was a strange expression on his face. He nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, it works. It works fine.”
After a moment, Steven looked up at him. There was a strange expression on his face. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, it works. It works great.”
Cole grunted. “All right.” He turned and moved away from the light. “That’s fine.”
Cole grunted. “Okay.” He turned and walked away from the light. “That’s cool.”
Steven turned and edged toward his house. “I’ve got to show it to my Dad,” he murmured, dazed. “He’s got to know. Somebody’s got to know!”
Steven turned and moved closer to his house. “I have to show it to my dad,” he murmured, dazed. “He needs to know. Somebody has to know!”
III
Eric Reinhart examined the vidsender box carefully, turning it around and around.
Eric Reinhart carefully examined the vidsender box, rotating it again and again.
“Then he did escape from the blast,” Dixon admitted reluctantly. “He must have leaped from the cart just before the concussion.”
“Then he did escape from the blast,” Dixon admitted reluctantly. “He must have jumped from the cart just before the shockwave.”
Reinhart nodded. “He escaped. He got away from you—twice.” He pushed the vidsender box away and leaned abruptly toward the man standing uneasily in front of his desk. “What’s your name again?”
Reinhart nodded. “He escaped. He got away from you—twice.” He pushed the vidsender box away and leaned suddenly toward the man standing nervously in front of his desk. “What’s your name again?”
“Elliot. Richard Elliot.”
“Elliot. Richard Elliot.”
“And your son’s name?”
"And what's your son's name?"
“Steven.”
“Steve.”
“It was last night this happened?”
"Did it happen last night?"
“About eight o’clock.”
“Around eight o’clock.”
“Go on.”
"Go ahead."
“Steven came into the house. He acted queerly. He was carrying his inter-system vidsender.” Elliot pointed at the box on Reinhart’s desk. “That. He was nervous and excited. I asked what was wrong. For awhile he couldn’t tell me. He was quite upset. Then he showed me the vidsender.” Elliot took a deep, shaky breath. “I could see right away it was different. You see I’m an electrical engineer. I had opened it once before, to put in a new battery. I had a fairly good idea how it should look.” Elliot hesitated. “Commissioner, it had been changed. A lot of the wiring was different. Moved around. Relays connected differently. Some parts were missing. New parts had been jury rigged out of old. Then I discovered the thing that made me call Security. The vidsender—it really worked.”
“Steven walked into the house. He was acting strangely. He had his inter-system vidsender with him.” Elliot pointed at the box on Reinhart’s desk. “That. He was anxious and excited. I asked him what was wrong. For a while, he couldn’t tell me. He was really upset. Then he showed me the vidsender.” Elliot took a deep, shaky breath. “I could see right away that it was different. You see, I’m an electrical engineer. I had opened it once before to put in a new battery. I had a pretty good idea of how it should look.” Elliot hesitated. “Commissioner, it had been modified. A lot of the wiring was different. It had been rearranged. Relays connected in a different way. Some parts were missing. New parts had been cobbled together from old ones. Then I found the thing that made me call Security. The vidsender—it really worked.”
“Worked?”
“Did it work?”
“You see, it never was anything more than a toy. With a range of a few city blocks. So the kids could call back and forth from their rooms. Like a sort of portable vidscreen. Commissioner, I tried out the vidsender, pushing the call button and speaking into the microphone. I—I got a ship of the line. A battleship, operating beyond Proxima Centaurus—over eight light years away. As far out as the actual vidsenders operate. Then I called Security. Right away.”
“You see, it was never more than a toy. With a range of just a few city blocks. So the kids could communicate from their rooms. Kind of like a portable video screen. Commissioner, I tried out the video sender, pressed the call button, and spoke into the microphone. I—I connected with a ship of the line. A battleship, operating beyond Proxima Centauri—over eight light years away. As far out as the actual video senders work. Then I called Security. Immediately.”
For a time Reinhart was silent. Finally he tapped the box lying on the desk. “You got a ship of the line—with this?”
For a while, Reinhart was quiet. Then he tapped the box on the desk. “You got a battleship—with this?”
“How big are the regular vidsenders?”
“How big are the regular vidsenders?”
Dixon supplied the information. “As big as a twenty-ton safe.”
Dixon provided the information. “As big as a twenty-ton safe.”
“That’s what I thought.” Reinhart waved his hand impatiently. “All right, Elliot. Thanks for turning the information over to us. That’s all.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Reinhart waved his hand in annoyance. “Okay, Elliot. Thanks for giving us the information. That’s it.”
Security police led Elliot outside the office.
Security police took Elliot outside the office.
Reinhart and Dixon looked at each other. “This is bad,” Reinhart said harshly. “He has some ability, some kind of mechanical ability. Genius, perhaps, to do a thing like this. Look at the period he came from, Dixon. The early part of the twentieth century. Before the wars began. That was a unique period. There was a certain vitality, a certain ability. It was a period of incredible growth and discovery. Edison. Pasteur. Burbank. The Wright brothers. Inventions and machines. People had an uncanny ability with machines. A kind of intuition about machines—which we don’t have.”
Reinhart and Dixon exchanged glances. “This is bad,” Reinhart said sharply. “He has some skills, some sort of mechanical talent. Maybe even genius, to pull off something like this. Think about the time he came from, Dixon. The early 1900s. Before the wars started. That was a remarkable time. There was a certain energy, a certain capability. It was a time of amazing progress and discovery. Edison. Pasteur. Burbank. The Wright brothers. Innovations and machinery. People had an extraordinary knack for machines. A sort of instinct about machines—which we don’t have.”
“You mean—”
"You mean—"
“I mean a person like this coming into our own time is bad in itself, war or no war. He’s too different. He’s oriented along different lines. He has abilities we lack. This fixing skill of his. It throws us off, out of kilter. And with the war….
“I mean, a person like this coming into our time is bad in itself, war or no war. He’s too different. He’s focused on different things. He has skills we don’t have. This fixing skill of his throws us off, makes us feel out of balance. And with the war….”
“Now I’m beginning to understand why the SRB machines couldn’t factor him. It’s impossible for us to understand this kind of person. Winslow says he asked for work, any kind of work. The man said he could do anything, fix anything. Do you understand what that means?”
“Now I’m starting to get why the SRB machines couldn’t figure him out. It’s impossible for us to understand someone like him. Winslow said he asked for work, any kind of work. The guy said he could do anything, fix anything. Do you get what that means?”
“No,” Dixon said. “What does it mean?”
“No,” Dixon said. “What does it mean?”
“Can any of us fix anything? No. None of us can do that. We’re specialized. Each of us has his own line, his own work. I understand my work, you understand yours. The tendency in evolution is toward greater and greater specialization. Man’s society is an ecology that forces adaptation to it. Continual complexity makes it impossible for any of us to know anything outside our own personal field—I can’t follow the work of the man sitting at the next desk over from me. Too much knowledge has piled up in each field. And there’s too many fields.
“Can any of us fix anything? No. None of us can do that. We're specialized. Each of us has our own area, our own job. I know my work, you know yours. The trend in evolution is toward more and more specialization. Society is an ecosystem that forces us to adapt. Ongoing complexity makes it impossible for any of us to understand anything beyond our own personal field—I can’t keep up with the work of the person sitting next to me. There's just too much knowledge piled up in each area. And there are too many areas.
“This man is different. He can fix anything, do anything. He doesn’t work with knowledge, with science—the classified accumulation of facts. He knows nothing. It’s not in his head, a form of learning. He works by intuition—his power is in his hands, not his head. Jack-of-all-trades. His hands! Like a painter, an artist. In his hands—and he cuts across our lives like a knife-blade.”
“This man is different. He can fix anything and do anything. He doesn’t rely on knowledge or science—the collection of facts. He knows nothing. It’s not in his head, a form of learning. He works by intuition—his strength is in his hands, not his head. A jack of all trades. His hands! Like a painter, an artist. In his hands—and he cuts through our lives like a knife.”
“And the other problem?”
“And what’s the other problem?”
“The other problem is that this man, this variable man, has escaped into the Albertine Mountain range. Now we’ll have one hell of a time finding him. He’s clever—in a strange kind of way. Like some sort of animal. He’s going to be hard to catch.”
“The other problem is that this guy, this unpredictable guy, has slipped away into the Albertine Mountain range. Now we’re going to have a tough time tracking him down. He’s smart—in a weird sort of way. Like some kind of animal. He’s going to be difficult to catch.”
Reinhart sent Dixon out. After a moment he gathered up the handful of reports on his desk and carried them up to the SRB room. The SRB room was closed up, sealed off by a ring of armed Security police. Standing angrily before the ring of police was Peter Sherikov, his beard waggling angrily, his immense hands on his hips.
Reinhart sent Dixon out. After a moment, he picked up the stack of reports on his desk and took them to the SRB room. The SRB room was locked up, surrounded by a line of armed security officers. Standing angrily in front of the police was Peter Sherikov, his beard shaking with rage, his huge hands resting on his hips.
“What’s going on?” Sherikov demanded. “Why can’t I go in and peep at the odds?”
“What's happening?” Sherikov insisted. “Why can't I just go in and check the odds?”
“Sorry.” Reinhart cleared the police aside. “Come inside with me. I’ll explain.” The doors opened for them and they entered. Behind them the doors shut and the ring of police formed outside. “What brings you away from your lab?” Reinhart asked.
“Sorry.” Reinhart pushed the police aside. “Come inside with me. I’ll explain.” The doors opened for them and they stepped in. Behind them, the doors closed and the circle of police formed outside. “What brings you away from your lab?” Reinhart asked.
Sherikov shrugged. “Several things. I wanted to see you. I called you on the vidphone and they said you weren’t available. I thought maybe something had happened. What’s up?”
Sherikov shrugged. “A few things. I wanted to see you. I called you on the video phone and they said you weren’t available. I thought maybe something had happened. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you in a few minutes.” Reinhart called Kaplan over. “Here are some new items. Feed them in right away. I want to see if the machines can total them.”
“I’ll tell you in a few minutes.” Reinhart called Kaplan over. “Here are some new items. Enter them immediately. I want to see if the machines can calculate the totals.”
“Certainly, Commissioner.” Kaplan took the message plates and placed them on an intake belt. The machines hummed into life.
“Sure thing, Commissioner.” Kaplan grabbed the message plates and set them on an intake belt. The machines sprang to life with a hum.
“We’ll know soon,” Reinhart said, half aloud.
“We’ll know soon,” Reinhart said, almost to himself.
Sherikov shot him a keen glance. “We’ll know what? Let me in on it. What’s taking place?”
Sherikov gave him a sharp look. “What will we know? Fill me in. What's going on?”
“We’re in trouble. For twenty-four hours the machines haven’t given any reading at all. Nothing but a blank. A total blank.”
“We're in trouble. For twenty-four hours, the machines haven't given any readings at all. Just a blank. A complete blank.”
Sherikov’s features registered disbelief. “But that isn’t possible. Some odds exist at all times.”
Sherikov looked shocked. “But that's impossible. Some odds are always there.”
“The odds exist, but the machines aren’t able to calculate them.”
“The odds are there, but the machines can’t calculate them.”
“Why not?”
"Why not?"
“Because a variable factor has been introduced. A factor which the machines can’t handle. They can’t make any predictions from it.”
“Because a variable factor has been introduced. A factor that the machines can’t handle. They can’t make any predictions from it.”
“Can’t they reject it?” Sherikov said slyly. “Can’t they just—just ignore it?”
“Can’t they just reject it?” Sherikov said with a sly grin. “Can’t they just—just ignore it?”
Sherikov pulled moodily at his black beard. “I would be interested in knowing what sort of factor the machines can’t handle. I thought they could take in all data pertaining to contemporary reality.”
Sherikov tugged at his black beard, feeling down. “I’d like to know what kind of factor the machines can’t handle. I thought they could process all the data related to modern reality.”
“They can. This factor has nothing to do with contemporary reality. That’s the trouble. Histo-research in bringing its time bubble back from the past got overzealous and cut the circuit too quickly. The bubble came back loaded—with a man from the twentieth century. A man from the past.”
“They can. This factor has nothing to do with today’s reality. That’s the problem. Historical research, in trying to bring its time bubble back from the past, got a bit too excited and severed the connection too quickly. The bubble returned filled—with a man from the twentieth century. A man from the past.”
“I see. A man from two centuries ago.” The big Pole frowned. “And with a radically different Weltanschauung. No connection with our present society. Not integrated along our lines at all. Therefore the SRB machines are perplexed.”
“I get it. A guy from two hundred years ago.” The tall Polish man frowned. “And with a completely different worldview. No ties to our current society. Not integrated with our system at all. That’s why the SRB machines are confused.”
Reinhart grinned. “Perplexed? I suppose so. In any case, they can’t do anything with the data about this man. The variable man. No statistics at all have been thrown up—no predictions have been made. And it knocks everything else out of phase. We’re dependent on the constant showing of these odds. The whole war effort is geared around them.”
Reinhart grinned. “Confused? I guess so. Either way, they can’t make any use of the information about this guy. The variable guy. There are no statistics available—no predictions have been made. And it throws everything else off balance. We rely on the continuous display of these odds. The entire war effort is built around them.”
“The horse-shoe nail. Remember the old poem? ‘For want of a nail the shoe was lost. For want of the shoe the horse was lost. For want of the horse the rider was lost. For want—’”
“The horseshoe nail. Remember the old poem? ‘For the lack of a nail, the shoe was lost. For the lack of the shoe, the horse was lost. For the lack of the horse, the rider was lost. For the lack—’”
“Exactly. A single factor coming along like this, one single individual, can throw everything off. It doesn’t seem possible that one person could knock an entire society out of balance—but apparently it is.”
“Exactly. A single factor coming along like this, one single individual, can throw everything off. It doesn’t seem possible that one person could knock an entire society out of balance—but apparently it is.”
“What are you doing about this man?”
“What are you doing about this guy?”
“The Security police are organized in a mass search for him.”
“The security police are organized in a mass search for him.”
“Results?”
"What's the outcome?"
“He escaped into the Albertine Mountain Range last night. It’ll be hard to find him. We must expect him to be loose for another forty-eight hours. It’ll take that long for us to arrange the annihilation of the range area. Perhaps a trifle longer. And meanwhile—”
“He escaped into the Albertine Mountain Range last night. It’s going to be tough to track him down. We should expect him to be free for another forty-eight hours. That’s how long it’ll take us to set up the destruction of the area. Maybe just a bit longer. And in the meantime—”
“Ready, Commissioner,” Kaplan interrupted. “The new totals.”
“Ready, Commissioner,” Kaplan interrupted. “The new totals.”
The SRB machines had finished factoring the new data. Reinhart and Sherikov hurried to take their places before the view windows.
The SRB machines had completed factoring the new data. Reinhart and Sherikov rushed to take their spots in front of the view windows.
Sherikov gasped. 99-2. In favor of Terra. “That’s wonderful! Now we—”
Sherikov gasped. 99-2. In favor of Terra. “That’s amazing! Now we—”
The odds vanished. New odds took their places. 97-4. In favor of Centaurus. Sherikov groaned in astonished dismay. “Wait,” Reinhart said to him. “I don’t think they’ll last.”
The odds disappeared. New odds replaced them. 97-4. In favor of Centaurus. Sherikov groaned in shocked disbelief. “Hold on,” Reinhart said to him. “I don’t think they’ll hold.”
The odds vanished. A rapid series of odds shot across the screen, a violent stream of numbers, changing almost instantly. At last the machines became silent.
The odds disappeared. A quick succession of odds flashed across the screen, a chaotic flow of numbers, changing almost immediately. Finally, the machines went silent.
Nothing showed. No odds. No totals at all. The view windows were blank.
Nothing appeared. No odds. No totals at all. The display windows were empty.
“You see?” Reinhart murmured. “The same damn thing!”
“You see?” Reinhart whispered. “The same damn thing!”
Sherikov pondered. “Reinhart, you’re too Anglo-Saxon, too impulsive. Be more Slavic. This man will be captured and destroyed within two days. You said so yourself. Meanwhile, we’re all working night and day on the war effort. The warfleet is waiting near Proxima, taking up positions for the attack on the Centaurans. All our war plants are going full blast. By the time the attack date comes we’ll have a full-sized invasion army ready to take off for the long trip to the Centauran colonies. The whole Terran population has been mobilized. The eight supply planets are pouring in material. All this is going on day and night, even without odds showing. Long before the attack comes this man will certainly be dead, and the machines will be able to show odds again.”
Sherikov thought for a moment. “Reinhart, you’re too much of an Anglo-Saxon, too quick to act. Try to be more Slavic. This guy will be caught and eliminated within two days. You said it yourself. In the meantime, we’re all grinding away, working tirelessly for the war effort. The war fleet is positioned near Proxima, preparing for the assault on the Centaurans. Our factories are operating at full capacity. By the time the attack is set to begin, we’ll have a fully equipped invasion force ready to launch for the long journey to the Centauran colonies. The entire Terran population has been mobilized. The eight supply planets are sending in resources. All of this is happening around the clock, even without any odds reflected yet. Long before the attack happens, this guy will definitely be dead, and then the machines will once again be able to provide odds.”
Reinhart considered. “But it worries me, a man like that out in the open. Loose. A man who can’t be predicted. It goes against science. We’ve been making statistical reports on society for two centuries. We have immense files of data. The machines are able to predict what each person and group will do at a given time, in a given situation. But this man is beyond all prediction. He’s a variable. It’s contrary to science.”
Reinhart thought about it. “But it worries me, a guy like that out there. Unpredictable. A guy who can't be anticipated. It goes against what we know. We've been compiling social data for two hundred years. We have a ton of files. The machines can predict what each person and group will do at specific times and in certain situations. But this guy is impossible to predict. He's a wild card. It goes against scientific principles.”
“The indeterminate particle.”
“The uncertain particle.”
“What’s that?”
"What is that?"
“The particle that moves in such a way that we can’t predict what position it will occupy at a given second. Random. The random particle.”
“The particle moves in a way that we can’t predict its position at any given moment. It’s random. The random particle.”
“Exactly. It’s—it’s unnatural.”
"Exactly. It’s—it's unnatural."
Sherikov laughed sarcastically. “Don’t worry about it, Commissioner. The man will be captured and things will return to their natural state. You’ll be able to predict people again, like laboratory rats in a maze. By the way—why is this room guarded?”
Sherikov laughed mockingly. “Don’t worry about it, Commissioner. The guy will be caught, and everything will go back to how it was. You’ll be able to predict people again, like lab rats in a maze. By the way—why is this room being guarded?”
“Margaret Duffe, for example?”
"Like Margaret Duffe?"
Reinhart nodded reluctantly. “They’re too timid, these parliamentarians. If they discover we have no SRB odds they’ll want to shut down the war planning and go back to waiting.”
Reinhart nodded hesitantly. “These parliamentarians are too cautious. If they find out we have no SRB chances, they’ll want to halt the war planning and go back to just waiting.”
“Too slow for you, Commissioner? Laws, debates, council meetings, discussions…. Saves a lot of time if one man has all the power. One man to tell people what to do, think for them, lead them around.”
“Too slow for you, Commissioner? Laws, debates, council meetings, discussions…. It saves a lot of time if one person has all the power. One person to tell others what to do, think for them, lead them around.”
Reinhart eyed the big Pole critically. “That reminds me. How is Icarus coming? Have you continued to make progress on the control turret?”
Reinhart looked at the big Pole with scrutiny. “That reminds me. How’s Icarus coming along? Have you kept making progress on the control turret?”
A scowl crossed Sherikov’s broad features. “The control turret?” He waved his big hand vaguely. “I would say it’s coming along all right. We’ll catch up in time.”
A scowl crossed Sherikov’s broad face. “The control turret?” He gestured with his large hand. “I’d say it’s coming along fine. We’ll catch up eventually.”
Instantly Reinhart became alert. “Catch up? You mean you’re still behind?”
Instantly, Reinhart became alert. “Catch up? You mean you’re still behind?”
“Somewhat. A little. But we’ll catch up.” Sherikov retreated toward the door. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria and have a cup of coffee. You worry too much, Commissioner. Take things more in your stride.”
“Kind of. A bit. But we’ll catch up.” Sherikov stepped back toward the door. “Let’s head down to the cafeteria and grab a cup of coffee. You’re worrying too much, Commissioner. Just take it easier.”
“I suppose you’re right.” The two men walked out into the hall. “I’m on edge. This variable man. I can’t get him out of my mind.”
“I guess you’re right.” The two men stepped out into the hallway. “I’m feeling anxious. This unpredictable guy. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Has he done anything yet?”
“Has he done anything yet?”
“Nothing important. Rewired a child’s toy. A toy vidsender.”
“Nothing major. I rewired a kid’s toy. A toy video sender.”
“Oh?” Sherikov showed interest. “What do you mean? What did he do?”
“Oh?” Sherikov seemed curious. “What do you mean? What did he do?”
“I’ll show you.” Reinhart led Sherikov down the hall to his office. They entered and Reinhart locked the door. He handed Sherikov the toy and roughed in what Cole had done. A strange look crossed Sherikov’s face. He found the studs on the box and depressed them. The box opened. The big Pole sat down at the desk and began to study the interior of the box. “You’re sure it was the man from the past who rewired this?”
“I’ll show you.” Reinhart led Sherikov down the hall to his office. They entered, and Reinhart locked the door. He handed Sherikov the toy and briefly explained what Cole had done. A strange look crossed Sherikov’s face. He found the studs on the box and pressed them. The box opened. The big Pole sat down at the desk and began to examine the interior of the box. “Are you sure it was the man from the past who rewired this?”
“Of course. On the spot. The boy damaged it playing. The variable man came along and the boy asked him to fix it. He fixed it, all right.”
“Of course. Right there. The kid broke it while playing. The variable man showed up and the kid asked him to fix it. He fixed it, sure enough.”
“Incredible.” Sherikov’s eyes were only an inch from the wiring. “Such tiny relays. How could he—”
“Incredible.” Sherikov’s eyes were just an inch from the wiring. “Such tiny relays. How could he—”
“What?”
“What's up?”
“Nothing.” Sherikov got abruptly to his feet, closing the box carefully. “Can I take this along? To my lab? I’d like to analyze it more fully.”
“Nothing.” Sherikov suddenly stood up, carefully closing the box. “Can I take this with me? To my lab? I’d like to analyze it more thoroughly.”
“Of course. But why?”
"Sure. But why?"
“No special reason. Let’s go get our coffee.” Sherikov headed toward the door. “You say you expect to capture this man in a day or so?”
“No special reason. Let’s go get our coffee.” Sherikov headed toward the door. “You say you expect to catch this guy in a day or so?”
“Kill him, not capture him. We’ve got to eliminate him as a piece of data. We’re assembling the attack formations right now. No slip-ups, this time. We’re in the process of setting up a cross-bombing pattern to level the entire Albertine range. He must be destroyed, within the next forty-eight hours.”
“Eliminate him, don’t just capture him. We have to wipe him out completely. We’re getting the attack formations ready right now. No mistakes this time. We’re working on a cross-bombing pattern to take out the whole Albertine range. He needs to be taken down within the next forty-eight hours.”
Sherikov nodded absently. “Of course,” he murmured. A preoccupied expression still remained on his broad features. “I understand perfectly.”
Sherikov nodded absentmindedly. “Of course,” he said quietly. A distracted look still lingered on his broad face. “I get it completely.”
Thomas Cole crouched over the fire he had built, warming his hands. It was almost morning. The sky was turning violet gray. The mountain air was crisp and chill. Cole shivered and pulled himself closer to the fire.
Thomas Cole crouched over the fire he had made, warming his hands. It was almost morning. The sky was turning a violet gray. The mountain air was crisp and chilly. Cole shivered and pulled himself closer to the fire.
The heat felt good against his hands. His hands. He gazed down at them, glowing yellow-red in the firelight. The nails were black and chipped. Warts and endless calluses on each finger, and the palms. But they were good hands; the fingers were long and tapered. He respected them, although in some ways he didn’t understand them.
The heat felt great against his hands. His hands. He looked down at them, glowing yellow-red in the firelight. The nails were black and chipped. Warts and countless calluses covered each finger and the palms. But they were strong hands; the fingers were long and slim. He respected them, even though in some ways he didn’t fully understand them.
Cole was deep in thought, meditating over his situation. He had been in the mountains two nights and a day. The first night had been the worst. Stumbling and falling, making his way uncertainly up the steep slopes, through the tangled brush and undergrowth—
Cole was lost in thought, reflecting on his situation. He had been in the mountains for two nights and a day. The first night had been the hardest. He stumbled and fell, navigating uncertainly up the steep slopes and through the thick brush and undergrowth—
But when the sun came up he was safe, deep in the mountains, between two great peaks. And by the time the sun had set again he had fixed himself up a shelter and a means of making a fire. Now he had a neat little box trap, operated by a plaited grass rope and pit, a notched stake. One rabbit already hung by his hind legs and the trap was waiting for another.
But when the sun came up, he was safe, deep in the mountains, between two towering peaks. By the time the sun set again, he had built himself a shelter and figured out how to make a fire. Now he had a neat little box trap, run by a braided grass rope and a pit with a notched stake. One rabbit was already hanging by its hind legs, and the trap was ready for another.
The sky turned from violet gray to a deep cold gray, a metallic color. The mountains were silent and empty. Far off some place a bird sang, its voice echoing across the vast slopes and ravines. Other birds began to sing. Off to his right something crashed through the brush, an animal pushing its way along.
The sky shifted from a violet gray to a deep, cold gray, a metallic hue. The mountains stood silent and vacant. In the distance, a bird sang, its voice echoing across the wide slopes and valleys. More birds joined in the song. To his right, something crashed through the underbrush, an animal making its way through.
Day was coming. His second day. Cole got to his feet and began to unfasten the rabbit. Time to eat. And then? After that he had no plans. He knew instinctively that he could keep himself alive indefinitely with the tools he had retained, and the genius of his hands. He could kill game and skin it. Eventually he could build himself a permanent shelter, even make clothes out of hides. In winter—
Day was breaking. His second day. Cole stood up and started to unfasten the rabbit. Time to eat. And then? After that, he had no plans. He instinctively knew he could survive indefinitely with the tools he had kept and the skill of his hands. He could hunt and skin animals. Eventually, he could build himself a permanent shelter and even make clothes out of hides. In winter—
But he was not thinking that far ahead. Cole stood by the fire, staring up at the sky, his hands on his hips. He squinted, suddenly tense. Something was moving. Something in the sky, drifting slowly through the grayness. A black dot.
But he wasn't thinking that far ahead. Cole stood by the fire, staring up at the sky, his hands on his hips. He squinted, suddenly tense. Something was moving. Something in the sky, drifting slowly through the grayness. A black dot.
He stamped out the fire quickly. What was it? He strained, trying to see. A bird?
He quickly put out the fire. What was it? He tried hard to see. A bird?
A second dot joined the first. Two dots. Then three. Four. Five. A fleet of them, moving rapidly across the early morning sky. Toward the mountains.
A second dot joined the first. Two dots. Then three. Four. Five. A whole bunch of them, moving quickly across the early morning sky. Toward the mountains.
Toward him.
Toward him.
Cole hurried away from the fire. He snatched up the rabbit and carried it along with him, into the tangled shelter he had built. He was invisible, inside the shelter. No one could find him. But if they had seen the fire—
Cole hurried away from the fire. He grabbed the rabbit and took it with him into the messy shelter he had built. He was hidden inside the shelter. No one could find him. But if they had seen the fire—
He crouched in the shelter, watching the dots grow larger. They were planes, all right. Black wingless planes, coming closer each moment. Now he could hear them, a faint dull buzz, increasing until the ground shook under him.
He crouched in the shelter, watching the dots get bigger. They were definitely planes. Black wingless planes, getting closer with each moment. Now he could hear them, a faint dull buzz, growing louder until the ground shook beneath him.
The first plane dived. It dropped like a stone, swelling into a great black shape. Cole gasped, sinking down. The plane roared in an arc, swooping low over the ground. Suddenly bundles tumbled out, white bundles falling and scattering like seeds.
The first plane dove. It dropped like a rock, growing into a huge black shape. Cole gasped, sinking down. The plane roared in an arc, swooping low over the ground. Suddenly, bundles started tumbling out, white bundles falling and scattering like seeds.
The bundles drifted rapidly to the ground. They landed. They were men. Men in uniform.
The bundles quickly fell to the ground. They landed. They were men. Men in uniform.
Now the second plane was diving. It roared overhead, releasing its load. More bundles tumbled out, filling the sky. The third plane dived, then the fourth. The air was thick with drifting bundles of white, a blanket of descending weed spores, settling to earth.
Now the second plane was diving. It roared overhead, dropping its load. More bundles tumbled out, filling the sky. The third plane dived, then the fourth. The air was thick with drifting bundles of white, a blanket of falling weed spores, settling to the ground.
On the ground the soldiers were forming into groups. Their shouts carried to Cole, crouched in his shelter. Fear leaped through him. They were landing on all sides of him. He was cut off. The last two planes had dropped men behind him.
On the ground, the soldiers were gathering into groups. Their shouts reached Cole, who was crouched in his shelter. Fear surged through him. They were landing all around him. He was trapped. The last two planes had dropped soldiers behind him.
He got to his feet, pushing out of the shelter. Some of the soldiers had found the fire, the ashes and coals. One dropped down, feeling the coals with his hand. He waved to the others. They were circling all around, shouting and gesturing. One of them began to set up some kind of gun. Others were unrolling coils of tubing, locking a collection of strange pipes and machinery in place.
He stood up and pushed himself out of the shelter. Some of the soldiers had found the fire, with its ashes and coals. One of them knelt down, feeling the coals with his hand. He waved to the others. They were all around, shouting and gesturing. One of them started to set up some kind of gun. Others were unrolling coils of tubing, securing a bunch of strange pipes and machinery in place.
Cole ran. He rolled down a slope, sliding and falling. At the bottom he leaped to his feet and plunged into the brush. Vines and leaves tore at his face, slashing and cutting him. He fell again, tangled in a mass of twisted shrubbery. He fought desperately, trying to free himself. If he could reach the knife in his pocket—
Cole ran. He rolled down a slope, sliding and falling. At the bottom, he jumped to his feet and plunged into the bushes. Vines and leaves scratched at his face, cutting him. He fell again, getting stuck in a tangle of twisted shrubs. He fought hard, trying to get free. If he could just reach the knife in his pocket—
Voices. Footsteps. Men were behind him, running down the slope. Cole struggled frantically, gasping and twisting, trying to pull loose. He strained, breaking the vines, clawing at them with his hands.
Voices. Footsteps. Men were behind him, running down the slope. Cole struggled desperately, gasping and twisting, trying to break free. He strained, ripping the vines apart, clawing at them with his hands.
A soldier dropped to his knee, leveling his gun. More soldiers arrived, bringing up their rifles and aiming.
A soldier dropped to one knee, aiming his gun. More soldiers showed up, raising their rifles and taking aim.
Cole cried out. He closed his eyes, his body suddenly limp. He waited, his teeth locked together, sweat dripping down his neck, into his shirt, sagging against the mesh of vines and branches coiled around him.
Cole shouted. He shut his eyes, his body going completely limp. He waited, his teeth clenched, sweat running down his neck and soaking into his shirt, which hung heavily against the tangle of vines and branches wrapped around him.
Silence.
Silence.
Cole opened his eyes slowly. The soldiers had regrouped. A huge man was striding down the slope toward them, barking orders as he came.
Cole opened his eyes slowly. The soldiers had regrouped. A big man was walking down the slope toward them, shouting orders as he approached.
Two soldiers stepped into the brush. One of them grabbed Cole by the shoulder.
Two soldiers stepped into the brush. One of them grabbed Cole by the shoulder.
“Don’t let go of him.” The huge man came over, his black beard jutting out. “Hold on.”
“Don’t let go of him.” The big guy came over, his black beard sticking out. “Hang on.”
Cole gasped for breath. He was caught. There was nothing he could do. More soldiers were pouring down into the gulley, surrounding him on all sides. They studied him curiously, murmuring together. Cole shook his head wearily and said nothing.
Cole gasped for breath. He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. More soldiers were pouring into the gully, surrounding him on all sides. They looked at him with curiosity, murmuring among themselves. Cole shook his head wearily and said nothing.
The huge man with the beard stood directly in front of him, his hands on his hips, looking him up and down. “Don’t try to get away,” the man said. “You can’t get away. Do you understand?”
The big guy with the beard stood right in front of him, his hands on his hips, sizing him up. “Don’t even think about running,” the guy said. “You can’t escape. Got it?”
Cole nodded.
Cole agreed.
“All right. Good.” The man waved. Soldiers clamped metal bands around Cole’s arms and wrists. The metal dug into his flesh, making him gasp with pain. More clamps locked around his legs. “Those stay there until we’re out of here. A long way out.”
“All right. Good.” The man waved. Soldiers fastened metal bands around Cole’s arms and wrists. The metal pressed into his skin, causing him to gasp in pain. More clamps secured his legs. “Those stay on until we’re out of here. A long way out.”
“Where—where are you taking me?”
“Where are you taking me?”
Peter Sherikov studied the variable man for a moment before he answered. “Where? I’m taking you to my labs. Under the Urals.” He glanced suddenly up at the sky. “We better hurry. The Security police will be starting their demolition attack in a few hours. We want to be a long way from here when that begins.”
Peter Sherikov looked at the variable man for a moment before responding. “Where? I’m taking you to my labs. Under the Urals.” He suddenly glanced up at the sky. “We should hurry. The Security police are going to start their demolition attack in a few hours. We want to be far away from here when that happens.”
The metal clamps were removed from Cole’s arms and legs. He sagged, sinking down in a heap. Sherikov watched him silently.
The metal clamps were taken off Cole’s arms and legs. He slumped down in a heap. Sherikov watched him silently.
Cole sat on the floor, rubbing his wrists and legs, saying nothing.
Cole sat on the floor, rubbing his wrists and legs, saying nothing.
“What do you want?” Sherikov demanded. “Food? Are you hungry?”
“What do you want?” Sherikov asked. “Food? Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Medicine? Are you sick? Injured?”
"Need a doctor? Are you sick or hurt?"
“No.”
“No.”
Sherikov wrinkled his nose. “A bath wouldn’t hurt you any. We’ll arrange that later.” He lit a cigar, blowing a cloud of gray smoke around him. At the door of the room two lab guards stood with guns ready. No one else was in the room beside Sherikov and Cole.
Sherikov scrunched up his nose. “A bath wouldn’t hurt you. We’ll set that up later.” He lit a cigar, blowing a puff of gray smoke around him. At the door of the room, two lab guards stood with their guns ready. No one else was in the room besides Sherikov and Cole.
Thomas Cole sat huddled in a heap on the floor, his head sunk down against his chest. He did not stir. His bent body seemed more elongated and stooped than ever, his hair tousled and unkempt, his chin and jowls a rough stubbled gray. His clothes were dirty and torn from crawling through the brush. His skin was cut and scratched; open sores dotted his neck and cheeks and forehead. He said nothing. His chest rose and fell. His faded blue eyes were almost closed. He looked quite old, a withered, dried-up old man.
Thomas Cole sat curled up on the floor, his head resting against his chest. He didn’t move. His hunched body appeared more elongated and stooped than ever, with his hair messy and unkempt, his chin and jowls covered in rough, gray stubble. His clothes were dirty and torn from crawling through the weeds. His skin was cut and scratched, with open sores scattered across his neck, cheeks, and forehead. He didn’t say a word. His chest rose and fell. His faded blue eyes were nearly closed. He looked very old, like a withered, dried-up man.
Sherikov waved one of the guards over. “Have a doctor brought up here. I want this man checked over. He may need intravenous injections. He may not have had anything to eat for awhile.”
Sherikov signaled one of the guards. “Get a doctor up here. I want this guy checked out. He might need IVs. He may not have eaten anything for a while.”
The guard departed.
The guard left.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Sherikov said. “Before we go on I’ll have you checked over. And deloused at the same time.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Sherikov said. “Before we continue, I’ll have you examined. And I’ll get rid of the lice at the same time.”
Cole said nothing.
Cole remained silent.
Sherikov laughed. “Buck up! You have no reason to feel bad.” He leaned toward Cole, jabbing an immense finger at him. “Another two hours and you’d have been dead, out there in the mountains. You know that?”
Sherikov laughed. “Cheer up! You’ve got no reason to feel down.” He leaned toward Cole, poking an enormous finger at him. “Another two hours and you would have been dead out there in the mountains. You get that?”
Cole nodded.
Cole agreed.
“You don’t believe me. Look.” Sherikov leaned over and snapped on the vidscreen mounted in the wall. “Watch, this. The operation should still be going on.”
“You don’t believe me. Look.” Sherikov leaned over and turned on the screen mounted in the wall. “Watch this. The operation should still be happening.”
The screen lit up. A scene gained form.
The screen lit up. A scene took shape.
Cole turned toward the screen. At first he could not make out what was happening. The screen showed a vast foaming cloud, a vortex of motion. From the speaker came a low rumble, a deep-throated roar. After a time the screen shifted, showing a slightly different view. Suddenly Cole stiffened.
Cole faced the screen. At first, he couldn't quite tell what was going on. The screen displayed a huge, swirling cloud, full of movement. From the speaker, a low rumble resonated, sounding like a deep roar. After a while, the screen changed to a slightly different angle. Suddenly, Cole tensed up.
He was seeing the destruction of a whole mountain range.
He was witnessing the destruction of an entire mountain range.
The picture was coming from a ship, flying above what had once been the Albertine Mountain Range. Now there was nothing but swirling clouds of gray and columns of particles and debris, a surging tide of restless material gradually sweeping off and dissipating in all directions.
The image was coming from a ship, soaring above what used to be the Albertine Mountain Range. Now there was only a swirling mass of gray clouds and columns of particles and debris, a rising tide of restless material slowly spreading out and disappearing in every direction.
The Albertine Mountains had been disintegrated. Nothing remained but these vast clouds of debris. Below, on the ground, a ragged plain stretched out, swept by fire and ruin. Gaping wounds yawned, immense holes without bottom, craters side by side as far as the eye could see. Craters and debris. Like the blasted, pitted surface of the moon. Two hours ago it had been rolling peaks and gulleys, brush and green bushes and trees.
The Albertine Mountains were gone, reduced to nothing but massive clouds of debris. Below, a torn-up plain lay spread out, ravaged by fire and destruction. Huge, gaping wounds opened up, vast bottomless holes, craters lined up next to each other as far as the eye could see. Craters and debris. It looked like the battered, pockmarked surface of the moon. Just two hours ago, it had been rolling hills and valleys, covered with brush, green bushes, and trees.
Cole turned away.
Cole walked away.
“You see?” Sherikov snapped the screen off. “You were down there, not so long ago. All that noise and smoke—all for you. All for you, Mr. Variable Man from the past. Reinhart arranged that, to finish you off. I want you to understand that. It’s very important that you realize that.”
“You see?” Sherikov turned off the screen. “You were down there not too long ago. All that noise and smoke— all for you. All for you, Mr. Variable Man from the past. Reinhart set that up to take you out. I need you to understand that. It's really important that you get that.”
Cole said nothing.
Cole stayed silent.
Sherikov reached into a drawer of the table before him. He carefully brought out a small square box and held it out to Cole. “You wired this, didn’t you?”
Sherikov reached into a drawer of the table in front of him. He carefully pulled out a small square box and held it out to Cole. “You wired this, right?”
Cole took the box in his hands and held it. For a time his tired mind failed to focus. What did he have? He concentrated on it. The box was the children’s toy. The inter-system vidsender, they had called it.
Cole took the box in his hands and held it. For a while, his tired mind struggled to focus. What did he have? He concentrated on it. The box was a children's toy. They called it the inter-system vidsender.
“Yes. I fixed this.” He passed it back to Sherikov. “I repaired that. It was broken.”
“Yes. I fixed this.” He handed it back to Sherikov. “I repaired that. It was broken.”
Sherikov gazed down at him intently, his large eyes bright. He nodded, his black beard and cigar rising and falling. “Good. That’s all I wanted to know.” He got suddenly to his feet, pushing his chair back. “I see the doctor’s here. He’ll fix you up. Everything you need. Later on I’ll talk to you again.”
Sherikov looked down at him closely, his big eyes shining. He nodded, his black beard and cigar moving up and down. “Good. That’s all I needed to know.” He suddenly stood up, pushing his chair back. “I see the doctor’s here. He’ll take care of you. Everything you need. I’ll talk to you again later.”
Unprotesting, Cole got to his feet, allowing the doctor to take hold of his arm and help him up.
Unprotesting, Cole got to his feet, allowing the doctor to take hold of his arm and help him up.
The Pole gulped down a hasty meal, talking as he ate. Cole sat silently across from him, not eating or speaking. His old clothing had been taken away and new clothing given him. He was shaved and rubbed down. His sores and cuts were healed, his body and hair washed. He looked much healthier and younger, now. But he was still stooped and tired, his blue eyes worn and faded. He listened to Sherikov’s account of the world of 2136 AD without comment.
The Pole quickly ate his meal while talking. Cole sat silently across from him, not eating or speaking. His old clothes had been taken away and he was given new ones. He had been shaved and cleaned up. His sores and cuts were healed, and his body and hair were washed. He looked much healthier and younger now. But he still sat hunched over and tired, his blue eyes worn and dull. He listened to Sherikov's description of the world in 2136 AD without saying a word.
“You can see,” Sherikov said finally, waving a chicken leg, “that your appearance here has been very upsetting to our program. Now that you know more about us you can see why Commissioner Reinhart was so interested in destroying you.”
“You can see,” Sherikov said at last, waving a chicken leg, “that your being here has really messed up our plan. Now that you know more about us, you can understand why Commissioner Reinhart was so keen on getting rid of you.”
Cole nodded.
Cole agreed.
“Reinhart, you realize, believes that the failure of the SRB machines is the chief danger to the war effort. But that is nothing!” Sherikov pushed his plate away noisily, draining his coffee mug. “After all, wars can be fought without statistical forecasts. The SRB machines only describe. They’re nothing more than mechanical onlookers. In themselves, they don’t affect the course of the war. We make the war. They only analyze.”
“Reinhart, you know, thinks that the breakdown of the SRB machines is the biggest threat to the war effort. But that’s nothing!” Sherikov shoved his plate aside noisily, finishing off his coffee. “After all, wars can be fought without statistical predictions. The SRB machines just describe things. They’re nothing more than mechanical observers. On their own, they don’t change the course of the war. We shape the war. They only analyze.”
Cole nodded.
Cole agreed.
“More coffee?” Sherikov asked. He pushed the plastic container toward Cole. “Have some.”
“More coffee?” Sherikov asked. He pushed the plastic container toward Cole. “Have some.”
Cole accepted another cupful. “Thank you.”
Cole accepted another cup. “Thanks.”
“You can see that our real problem is another thing entirely. The machines only do figuring for us in a few minutes that eventually we could do for our own selves. They’re our servants, tools. Not some sort of gods in a temple which we go and pray to. Not oracles who can see into the future for us. They don’t see into the future. They only make statistical predictions—not prophecies. There’s a big difference there, but Reinhart doesn’t understand it. Reinhart and his kind have made such things as the SRB machines into gods. But I have no gods. At least, not any I can see.”
“You can see that our real problem is something completely different. The machines only do calculations for us in a few minutes that we could eventually do ourselves. They’re our servants, tools. They’re not gods in a temple that we go and pray to. They’re not oracles who can see into the future for us. They don’t see into the future. They only make statistical predictions—not prophecies. There’s a big difference, but Reinhart doesn’t understand it. Reinhart and his people have turned things like the SRB machines into gods. But I have no gods. At least, none that I can see.”
Cole nodded, sipping his coffee.
Cole nodded, drinking his coffee.
“I’m telling you all these things because you must understand what we’re up against. Terra is hemmed in on all sides by the ancient Centauran Empire. It’s been out there for centuries, thousands of years. No one knows how long. It’s old—crumbling and rotting. Corrupt and venal. But it holds most of the galaxy around us, and we can’t break out of the Sol system. I told you about Icarus, and Hedge’s work in ftl flight. We must win the war against Centaurus. We’ve waited and worked a long time for this, the moment when we can break out and get room among the stars for ourselves. Icarus is the deciding weapon. The data on Icarus tipped the SRB odds in our favor—for the first time in history. Success in the war against Centaurus will depend on Icarus, not on the SRB machines. You see?”
“I’m sharing all this with you because you need to understand what we’re up against. Terra is surrounded on all sides by the ancient Centauran Empire. It’s been out there for centuries, thousands of years. No one knows how long. It’s old—falling apart and decaying. Corrupt and greedy. But it controls most of the galaxy around us, and we can’t break out of the Sol system. I told you about Icarus and Hedge’s work in FTL flight. We must win the war against Centaurus. We’ve waited and worked a long time for this—the moment when we can break free and carve out a space among the stars for ourselves. Icarus is the key weapon. The data on Icarus shifted the SRB odds in our favor—for the first time in history. Success in the war against Centaurus will depend on Icarus, not on the SRB machines. You get it?”
Cole nodded.
Cole agreed.
“However, there is a problem. The data on Icarus which I turned over to the machines specified that Icarus would be completed in ten days. More than half that time has already passed. Yet, we are no closer to wiring up the control turret than we were then. The turret baffles us.” Sherikov grinned ironically. “Even I have tried my hand at the wiring, but with no success. It’s intricate—and small. Too many technical bugs not worked out. We are building only one, you understand. If we had many experimental models worked out before—”
“However, there’s a problem. The data on Icarus that I handed over to the machines indicated that Icarus would be finished in ten days. More than half that time has already gone by. Yet, we’re no closer to wiring up the control turret than we were back then. The turret is confusing us.” Sherikov smirked ironically. “Even I’ve tried my hand at the wiring, but I didn’t have any luck. It’s complicated—and small. There are too many technical bugs that haven’t been fixed. We’re only building one, you see. If we had a number of experimental models worked out ahead of time—”
“But this is the experimental model,” Cole said.
“But this is the experimental model,” Cole said.
“And built from the designs of a man dead four years—who isn’t here to correct us. We’ve made Icarus with our own hands, down here in the labs. And he’s giving us plenty of trouble.” All at once Sherikov got to his feet. “Let’s go down to the lab and look at him.”
“And built from the designs of a man who died four years ago—who isn’t here to correct us. We’ve created Icarus with our own hands, down here in the labs. And he’s causing us a lot of trouble.” Suddenly, Sherikov stood up. “Let’s head to the lab and check him out.”
They descended to the floor below, Sherikov leading the way. Cole stopped short at the lab door.
They went down to the floor below, with Sherikov in the lead. Cole paused suddenly at the lab door.
“Quite a sight,” Sherikov agreed. “We keep him down here at the bottom for safety’s sake. He’s well protected. Come on in. We have work to do.”
“Quite a sight,” Sherikov agreed. “We keep him down here at the bottom for safety reasons. He’s well protected. Come on in. We have work to do.”
In the center of the lab Icarus rose up, the gray squat cylinder that someday would flash through space at a speed of thousands of times that of light, toward the heart of Proxima Centaurus, over four light years away. Around the cylinder groups of men in uniform were laboring feverishly to finish the remaining work.
In the middle of the lab, Icarus stood tall, the gray, short cylinder that would one day zip through space at speeds thousands of times faster than light, heading toward the center of Proxima Centaurus, which is over four light years away. Surrounding the cylinder, groups of uniformed men were working tirelessly to complete the final tasks.
“Over here. The turret.” Sherikov led Cole over to one side of the room. “It’s guarded. Centauran spies are swarming everywhere on Terra. They see into everything. But so do we. That’s how we get information for the SRB machines. Spies in both systems.”
“Over here. The turret.” Sherikov guided Cole to one side of the room. “It’s guarded. Centauran spies are everywhere on Earth. They have eyes everywhere. But so do we. That’s how we gather information for the SRB machines. Spies in both systems.”
“We don’t want anything to happen to this,” Sherikov said. “Everything depends on it.” He put out his hand for the globe. Half way to it his hand stopped, striking against an invisible presence in the air.
“We don’t want anything to happen to this,” Sherikov said. “Everything depends on it.” He reached out for the globe. Halfway there, his hand paused, hitting an invisible barrier in the air.
Sherikov laughed. “The wall. Shut it off. It’s still on.”
Sherikov laughed. “The wall. Turn it off. It's still on.”
One of the guards pressed a stud at his wrist. Around the globe the air shimmered and faded.
One of the guards pressed a button on his wrist. The air around the globe shimmered and faded.
“Now.” Sherikov’s hand closed over the globe. He lifted it carefully from its mount and brought it out for Cole to see. “This is the control turret for our enormous friend here. This is what will slow him down when he’s inside Centaurus. He slows down and re-enters this universe. Right in the heart of the star. Then—no more Centaurus.” Sherikov beamed. “And no more Armun.”
“Now.” Sherikov’s hand closed around the globe. He carefully lifted it from its stand and brought it out for Cole to see. “This is the control turret for our massive friend here. This is what will slow him down when he’s inside Centaurus. He slows down and re-enters this universe. Right in the heart of the star. Then—no more Centaurus.” Sherikov smiled proudly. “And no more Armun.”
But Cole was not listening. He had taken the globe from Sherikov and was turning it over and over, running his hands over it, his face close to its surface. He peered down into its interior, his face rapt and intent.
But Cole wasn’t paying attention. He had taken the globe from Sherikov and was spinning it around, running his hands over it, his face close to its surface. He looked deeply into its interior, his expression absorbed and focused.
“You can’t see the wiring. Not without lenses.” Sherikov signalled for a pair of micro-lenses to be brought. He fitted them on Cole’s nose, hooking them behind his ears. “Now try it. You can control the magnification. It’s set for 1000X right now. You can increase or decrease it.”
“You can’t see the wiring. Not without lenses.” Sherikov signaled for a pair of micro-lenses to be brought. He fitted them on Cole’s nose, hooking them behind his ears. “Now try it. You can control the magnification. It’s set for 1000X right now. You can increase or decrease it.”
Cole gasped, swaying back and forth. Sherikov caught hold of him. Cole gazed down into the globe, moving his head slightly, focussing the glasses.
Cole gasped, swaying back and forth. Sherikov caught hold of him. Cole looked down into the globe, tilting his head slightly, focusing the glasses.
“It takes practice. But you can do a lot with them. Permits you to do microscopic wiring. There are tools to go along, you understand.” Sherikov paused, licking his lip. “We can’t get it done correctly. Only a few men can wire circuits using the micro-lenses and the little tools. We’ve tried robots, but there are too many decisions to be made. Robots can’t make decisions. They just react.”
“It takes practice. But you can do a lot with them. They let you do microscopic wiring. There are tools to go along with it, you know.” Sherikov paused, licking his lips. “We can’t get it done right. Only a few people can wire circuits using the micro-lenses and the small tools. We’ve tried robots, but there are too many decisions involved. Robots can’t make decisions. They just react.”
Cole said nothing. He continued to gaze into the interior of the globe, his lips tight, his body taut and rigid. It made Sherikov feel strangely uneasy.
Cole said nothing. He kept staring into the globe, his lips tight, his body tense and stiff. It made Sherikov feel oddly uncomfortable.
“You look like one of those old fortune tellers,” Sherikov said jokingly, but a cold shiver crawled up his spine. “Better hand it back to me.” He held out his hand.
“You look like one of those old fortune tellers,” Sherikov said jokingly, but a cold shiver ran up his spine. “You should give it back to me.” He extended his hand.
Slowly, Cole returned the globe. After a time he removed the micro-lenses, still deep in thought.
Slowly, Cole put the globe back. After a while, he took off the micro-lenses, still lost in thought.
“Well?” Sherikov demanded. “You know what I want. I want you to wire this damn thing up.” Sherikov came close to Cole, his big face hard. “You can do it, I think. I could tell by the way you held it—and the job you did on the children’s toy, of course. You could wire it up right, and in five days. Nobody else can. And if it’s not wired up Centaurus will keep on running the galaxy and Terra will have to sweat it out here in the Sol system. One tiny mediocre sun, one dust mote out of a whole galaxy.”
“Well?” Sherikov pressed. “You know what I want. I want you to wire this thing up.” Sherikov stepped closer to Cole, his large face serious. “I believe you can do it. I could tell by how you handled it—and the job you did on the kids' toy, of course. You could wire it up correctly, and within five days. No one else can. And if it’s not wired up, Centaurus will keep moving through the galaxy while Terra has to suffer here in the Sol system. One tiny ordinary sun, one speck of dust in the vast galaxy.”
Cole did not answer.
Cole didn't respond.
Sherikov became impatient. “Well? What do you say?”
Sherikov grew impatient. “Well? What do you think?”
“What happens if I don’t wire this control for you? I mean, what happens to me?”
“What happens if I don't wire this control for you? I mean, what happens to me?”
“Then I turn you over to Reinhart. Reinhart will kill you instantly. He thinks you’re dead, killed when the Albertine Range was annihilated. If he had any idea I had saved you—”
“Then I’ll hand you over to Reinhart. Reinhart will kill you right away. He thinks you’re dead, killed when the Albertine Range was wiped out. If he knew I had saved you—”
“I see.”
“Got it.”
“I brought you down here for one thing. If you wire it up I’ll have you sent back to your own time continuum. If you don’t—”
“I brought you down here for one reason. If you set it up, I’ll send you back to your own time period. If you don’t—”
Cole considered, his face dark and brooding.
Cole thought, his expression serious and intense.
“What do you have to lose? You’d already be dead, if we hadn’t pulled you out of those hills.”
“What do you have to lose? You’d already be dead if we hadn’t pulled you out of those hills.”
“Can you really return me to my own time?”
“Can you really take me back to my own time?”
“Of course!”
"Definitely!"
“Reinhart won’t interfere?”
“Reinhart won’t get involved?”
Sherikov laughed. “What can he do? How can he stop me? I have my own men. You saw them. They landed all around you. You’ll be returned.”
Sherikov laughed. “What can he do? How can he stop me? I have my own guys. You saw them. They landed all around you. You’ll be sent back.”
“Yes. I saw your men.”
"Yeah. I saw your guys."
“Then you agree?”
"Do you agree?"
“I agree,” Thomas Cole said. “I’ll wire it for you. I’ll complete the control turret—within the next five days.”
“I agree,” Thomas Cole said. “I’ll send it to you. I’ll finish the control turret—within the next five days.”
IV
Three days later Joseph Dixon slid a closed-circuit message plate across the desk to his boss.
Three days later, Joseph Dixon slid a closed-circuit message plate across the desk to his boss.
“Here. You might be interested in this.”
“Here. You might find this interesting.”
Reinhart picked the plate up slowly. “What is it? You came all the way here to show me this?”
Reinhart picked up the plate slowly. “What is it? You came all the way here to show me this?”
“That’s right.”
"Exactly."
“Why didn’t you vidscreen it?”
“Why didn’t you video call it?”
Dixon smiled grimly. “You’ll understand when you decode it. It’s from Proxima Centaurus.”
Dixon smiled wryly. “You’ll get it once you figure it out. It’s from Proxima Centauri.”
“Centaurus!”
“Centaurus!”
“Our counter-intelligence service. They sent it direct to me. Here, I’ll decode it for you. Save you the trouble.”
“Our counter-intelligence service. They sent it straight to me. Here, I’ll decode it for you. Save you the hassle.”
“Hang on,” Dixon said. “This is going to hit you hard. According to our agents on Armun, the Centauran High Council has called an emergency session to deal with the problem of Terra’s impending attack. Centauran relay couriers have reported to the High Council that the Terran bomb Icarus is virtually complete. Work on the bomb has been rushed through final stages in the underground laboratories under the Ural Range, directed by the Terran physicist Peter Sherikov.”
“Hang on,” Dixon said. “This is going to hit you hard. According to our agents on Armun, the Centauran High Council has called an emergency session to address the issue of Terra’s upcoming attack. Centauran relay couriers have informed the High Council that the Terran bomb Icarus is almost complete. The final stages of the bomb have been hurried through in the underground labs beneath the Ural Range, overseen by the Terran physicist Peter Sherikov.”
“So I understand from Sherikov himself. Are you surprised the Centaurans know about the bomb? They have spies swarming over Terra. That’s no news.”
“So I hear from Sherikov himself. Are you surprised the Centaurans know about the bomb? They have spies all over Earth. That’s nothing new.”
“There’s more.” Dixon traced the message plate grimly, with an unsteady finger. “The Centauran relay couriers reported that Peter Sherikov brought an expert mechanic out of a previous time continuum to complete the wiring of the turret!”
“There’s more.” Dixon traced the message plate grimly, with an unsteady finger. “The Centauran relay couriers reported that Peter Sherikov brought an expert mechanic from a past timeline to finish the wiring of the turret!”
Reinhart staggered, holding on tight to the desk. He closed his eyes, gasping.
Reinhart swayed, gripping the desk tightly. He shut his eyes, breathing heavily.
“The variable man is still alive,” Dixon murmured. “I don’t know how. Or why. There’s nothing left of the Albertines. And how the hell did the man get half way around the world?”
“The variable man is still alive,” Dixon murmured. “I don’t know how. Or why. There’s nothing left of the Albertines. And how on earth did the man get halfway around the world?”
Reinhart opened his eyes slowly, his face twisting. “Sherikov! He must have removed him before the attack. I told Sherikov the attack was forthcoming. I gave him the exact hour. He had to get help—from the variable man. He couldn’t meet his promise otherwise.”
Reinhart slowly opened his eyes, his face contorting. “Sherikov! He must have taken him out before the attack. I warned Sherikov that the attack was coming. I gave him the exact time. He needed to get help—from the variable man. He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise otherwise.”
Reinhart leaped up and began to pace back and forth. “I’ve already informed the SRB machines that the variable man has been destroyed. The machines now show the original 7-6 ratio in our favor. But the ratio is based on false information.”
Reinhart jumped up and started pacing back and forth. “I've already told the SRB machines that the variable man has been eliminated. The machines now display the original 7-6 ratio in our favor. But that ratio is based on incorrect information.”
“Then you’ll have to withdraw the false data and restore the original situation.”
“Then you’ll need to take back the incorrect information and return things to the way they were.”
“No.” Reinhart shook his head. “I can’t do that. The machines must be kept functioning. We can’t allow them to jam again. It’s too dangerous. If Duffe should become aware that—”
“No.” Reinhart shook his head. “I can’t do that. The machines need to keep running. We can’t let them get jammed again. It’s too risky. If Duffe finds out that—”
“What are you going to do, then?” Dixon picked up the message plate. “You can’t leave the machines with false data. That’s treason.”
“What are you going to do, then?” Dixon picked up the message plate. “You can’t leave the machines with false data. That’s betrayal.”
Suddenly Reinhart stopped pacing. “The turret. It’s probably finished by this time. Correct?”
Suddenly, Reinhart stopped pacing. “The turret. It’s probably done by now, right?”
Dixon nodded slowly in agreement. “With the variable man helping, Sherikov has undoubtedly completed work well ahead of schedule.”
Dixon nodded slowly in agreement. “With the variable man helping, Sherikov has definitely finished his work way ahead of schedule.”
Reinhart’s gray eyes flickered. “Then he’s no longer of any use—even to Sherikov. We could take a chance…. Even if there were active opposition….”
Reinhart’s gray eyes flickered. “Then he’s not useful anymore—even to Sherikov. We could take a risk… even if there's active opposition…”
“What’s this?” Dixon demanded. “What are you thinking about?”
“What’s going on?” Dixon asked. “What are you thinking about?”
“How many units are ready for immediate action? How large a force can we raise without notice?”
“How many units are ready for immediate deployment? How big of a force can we assemble on short notice?”
“Because of the war we’re mobilized on a twenty-four hour basis. There are seventy air units and about two hundred surface units. The balance of the Security forces have been transferred to the line, under military control.”
“Due to the war, we’re operating on a twenty-four-hour schedule. There are seventy air units and around two hundred surface units. The rest of the Security forces have been deployed to the front lines, under military control.”
“Men?”
“Guys?”
“We have about five thousand men ready to go, still on Terra. Most of them in the process of being transferred to military transports. I can hold it up at any time.”
“We have around five thousand men ready to go, still on Earth. Most of them are in the process of being moved to military transports. I can delay it at any time.”
“Missiles?”
"Missiles?"
“Fortunately, the launching tubes have not yet been disassembled. They’re still here on Terra. In another few days they’ll be moving out for the Colonial fracas.”
“Fortunately, the launch tubes haven’t been taken apart yet. They’re still here on Earth. In a few days, they’ll be heading out for the Colonial conflict.”
“Then they’re available for immediate use?”
“Then they’re ready for immediate use?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Reinhart locked his hands, knotting his fingers harshly together in sudden decision. “That will do exactly. Unless I am completely wrong, Sherikov has only a half-dozen air units and no surface cars. And only about two hundred men. Some defense shields, of course—”
“Good.” Reinhart locked his hands, intertwining his fingers tightly in a sudden decision. “That’ll work perfectly. Unless I’m completely mistaken, Sherikov has only about six air units and no ground vehicles. And roughly two hundred men. Some defense shields, of course—”
“What are you planning?”
“What are your plans?”
Reinhart’s face was gray and hard, like stone. “Send out orders for all available Security units to be unified under your immediate command. Have them ready to move by four o’clock this afternoon. We’re going to pay a visit,” Reinhart stated grimly. “A surprise visit. On Peter Sherikov.”
Reinhart’s face was gray and tough, like stone. “Send out orders for all available Security units to be combined under your immediate command. Get them ready to move by four o’clock this afternoon. We’re going to pay a visit,” Reinhart said grimly. “A surprise visit. To Peter Sherikov.”
“Stop here,” Reinhart ordered.
“Stop here,” Reinhart said.
The surface car slowed to a halt. Reinhart peered cautiously out, studying the horizon ahead.
The surface car came to a stop. Reinhart looked out carefully, scanning the horizon ahead.
“Over there,” Reinhart said to Dixon, pointing. “See?”
“Over there,” Reinhart said to Dixon, pointing. “See?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Look hard. It’s difficult to spot unless you know what to look for. Vertical pipes. Some kind of vent. Or periscopes.”
“Look closely. It’s hard to see unless you know what to look for. Vertical pipes. Some type of vent. Or periscopes.”
Dixon saw them finally. “I would have driven past without noticing.”
Dixon finally saw them. “I would have driven right by without even realizing.”
“It’s well concealed. The main labs are a mile down. Under the range itself. It’s virtually impregnable. Sherikov had it built years ago, to withstand any attack. From the air, by surface cars, bombs, missiles—”
“It’s well hidden. The main labs are a mile down, beneath the range itself. It’s practically indestructible. Sherikov had it constructed years ago to withstand any kind of attack—by air, from surface vehicles, bombs, missiles—”
“He must feel safe down there.”
“He must feel safe down there.”
“No doubt.” Reinhart gazed up at the sky. A few faint black dots could be seen, moving lazily about, in broad circles. “Those aren’t ours, are they? I gave orders—”
“No doubt.” Reinhart looked up at the sky. A few faint black dots were visible, moving slowly in wide circles. “Those aren’t ours, are they? I gave orders—”
“No. They’re not ours. All our units are out of sight. Those belong to Sherikov. His patrol.”
“No. They’re not ours. All our units are out of sight. Those belong to Sherikov. His patrol.”
Reinhart relaxed. “Good.” He reached over and flicked on the vidscreen over the board of the car. “This screen is shielded? It can’t be traced?”
Reinhart relaxed. “Good.” He reached over and turned on the screen above the car's dashboard. “This screen is secure? It can’t be traced?”
“There’s no way they can spot it back to us. It’s non-directional.”
“There’s no way they can trace it back to us. It’s non-directional.”
The screen glowed into life. Reinhart punched the combination keys and sat back to wait.
The screen lit up. Reinhart entered the combination and leaned back to wait.
After a time an image formed on the screen. A heavy face, bushy black beard and large eyes.
After a while, an image appeared on the screen. A thick face, a bushy black beard, and large eyes.
Peter Sherikov gazed at Reinhart with surprised curiosity. “Commissioner! Where are you calling from? What—”
Peter Sherikov looked at Reinhart with surprised curiosity. “Commissioner! Where are you calling from? What—”
“How’s the work progressing?” Reinhart broke in coldly. “Is Icarus almost complete?”
“How’s the work going?” Reinhart interrupted coldly. “Is Icarus almost done?”
Sherikov beamed with expansive pride. “He’s done, Commissioner. Two days ahead of time. Icarus is ready to be launched into space. I tried to call your office, but they told me—”
Sherikov smiled with great pride. “He’s finished, Commissioner. Two days early. Icarus is ready to be launched into space. I tried to call your office, but they told me—”
“I’m not at my office.” Reinhart leaned toward the screen. “Open your entrance tunnel at the surface. You’re about to receive visitors.”
“I’m not in my office.” Reinhart leaned closer to the screen. “Open your entrance tunnel at the surface. You’re about to have visitors.”
Sherikov blinked. “Visitors?”
Sherikov blinked. "Guests?"
“I’m coming down to see you. About Icarus. Have the tunnel opened for me at once.”
“I’m coming down to see you. About Icarus. Have the tunnel opened for me right away.”
“Exactly where are you, Commissioner?”
"Where are you, Commissioner?"
“On the surface.”
"On the surface."
Sherikov’s eyes flickered. “Oh? But—”
Sherikov's eyes glanced. "Oh? But—"
“Open up!” Reinhart snapped. He glanced at his wristwatch. “I’ll be at the entrance in five minutes. I expect to find it ready for me.”
“Open up!” Reinhart snapped. He looked at his watch. “I’ll be at the entrance in five minutes. I expect to find it ready for me.”
“Five minutes, then.” Reinhart cut the circuit. The screen died. He turned quickly to Dixon. “You stay up here, as we arranged. I’ll go down with one company of police. You understand the necessity of exact timing on this?”
“Five minutes, then.” Reinhart cut the circuit. The screen went dark. He turned quickly to Dixon. “You stay up here, as we planned. I’ll go down with one squad of police. You get how important precise timing is for this, right?”
“We won’t slip up. Everything’s ready. All units are in their places.”
“We won’t mess up. Everything’s ready. All teams are in position.”
“Good.” Reinhart pushed the door open for him. “You join your directional staff. I’ll proceed toward the tunnel entrance.”
“Good.” Reinhart opened the door for him. “You go join your directional team. I’ll head toward the tunnel entrance.”
“Good luck.” Dixon leaped out of the car, onto the sandy ground. A gust of dry air swirled into the car around Reinhart. “I’ll see you later.”
“Good luck.” Dixon jumped out of the car and onto the sandy ground. A gust of dry air swept into the car around Reinhart. “I’ll see you later.”
Reinhart slammed the door. He turned to the group of police crouched in the rear of the car, their guns held tightly. “Here we go,” Reinhart murmured. “Hold on.”
Reinhart slammed the door. He turned to the group of police crouched in the back of the car, their guns gripped tightly. “Here we go,” Reinhart murmured. “Hold on.”
The car raced across the sandy ground, toward the tunnel entrance to Sherikov’s underground fortress.
The car sped across the sandy terrain, heading for the tunnel entrance to Sherikov’s underground fortress.
Sherikov met Reinhart at the bottom end of the tunnel, where the tunnel opened up onto the main floor of the lab.
Sherikov met Reinhart at the end of the tunnel, where it opened up onto the main floor of the lab.
The big Pole approached, his hand out, beaming with pride and satisfaction. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Commissioner. This is an historic moment.”
The tall Polish man walked over, extending his hand, filled with pride and happiness. “It’s great to see you, Commissioner. This is a historic moment.”
Reinhart got out of the car, with his group of armed Security police. “Calls for a celebration, doesn’t it?” he said.
Reinhart got out of the car with his team of armed security officers. “Sounds like a reason to celebrate, right?” he said.
“That’s a good idea! We’re two days ahead, Commissioner. The SRB machines will be interested. The odds should change abruptly at the news.”
"That’s a great idea! We’re two days ahead, Commissioner. The SRB machines will be all over this. The odds should shift dramatically with this news."
“Let’s go down to the lab. I want to see the control turret myself.”
“Let’s head down to the lab. I want to check out the control turret myself.”
A shadow crossed Sherikov’s face. “I’d rather not bother the workmen right now, Commissioner. They’ve been under a great load, trying to complete the turret in time. I believe they’re putting a few last finishes on it at this moment.”
A shadow passed over Sherikov's face. “I’d prefer not to disturb the workers right now, Commissioner. They’ve been under a lot of pressure trying to finish the turret on time. I think they’re adding a few final touches to it at this moment.”
“We can view them by vidscreen. I’m curious to see them at work. It must be difficult to wire such minute relays.”
“We can watch them on the screen. I’m interested to see them in action. It must be tough to connect such tiny relays.”
Sherikov shook his head. “Sorry, Commissioner. No vidscreen on them. I won’t allow it. This is too important. Our whole future depends on it.”
Sherikov shook his head. “Sorry, Commissioner. No videoscreen on them. I’m not allowing it. This is too important. Our entire future depends on it.”
Reinhart snapped a signal to his company of police. “Put this man under arrest.”
Reinhart signaled to his police squad. “Arrest this man.”
“What’s going on?” Sherikov demanded, some color returning to his face. “What are you doing?”
“What’s happening?” Sherikov demanded, some color coming back to his face. “What are you doing?”
“You’re under arrest for the duration of the war. You’re relieved of all authority. From now on one of my men will operate Designs. When the war is over you’ll be tried before the Council and President Duffe.”
“You’re under arrest for the length of the war. You’re stripped of all authority. From now on, one of my guys will handle Designs. When the war ends, you’ll stand trial before the Council and President Duffe.”
Sherikov shook his head, dazed. “I don’t understand. What’s this all about? Explain it to me, Commissioner. What’s happened?”
Sherikov shook his head, dazed. “I don’t get it. What’s going on? Can you explain it to me, Commissioner? What happened?”
Reinhart signalled to his police. “Get ready. We’re going into the lab. We may have to shoot our way in. The variable man should be in the area of the bomb, working on the control turret.”
Reinhart signaled to his police. “Get ready. We’re going into the lab. We might have to force our way in. The variable man should be near the bomb, working on the control turret.”
Instantly Sherikov’s face hardened. His black eyes glittered, alert and hostile.
Instantly, Sherikov's expression turned serious. His dark eyes sparkled, sharp and unfriendly.
Reinhart laughed harshly. “We received a counter-intelligence report from Centaurus. I’m surprised at you, Sherikov. You know the Centaurans are everywhere with their relay couriers. You should have known—”
Reinhart laughed bitterly. “We got a counter-intelligence report from Centaurus. I’m surprised at you, Sherikov. You know the Centaurans are everywhere with their relay couriers. You should have known—”
Sherikov moved. Fast. All at once he broke away from the police, throwing his massive body against them. They fell, scattering. Sherikov ran—directly at the wall. The police fired wildly. Reinhart fumbled frantically for his gun tube, pulling it up.
Sherikov moved fast. In an instant, he broke away from the police, slamming his huge body into them. They fell and scattered. Sherikov ran—straight at the wall. The police fired wildly. Reinhart scrambled desperately for his gun, pulling it up.
Sherikov reached the wall, running head down, energy beams flashing around him. He struck against the wall—and vanished.
Sherikov reached the wall, running with his head down, energy beams flashing around him. He slammed into the wall—and disappeared.
“Down!” Reinhart shouted. He dropped to his hands and knees. All around him his police dived for the floor. Reinhart cursed wildly, dragging himself quickly toward the door. They had to get out, and right away. Sherikov had escaped. A false wall, an energy barrier set to respond to his pressure. He had dashed through it to safety. He—
“Get down!” Reinhart shouted. He dropped to his hands and knees. All around him, his fellow officers dove to the floor. Reinhart swore loudly, quickly dragging himself toward the door. They had to get out, and fast. Sherikov had escaped. A hidden wall, an energy barrier that activated with pressure. He had rushed through it to safety. He—
From all sides an inferno burst, a flaming roar of death surging over them, around them, on every side. The room was alive with blazing masses of destruction, bouncing from wall to wall. They were caught between four banks of power, all of them open to full discharge. A trap—a death trap.
From all directions, a raging fire erupted, a deafening roar of destruction crashing over them, surrounding them on every side. The room was filled with waves of fire and chaos, slamming against the walls. They were trapped between four forces of power, all ready to unleash their full might. A trap—a death trap.
Reinhart reached the hall gasping for breath. He leaped to his feet. A few Security police followed him. Behind them, in the flaming room, the rest of the company screamed and struggled, blasted out of existence by the leaping bursts of power.
Reinhart entered the hall, out of breath. He jumped to his feet. A few security officers followed him. Behind them, in the raging room, the rest of the group screamed and fought, blown away by the sudden bursts of energy.
Reinhart assembled his remaining men. Already, Sherikov’s guards were forming. At one end of the corridor a snub-barreled robot gun was maneuvering into position. A siren wailed. Guards were running on all sides, hurrying to battle stations.
Reinhart gathered his remaining men. Sherikov’s guards were already lining up. At one end of the corridor, a short-barreled robot gun was getting into place. A siren blared. Guards were rushing from all directions, racing to their battle stations.
The robot gun opened fire. Part of the corridor exploded, bursting into fragments. Clouds of choking debris and particles swept around them. Reinhart and his police retreated, moving back along the corridor.
The robot gun started shooting. Part of the hallway blew up, breaking into pieces. Clouds of choking dust and debris filled the air around them. Reinhart and his police backed away, moving down the hallway.
They reached a junction. A second robot gun was rumbling toward them, hurrying to get within range. Reinhart fired carefully, aiming at its delicate control. Abruptly the gun spun convulsively. It lashed against the wall, smashing itself into the unyielding metal. Then it collapsed in a heap, gears still whining and spinning.
They reached a junction. A second robot gun was rolling towards them, trying to get within range. Reinhart shot carefully, targeting its sensitive controls. Suddenly, the gun jerked violently. It slammed against the wall, crashing into the solid metal. Then it crumpled to the ground, gears still buzzing and whirring.
“Come on.” Reinhart moved away, crouching and running. He glanced at his watch. Almost time. A few more minutes. A group of lab guards appeared ahead of them. Reinhart fired. Behind him his police fired past him, violet shafts of energy catching the group of guards as they entered the corridor. The guards spilled apart, falling and twisting. Part of them settled into dust, drifting down the corridor. Reinhart made his way toward the lab, crouching and leaping, pushing past heaps of debris and remains, followed by his men. “Come on! Don’t stop!”
“Let’s go.” Reinhart moved away, crouching and running. He checked his watch. Almost time. A few more minutes. A group of lab guards appeared ahead of them. Reinhart fired. Behind him, his police shot past him, violet beams of energy hitting the guards as they entered the corridor. The guards scattered, falling and twisting. Some of them turned to dust, floating down the corridor. Reinhart made his way toward the lab, crouching and jumping, pushing past piles of debris and bodies, followed by his men. “Let’s go! Don’t stop!”
Suddenly from around them the booming, enlarged voice of Sherikov thundered, magnified by rows of wall speakers along the corridor. Reinhart halted, glancing around.
Suddenly, from all around them, Sherikov's loud, amplified voice boomed, echoing from the rows of wall speakers lining the corridor. Reinhart stopped and looked around.
“Reinhart! You haven’t got a chance. You’ll never get back to the surface. Throw down your guns and give up. You’re surrounded on all sides. You’re a mile, under the surface.”
“Reinhart! You don’t stand a chance. You’ll never make it back to the surface. Drop your guns and give up. You’re surrounded on all sides. You’re a mile below the surface.”
Reinhart threw himself into motion, pushing into billowing clouds of particles drifting along the corridor. “Are you sure, Sherikov?” he grunted.
Reinhart launched into action, pushing through the swirling clouds of particles floating down the hallway. “Are you sure, Sherikov?” he grunted.
Sherikov laughed, his harsh, metallic peals rolling in waves against Reinhart’s eardrums. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Commissioner. You’re vital to the war: I’m sorry you found out about the variable man. I admit we overlooked the Centauran espionage as a factor in this. But now that you know about him—”
Sherikov laughed, his harsh, metallic sounds echoing in waves against Reinhart’s eardrums. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Commissioner. You’re crucial to the war: I’m sorry you found out about the variable man. I admit we overlooked the Centauran espionage as a factor in this. But now that you know about him—”
Reinhart sagged with relief. He peered through the clouds of debris, making out the figures on his watch. Right on time. Not a second late.
Reinhart slumped in relief. He looked through the clouds of debris, identifying the figures on his watch. Right on time. Not a second late.
The first of the hydrogen missiles, launched from the Council buildings on the other side of the world, were beginning to arrive. The attack had begun.
The first hydrogen missiles, launched from the Council buildings on the other side of the world, were starting to arrive. The attack had begun.
At exactly six o’clock Joseph Dixon, standing on the surface four miles from the entrance tunnel, gave the sign to the waiting units.
At exactly six o’clock, Joseph Dixon, standing on the ground four miles from the tunnel entrance, signaled the waiting units.
The first job was to break down Sherikov’s defense screens. The missiles had to penetrate without interference. At Dixon’s signal a fleet of thirty Security ships dived from a height of ten miles, swooping above the mountains, directly over the underground laboratories. Within five minutes the defense screens had been smashed, and all the tower projectors leveled flat. Now the mountains were virtually unprotected.
The first task was to take out Sherikov's defense screens. The missiles needed to get through without any disruption. At Dixon's signal, a fleet of thirty Security ships dropped from ten miles up, soaring over the mountains, right above the underground labs. In just five minutes, the defense screens were destroyed, and all the tower projectors were flattened. Now the mountains were pretty much wide open.
“So far so good,” Dixon murmured, as he watched from his secure position. The fleet of Security ships roared back, their work done. Across the face of the desert the police surface cars were crawling rapidly toward the entrance tunnel, snaking from side to side.
“So far so good,” Dixon whispered, as he watched from his safe spot. The fleet of Security ships zoomed back, their job complete. Across the desert, the police cars were speeding toward the entrance tunnel, weaving from side to side.
Meanwhile, Sherikov’s counter-attack had begun to go into operation.
Meanwhile, Sherikov's counter-attack had started to be put into action.
Guns mounted among the hills opened fire. Vast columns of flame burst up in the path of the advancing cars. The cars hesitated and retreated, as the plain was churned up by a howling vortex, a thundering chaos of explosions. Here and there a car vanished in a cloud of particles. A group of cars moving away suddenly scattered, caught up by a giant wind that lashed across them and swept them up into the air.
Guns set up in the hills started firing. Huge bursts of flames erupted in front of the advancing cars. The cars paused and backed off as the ground turned into a chaotic storm of explosions. Here and there, a car disappeared in a swirl of debris. A group of cars trying to escape suddenly spread out, swept up by a massive wind that hit them and lifted them into the air.
Dixon gave orders to have the cannon silenced. The police air arm again swept overhead, a sullen roar of jets that shook the ground below. The police ships divided expertly and hurtled down on the cannon protecting the hills.
Dixon ordered the cannon to be silenced. The police air unit flew overhead once again, the dull roar of jets rattling the ground below. The police ships split expertly and raced toward the cannon defending the hills.
The cannon forgot the surface cars and lifted their snouts to meet the attack. Again and again the airships came, rocking the mountains with titanic blasts.
The cannon ignored the ground vehicles and lifted their noses to face the attack. Over and over, the airships arrived, shaking the mountains with massive explosions.
The guns became silent. Their echoing boom diminished, died away reluctantly, as bombs took critical toll of them.
The guns fell silent. Their echoing sound faded away slowly, as bombs took a heavy toll on them.
Dixon checked his wristwatch. The missiles were already on the way from North America. Only a few minutes remained.
Dixon looked at his watch. The missiles were already en route from North America. Only a few minutes left.
The surface cars, freed by the successful bombing, began to regroup for a new frontal attack. Again they crawled forward, across the burning plain, bearing down cautiously on the battered wall of mountains, heading toward the twisted wrecks that had been the ring of defense guns. Toward the entrance tunnel.
The surface vehicles, released by the successful bombing, started to regroup for a new direct attack. Once more, they moved slowly forward across the burning landscape, carefully approaching the damaged wall of mountains, making their way towards the mangled wrecks that had once been the line of defense guns. Towards the entrance tunnel.
An occasional cannon fired feebly at them. The cars came grimly on. Now, in the hollows of the hills, Sherikov’s troops were hurrying to the surface to meet the attack. The first car reached the shadow of the mountains….
An occasional cannon fired weakly at them. The cars continued on steadily. Now, in the dips of the hills, Sherikov’s troops were rushing to the surface to face the attack. The first car reached the shadow of the mountains…
A deafening hail of fire burst loose. Small robot guns appeared everywhere, needle barrels emerging from behind hidden screens, trees and shrubs, rocks, stones. The police cars were caught in a withering cross-fire, trapped at the base of the hills.
A loud burst of gunfire erupted. Small robot guns popped up all around, their narrow barrels coming out from behind concealed screens, trees and bushes, rocks, and stones. The police cars were caught in a relentless crossfire, trapped at the foot of the hills.
Down the slopes Sherikov’s guards raced, toward the stalled cars. Clouds of heat rose up and boiled across the plain as the cars fired up at the running men. A robot gun dropped like a slug onto the plain and screamed toward the cars, firing as it came.
Down the slopes, Sherikov's guards sprinted toward the stalled cars. Waves of heat rose and swirled across the plain as the cars roared to life at the approaching men. A robot gun plummeted onto the ground and screeched toward the cars, shooting as it advanced.
Dixon twisted nervously. Only a few minutes. Any time, now. He shaded his eyes and peered up at the sky. No sign of them yet. He wondered about Reinhart. No signal had come up from below. Clearly, Reinhart had run into trouble. No doubt there was desperate fighting going on in the maze of underground tunnels, the intricate web of passages that honeycombed the earth below the mountains.
Dixon fidgeted anxiously. Just a few more minutes. Any time now. He squinted up at the sky. No sign of them yet. He thought about Reinhart. No signal had come through from below. Clearly, Reinhart was in trouble. There was no doubt that desperate fighting was happening in the maze of underground tunnels, the complex web of passages that crisscrossed beneath the mountains.
In the air, Sherikov’s few defense ships were taking on the police raiders. Outnumbered, the defense ships darted rapidly, wildly, putting up a futile fight.
In the air, Sherikov's few defense ships were facing off against the police raiders. Outnumbered, the defense ships zigzagged quickly and erratically, putting up a pointless struggle.
Sherikov’s guards streamed out onto the plain. Crouching and running, they advanced toward the stalled cars. The police airships screeched down at them, guns thundering.
Sherikov’s guards rushed out onto the plain. Crouching and running, they moved toward the stalled cars. The police airships swooped down at them, guns firing loudly.
Dixon held his breath. When the missiles arrived—
Dixon held his breath. When the missiles arrived—
The first missile struck. A section of the mountain vanished, turned to smoke and foaming gasses. The wave of heat slapped Dixon across the face, spinning him around. Quickly he re-entered his ship and took off, shooting rapidly away from the scene. He glanced back. A second and third missile had arrived. Great gaping pits yawned among the mountains, vast sections missing like broken teeth. Now the missiles could penetrate to the underground laboratories below.
The first missile hit. A part of the mountain disappeared, turning into smoke and bubbling gases. The wave of heat hit Dixon in the face, knocking him around. He quickly got back inside his ship and took off, speeding away from the explosion. He looked back. A second and third missile had landed. Huge, open craters gaped among the mountains, large chunks missing like broken teeth. Now the missiles could reach the underground labs below.
On the ground, the surface cars halted beyond the danger area, waiting for the missile attack to finish. When the eighth missile had struck, the cars again moved forward. No more missiles fell.
On the ground, the vehicles stopped just past the danger zone, waiting for the missile strike to end. After the eighth missile hit, the cars moved forward again. No more missiles fell.
Dixon swung his ship around, heading back toward the scene. The laboratory was exposed. The top sections of it had been ripped open. The laboratory lay like a tin can, torn apart by mighty explosions, its first floors visible from the air. Men and cars were pouring down into it, fighting with the guards swarming to the surface.
Dixon turned his ship around, heading back to the scene. The lab was laid bare. The upper parts had been ripped open. The lab looked like a tin can, shattered by powerful explosions, its lower floors visible from above. People and cars were rushing down into it, battling with the guards swarming to the surface.
Dixon watched intently. Sherikov’s men were bringing up heavy guns, big robot artillery. But the police ships were diving again. Sherikov’s defensive patrols had been cleaned from the sky. The police ships whined down, arcing over the exposed laboratory. Small bombs fell, whistling down, pin-pointing the artillery rising to the surface on the remaining lift stages.
Dixon watched closely. Sherikov's crew was moving in heavy guns, large robotic artillery. But the police ships were diving again. Sherikov's defensive patrols had been cleared from the sky. The police ships swooped down, arcing over the exposed lab. Small bombs dropped, whistling down, targeting the artillery coming up on the last lift stages.
Abruptly Dixon’s vidscreen clicked. Dixon turned toward it.
Abruptly, Dixon's screen lit up. He turned to face it.
Reinhart’s features formed. “Call off the attack.” His uniform was torn. A deep bloody gash crossed his cheek. He grinned sourly at Dixon, pushing his tangled hair back out of his face. “Quite a fight.”
Reinhart's features came together. “Stop the attack.” His uniform was ripped. A deep bloody cut marked his cheek. He smirked at Dixon, brushing his messy hair back out of his face. “That was quite a fight.”
“Sherikov—”
“Sherikov—”
“He’s called off his guards. We’ve agreed to a truce. It’s all over. No more needed.” Reinhart gasped for breath, wiping grime and sweat from his neck. “Land your ship and come down here at once.”
“He’s called off his guards. We’ve agreed to a truce. It’s all over. No more needed.” Reinhart gasped for breath, wiping grime and sweat from his neck. “Land your ship and come down here right now.”
“The variable man?”
“The variable guy?”
“That comes next,” Reinhart said grimly. He adjusted his gun tube. “I want you down here, for that part. I want you to be in on the kill.”
“That comes next,” Reinhart said seriously. He adjusted his gun barrel. “I want you down here for that part. I want you to be involved in the kill.”
Reinhart turned away from the vidscreen. In the corner of the room Sherikov stood silently, saying nothing. “Well?” Reinhart barked. “Where is he? Where will I find him?”
Reinhart turned away from the screen. In the corner of the room, Sherikov stood quietly, saying nothing. “Well?” Reinhart snapped. “Where is he? Where can I find him?”
Sherikov licked his lips nervously, glancing up at Reinhart. “Commissioner, are you sure—”
Sherikov nervously licked his lips and looked up at Reinhart. “Commissioner, are you sure—”
“The attack has been called off. Your labs are safe. So is your life. Now it’s your turn to come through.” Reinhart gripped his gun, moving toward Sherikov. “Where is he?”
“The attack has been called off. Your labs are safe. So is your life. Now it’s your turn to come through.” Reinhart tightened his grip on his gun and approached Sherikov. “Where is he?”
For a moment Sherikov hesitated. Then slowly his huge body sagged, defeated. He shook his head wearily. “All right. I’ll show you where he is.” His voice was hardly audible, a dry whisper. “Down this way. Come on.”
For a moment, Sherikov paused. Then slowly, his massive body drooped, defeated. He shook his head tiredly. “Fine. I’ll show you where he is.” His voice was barely audible, a dry whisper. “This way. Let’s go.”
Reinhart followed Sherikov out of the room, into the corridor. Police and guards were working rapidly, clearing the debris and ruins away, putting out the hydrogen fires that burned everywhere. “No tricks, Sherikov.”
Reinhart followed Sherikov out of the room and into the hallway. Police and guards were quickly working to clear away the debris and rubble, extinguishing the hydrogen fires that were burning all around. “No tricks, Sherikov.”
“No tricks.” Sherikov nodded resignedly. “Thomas Cole is by himself. In a wing lab off the main rooms.”
“No tricks.” Sherikov nodded in resignation. “Thomas Cole is by himself. In a side lab off the main rooms.”
“Cole?”
"Cole?"
“The variable man. That’s his name.” The Pole turned his massive head a little. “He has a name.”
“The variable man. That’s his name.” The Pole turned his huge head slightly. “He has a name.”
Reinhart waved his gun. “Hurry up. I don’t want anything to go wrong. This is the part I came for.”
Reinhart waved his gun. “Hurry up. I don’t want anything to mess up. This is the part I came for.”
“You must remember something, Commissioner.”
“Remember something, Commissioner.”
“What is it?”
"What's that?"
Sherikov stopped walking. “Commissioner, nothing must happen to the globe. The control turret. Everything depends on it, the war, our whole—”
Sherikov stopped walking. “Commissioner, nothing can happen to the globe. The control turret. Everything relies on it, the war, our entire—”
“I know. Nothing will happen to the damn thing. Let’s go.”
“I get it. Nothing is going to happen to the damn thing. Let’s go.”
“If it should get damaged—”
“If it gets damaged—”
“I’m not after the globe. I’m interested only in—in Thomas Cole.”
“I don’t care about the globe. I’m only interested in—Thomas Cole.”
They came to the end of the corridor and stopped before a metal door. Sherikov nodded at the door. “In there.”
They reached the end of the corridor and paused in front of a metal door. Sherikov gestured to the door. “In there.”
Reinhart moved back. “Open the door.”
Reinhart stepped back. “Open the door.”
“Open it yourself. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”
“Open it yourself. I don’t want to be involved with it.”
Reinhart shrugged. He stepped up to the door. Holding his gun level he raised his hand, passing it in front of the eye circuit. Nothing happened.
Reinhart shrugged. He walked up to the door. Keeping his gun steady, he raised his hand and moved it in front of the eye scanner. Nothing happened.
Reinhart frowned. He pushed the door with his hand. The door slid open. Reinhart was looking into a small laboratory. He glimpsed a workbench, tools, heaps of equipment, measuring devices, and in the center of the bench the transparent globe, the control turret.
Reinhart frowned. He pushed the door with his hand. The door slid open. Reinhart was looking into a small lab. He saw a workbench, tools, piles of equipment, measuring devices, and in the center of the bench was the transparent globe, the control turret.
“Cole?” Reinhart advanced quickly into the room. He glanced around him, suddenly alarmed. “Where—”
“Cole?” Reinhart quickly moved into the room. He looked around, suddenly worried. “Where—”
The room was empty. Thomas Cole was gone.
The room was empty. Thomas Cole was gone.
When the first missile struck, Cole stopped work and sat listening.
When the first missile hit, Cole paused his work and sat listening.
Far off, a distant rumble rolled through the earth, shaking the floor under him. On the bench, tools and equipment danced up and down. A pair of pliers fell crashing to the floor. A box of screws tipped over, spilling its minute contents out.
Far away, a low rumble rolled through the ground, shaking the floor beneath him. On the bench, tools and equipment bounced up and down. A pair of pliers clattered to the floor. A box of screws toppled over, spilling its tiny contents everywhere.
The globe was finished. A faint glow of pride moved through the variable man. The globe was the finest job he had ever done.
The globe was complete. A slight sense of pride washed over the man. The globe was the best work he had ever done.
The deep rumblings ceased. Cole became instantly alert. He jumped down from his stool, hurrying across the room to the door. For a moment he stood by the door listening intently. He could hear noise on the other side, shouts, guards rushing past, dragging heavy equipment, working frantically.
The deep rumblings stopped. Cole became immediately alert. He jumped off his stool and rushed across the room to the door. For a moment, he stood by the door, listening carefully. He could hear noise on the other side—shouts, guards rushing by, dragging heavy equipment, working frantically.
A rolling crash echoed down the corridor and lapped against his door. The concussion spun him around. Again a tide of energy shook the walls and floor and sent him down on his knees.
A loud crash rolled down the hallway and hit his door. The impact made him spin around. Once more, a wave of energy rattled the walls and floor, bringing him to his knees.
The lights flickered and winked out.
The lights flickered and went out.
Cole fumbled in the dark until he found a flashlight. Power failure. He could hear crackling flames. Abruptly the lights came on again, an ugly yellow, then faded back out. Cole bent down and examined the door with his flashlight. A magnetic lock. Dependent on an externally induced electric flux. He grabbed a screwdriver and pried at the door. For a moment it held. Then it fell open.
Cole fumbled in the dark until he found a flashlight. Power outage. He could hear crackling flames. Suddenly, the lights flickered back on, an unpleasant yellow, then faded out again. Cole squatted down and examined the door with his flashlight. A magnetic lock. Dependent on an externally generated electric flux. He grabbed a screwdriver and pried at the door. It held for a moment. Then it fell open.
Cole stepped warily out into the corridor. Everything was in shambles. Guards wandered everywhere, burned and half-blinded. Two lay groaning under a pile of wrecked equipment. Fused guns, reeking metal. The air was heavy with the smell of burning wiring and plastic. A thick cloud that choked him and made him bend double as he advanced.
Cole stepped cautiously into the corridor. Everything was in disarray. Guards were wandering around, burned and half-blind. Two of them were groaning under a heap of destroyed equipment. Melted guns, smelly metal. The air was thick with the stench of burning wires and plastic, a dense cloud that choked him and forced him to bend over as he moved forward.
“Halt,” a guard gasped feebly, struggling to rise. Cole pushed past him and down the corridor. Two small robot guns, still functioning, glided past him hurriedly toward the drumming chaos of battle. He followed.
“Halt,” a guard breathed weakly, struggling to get up. Cole pushed past him and down the hallway. Two small robot guns, still operational, rushed by him toward the chaotic sounds of battle. He followed.
At a major intersection the fight was in full swing. Sherikov’s guards fought Security police, crouched behind pillars and barricades, firing wildly, desperately. Again the whole structure shuddered as a great booming blast ignited some place above. Bombs? Shells?
At a major intersection, the fight was in full swing. Sherikov’s guards battled the security police, crouched behind pillars and barricades, firing wildly and desperately. Again, the entire structure shook as a loud boom erupted from somewhere above. Bombs? Shells?
A robot cannon turned toward him as he made his way past the intersection. He began to run. The cannon rolled along behind him, aiming itself uncertainly. Cole hunched over as he shambled rapidly along, gasping for breath. In the flickering yellow light he saw a handful of Security police advancing, firing expertly, intent on a line of defense Sherikov’s guards had hastily set up.
A robot cannon pivoted in his direction as he hurried past the intersection. He started to run. The cannon rolled along behind him, aiming itself awkwardly. Cole bent forward as he hurried along, gasping for air. In the flickering yellow light, he spotted a group of Security police moving forward, shooting with precision, focused on a barricade that Sherikov's guards had quickly established.
The robot cannon altered its course to take them on, and Cole escaped around a corner.
The robot cannon changed its direction to target them, and Cole sprinted around a corner.
He was in the main lab, the big chamber where Icarus himself rose, the vast squat column.
He was in the main lab, the big room where Icarus himself was created, the massive, short pillar.
Icarus! A solid wall of guards surrounded him, grim-faced, hugging guns and protection shields. But the Security police were leaving Icarus alone. Nobody wanted to damage him. Cole evaded a lone guard tracking him and reached the far side of the lab.
Icarus! A solid wall of guards surrounded him, with serious expressions, holding guns and protective shields. But the Security police were leaving Icarus alone. Nobody wanted to hurt him. Cole dodged a single guard who was following him and made it to the far side of the lab.
It took him only a few seconds to find the force field generator. There was no switch. For a moment that puzzled him—and then he remembered. The guard had controlled it from his wrist.
It took him just a few seconds to find the force field generator. There wasn’t a switch. For a moment, that confused him—then he remembered. The guard had controlled it from his wrist.
Too late to worry about that. With his screwdriver he unfastened the plate over the generator and ripped out the wiring in handfuls. The generator came loose and he dragged it away from the wall. The screen was off, thank God. He managed to carry the generator into a side corridor.
Too late to stress about that. With his screwdriver, he unscrewed the plate over the generator and pulled out the wiring in chunks. The generator came loose, and he dragged it away from the wall. The screen was off, thank goodness. He managed to carry the generator into a side hallway.
Crouched in a heap, Cole bent over the generator, deft fingers flying. He pulled the wiring to him and laid it out on the floor, tracing the circuits with feverish haste.
Crouched in a pile, Cole leaned over the generator, quickly moving his skilled fingers. He pulled the wires toward him and spread them out on the floor, tracing the circuits with intense urgency.
The adaptation was easier than he had expected. The screen flowed at right angles to the wiring, for a distance of six feet. Each lead was shielded on one side; the field radiated outward, leaving a hollow cone in the center. He ran the wiring through his belt, down his trouser legs, under his shirt, all the way to his wrists and ankles.
The adaptation was easier than he had thought. The screen extended at right angles to the wiring, for about six feet. Each lead was shielded on one side; the field spread outward, creating a hollow cone in the center. He threaded the wiring through his belt, down his pant legs, under his shirt, all the way to his wrists and ankles.
He was just snatching up the heavy generator when two Security police appeared. They raised their blasters and fired point-blank.
He was just grabbing the heavy generator when two security officers showed up. They aimed their blasters and shot at close range.
Cole clicked on the screen. A vibration leaped through him that snapped his jaw and danced up his body. He staggered away, half-stupefied by the surging force that radiated out from him. The violet rays struck the field and deflected harmlessly.
Cole clicked on the screen. A jolt shot through him that clenched his jaw and spread through his body. He stumbled back, half-dazed by the overwhelming energy that pulsed from him. The violet beams hit the field and bounced off without issue.
He was safe.
He was safe.
He hurried on down the corridor, past a ruined gun and sprawled bodies still clutching blasters. Great drifting clouds of radioactive particles billowed around him. He edged by one cloud nervously. Guards lay everywhere, dying and dead, partly destroyed, eaten and corroded by the hot metallic salts in the air. He had to get out—and fast.
He rushed down the corridor, past a wrecked gun and fallen bodies still holding on to blasters. Thick clouds of radioactive particles swirled around him. He nervously slipped by one cloud. Guards were scattered everywhere, dying and dead, partly mangled, eaten and corroded by the hot metallic salts in the air. He needed to escape—and quickly.
At the end of the corridor a whole section of the fortress was in ruins. Towering flames leaped on all sides. One of the missiles had penetrated below ground level.
At the end of the hallway, a whole part of the fortress was in ruins. Tall flames were shooting up everywhere. One of the projectiles had gone underground.
Cole found a lift that still functioned. A load of wounded guards was being raised to the surface. None of them paid any attention to him. Flames surged around the lift, licking at the wounded. Workmen were desperately trying to get the lift into action. Cole leaped onto the lift. A moment later it began to rise, leaving the shouts and the flames behind.
Cole found an elevator that still worked. A bunch of injured guards was being sent up to the surface. None of them noticed him. Flames surged around the elevator, reaching out toward the injured. Workers were frantically trying to get the elevator moving. Cole jumped onto it. A moment later, it started to rise, leaving the shouting and the flames behind.
The lift emerged on the surface and Cole jumped off. A guard spotted him and gave chase. Crouching, Cole dodged into a tangled mass of twisted metal, still white-hot and smoking. He ran for a distance, leaping from the side of a ruined defense-screen tower, onto the fused ground and down the side of a hill. The ground was hot underfoot. He hurried as fast as he could, gasping for breath. He came to a long slope and scrambled up the side.
The elevator came up to the surface and Cole jumped off. A guard saw him and started chasing. Crouching down, Cole ducked into a tangled mess of twisted metal, still glowing hot and smoking. He ran for a while, jumping off the side of a destroyed defense-screen tower, onto the scorched ground and down a hillside. The ground was hot under his feet. He moved as fast as he could, panting for air. He reached a long slope and scrambled up the side.
The guard who had followed was gone, lost behind in the rolling clouds of ash that drifted from the ruins of Sherikov’s underground fortress.
The guard who had followed was gone, lost in the swirling clouds of ash that floated up from the remains of Sherikov’s underground fortress.
Cole reached the top of the hill. For a brief moment he halted to get his breath and figure where he was. It was almost evening. The sun was beginning to set. In the darkening sky a few dots still twisted and rolled, black specks that abruptly burst into flame and fused out again.
Cole reached the top of the hill. For a moment, he stopped to catch his breath and figure out where he was. It was almost evening. The sun was starting to set. In the darkening sky, a few dots still twisted and rolled, black specks that suddenly burst into flame and then faded out again.
Cole stood up cautiously, peering around him. Ruins stretched out below, on all sides, the furnace from which he had escaped. A chaos of incandescent metal and debris, gutted and wrecked beyond repair. Miles of tangled rubbish and half-vaporized equipment.
Cole stood up carefully, looking around him. The ruins spread out below, in every direction, the furnace he had escaped from. A mess of glowing metal and debris, destroyed and ruined beyond repair. Miles of tangled trash and partially vaporized equipment.
He considered. Everyone was busy putting out the fires and pulling the wounded to safety. It would be awhile before he was missed. But as soon as they realized he was gone they’d be after him. Most of the laboratory had been destroyed. Nothing lay back that way.
He thought for a moment. Everyone was occupied putting out the fires and helping the injured to safety. It would take some time before anyone noticed he was missing. But once they realized he was gone, they’d come looking for him. Most of the lab had been wrecked. There was nothing left in that direction.
Beyond the ruins lay the great Ural peaks, the endless mountains, stretching out as far as the eye could see.
Beyond the ruins were the magnificent Ural peaks, the endless mountains, stretching out as far as the eye could see.
Cole started along the side of the hill, walking slowly and carefully, his screen generator under his arm. Probably in the confusion he could find enough food and equipment to last him indefinitely. He could wait until early morning, then circle back toward the ruins and load up. With a few tools and his own innate skill he would get along fine. A screwdriver, hammer, nails, odds and ends—
Cole started along the side of the hill, walking slowly and carefully, his screen generator tucked under his arm. In the chaos, he could probably find enough food and supplies to last him for a long time. He could wait until early morning, then circle back toward the ruins and gather everything he needed. With a few tools and his natural skills, he’d manage just fine. A screwdriver, hammer, nails, and various odds and ends—
A great hum sounded in his ears. It swelled to a deafening roar. Startled, Cole whirled around. A vast shape filled the sky behind him, growing each moment. Cole stood frozen, utterly transfixed. The shape thundered over him, above his head, as he stood stupidly, rooted to the spot.
A loud buzzing filled his ears. It grew into a deafening roar. Startled, Cole spun around. A massive figure loomed in the sky behind him, getting bigger by the second. Cole froze, completely mesmerized. The figure roared overhead, as he stood there dumbfounded, unable to move.
Then, awkwardly, uncertainly, he began to run. He stumbled and fell and rolled a short distance down the side of the hill. Desperately, he struggled to hold onto the ground. His hands dug wildly, futilely, into the soft soil, trying to keep the generator under his arm at the same time.
Then, clumsily and unsure, he started to run. He tripped and fell, rolling a short way down the hill. Frantically, he fought to keep himself grounded. His hands clawed wildly and hopelessly at the soft earth, trying to hold onto the generator tucked under his arm at the same time.
A flash, and a blinding spark of light around him.
A flash and a blinding spark of light surrounded him.
The spark picked him up and tossed him like a dry leaf. He grunted in agony as searing fire crackled about him, a blazing inferno that gnawed and ate hungrily through his screen. He spun dizzily and fell through the cloud of fire, down into a pit of darkness, a vast gulf between two hills. His wiring ripped off. The generator tore out of his grip and was lost behind. Abruptly, his force field ceased.
The spark lifted him and tossed him like a dry leaf. He grunted in pain as scorching fire crackled around him, a raging inferno that eagerly devoured his screen. He spun in a daze and fell through the fire, down into a pit of darkness, a huge chasm between two hills. His wiring was pulled away. The generator slipped from his grasp and disappeared behind him. Suddenly, his force field shut off.
Cole lay in the darkness at the bottom of the hill. His whole body shrieked in agony as the unholy fire played over him. He was a blazing cinder, a half-consumed ash flaming in a universe of darkness. The pain made him twist and crawl like an insect, trying to burrow into the ground. He screamed and shrieked and struggled to escape, to get away from the hideous fire. To reach the curtain of darkness beyond, where it was cool and silent, where the flames couldn’t crackle and eat at him.
Cole lay in the darkness at the bottom of the hill. His whole body screamed in pain as the unholy fire danced over him. He was a burning ember, half-burned ash flaring up in a universe of darkness. The agony made him squirm and crawl like an insect, trying to burrow into the ground. He screamed and wailed and fought to escape, to get away from the horrific fire. To reach the curtain of darkness beyond, where it was cool and quiet, where the flames couldn’t crackle and devour him.
He reached imploringly out, into the darkness, groping feebly toward it, trying to pull himself into it. Gradually, the glowing orb that was his own body faded. The impenetrable chaos of night descended. He allowed the tide to sweep over him, to extinguish the searing fire.
He reached out desperately into the darkness, fumbling weakly toward it, trying to draw himself in. Slowly, the glowing orb that was his own body dimmed. The thick chaos of night came down. He let the tide wash over him, snuffing out the burning pain.
From a lift Reinhart appeared, surrounded by his Security police. “He got away from us! He escaped!”
From an elevator, Reinhart emerged, flanked by his security team. "He got away from us! He escaped!"
“He didn’t escape,” Dixon answered. “I got him myself.”
“He didn’t get away,” Dixon replied. “I caught him myself.”
Reinhart quivered violently. “What do you mean?”
Reinhart shook with intensity. “What do you mean?”
“Come along with me. Over in this direction.” He and Reinhart climbed the side of a demolished hill, both of them panting for breath. “I was landing. I saw a figure emerge from a lift and run toward the mountains, like some sort of animal. When he came out in the open I dived on him and released a phosphorus bomb.”
“Come with me. This way.” He and Reinhart climbed the side of a destroyed hill, both panting for breath. “I was landing. I saw someone come out of a lift and run toward the mountains, like an animal. When he was out in the open, I dove on him and dropped a phosphorus bomb.”
“Then he’s—dead?”
“Then he’s—gone?”
“I don’t see how anyone could have lived through a phosphorus bomb.” They reached the top of the hill. Dixon halted, then pointed excitedly down into the pit beyond the hill. “There!”
“I don’t understand how anyone could have survived a phosphorus bomb.” They reached the top of the hill. Dixon stopped, then pointed eagerly down into the pit beyond the hill. “There!”
They descended cautiously. The ground was singed and burned clean. Clouds of smoke hung heavily in the air. Occasional fires still flickered here and there. Reinhart coughed and bent over to see. Dixon flashed on a pocket flare and set it beside the body.
They went down carefully. The ground was charred and scorched. Thick clouds of smoke lingered in the air. Small fires still flickered here and there. Reinhart coughed and leaned over to take a look. Dixon turned on a pocket flare and placed it next to the body.
The body was charred, half destroyed by the burning phosphorus. It lay motionless, one arm over its face, mouth open, legs sprawled grotesquely. Like some abandoned rag doll, tossed in an incinerator and consumed almost beyond recognition.
The body was burnt, half destroyed by the burning phosphorus. It lay still, one arm over its face, mouth open, legs sprawled awkwardly. Like some discarded rag doll, thrown in an incinerator and nearly destroyed beyond recognition.
“He’s alive!” Dixon muttered. He felt around curiously. “Must have had some kind of protection screen. Amazing that a man could—”
“He’s alive!” Dixon whispered. He felt around with curiosity. “Must have had some sort of protective barrier. It’s incredible that a man could—”
“It’s him? It’s really him?”
“Is that him? Is it really him?”
“Fits the description.” Dixon tore away a handful of burned clothing. “This is the variable man. What’s left of him, at least.”
“Fits the description.” Dixon tore away a handful of burned clothing. “This is the variable man. What’s left of him, at least.”
Reinhart sagged with relief. “Then we’ve finally got him. The data is accurate. He’s no longer a factor.”
Reinhart slumped with relief. “Then we’ve finally got him. The data is accurate. He’s no longer a factor.”
Dixon got out his blaster and released the safety catch thoughtfully. “If you want, I can finish the job right now.”
Dixon pulled out his blaster and switched off the safety catch with a thoughtful expression. “If you want, I can take care of it right now.”
At that moment Sherikov appeared, accompanied by two armed Security police. He strode grimly down the hillside, black eyes snapping. “Did Cole—” He broke off. “Good God.”
At that moment, Sherikov showed up, accompanied by two armed security officers. He marched down the hillside with a serious expression, his dark eyes flashing. “Did Cole—” He paused. “Good God.”
“Dixon got him with a phosphorus bomb,” Reinhart said noncommittally. “He had reached the surface and was trying to get into the mountains.”
“Dixon hit him with a phosphorus bomb,” Reinhart said indifferently. “He had made it to the surface and was trying to get into the mountains.”
“Anyhow, it’s over with,” Reinhart answered. “Did you have SRB plates made up on him?”
“Anyway, it’s done,” Reinhart replied. “Did you get SRB plates made for him?”
Sherikov reached slowly into his coat. He drew out a manila envelope. “Here’s all the information I collected about him, while he was with me.”
Sherikov reached slowly into his coat. He pulled out a manila envelope. “Here’s all the information I gathered about him while he was with me.”
“Is it complete? Everything previous has been merely fragmentary.”
“Is it finished? Everything before this has just been incomplete.”
“As near complete as I could make it. It includes photographs and diagrams of the interior of the globe. The turret wiring he did for me. I haven’t had a chance even to look at them.” Sherikov fingered the envelope. “What are you going to do with Cole?”
“As close to finished as I could get it. It has photos and diagrams of the inside of the Earth. He did the turret wiring for me. I haven’t even had a chance to check them out.” Sherikov played with the envelope. “What are you planning to do with Cole?”
“Have him loaded up, taken back to the city—and officially put to sleep by the Euthanasia Ministry.”
“Get him loaded up, taken back to the city—and officially put down by the Euthanasia Ministry.”
“Legal murder?” Sherikov’s lips twisted. “Why don’t you simply do it right here and get it over with?”
“Legal murder?” Sherikov’s lips twisted. “Why don’t you just do it here and be done with it?”
Reinhart grabbed the envelope and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll turn this right over to the machines.” He motioned to Dixon. “Let’s go. Now we can notify the fleet to prepare for the attack on Centaurus.” He turned briefly back to Sherikov. “When can Icarus be launched?”
Reinhart took the envelope and put it in his pocket. “I’ll hand this over to the machines.” He signaled to Dixon. “Let’s go. Now we can inform the fleet to get ready for the attack on Centaurus.” He glanced back at Sherikov. “When can Icarus be launched?”
“In an hour or so, I suppose. They’re locking the control turret in place. Assuming it functions correctly, that’s all that’s needed.”
“In about an hour, I guess. They’re securing the control turret in place. If it works properly, that’s all that’s needed.”
“Good. I’ll notify Duffe to send out the signal to the warfleet.” Reinhart nodded to the police to take Sherikov to the waiting Security ship. Sherikov moved off dully, his face gray and haggard. Cole’s inert body was picked up and tossed onto a freight cart. The cart rumbled into the hold of the Security ship and the lock slid shut after it.
“Okay. I’ll tell Duffe to send out the signal to the warfleet.” Reinhart nodded to the police to take Sherikov to the waiting Security ship. Sherikov walked away numbly, his face looking pale and worn out. Cole’s lifeless body was picked up and thrown onto a freight cart. The cart rolled into the hold of the Security ship, and the lock slid shut behind it.
“It’ll be interesting to see how the machines respond to the additional data,” Dixon said.
“It'll be interesting to see how the machines react to the extra data,” Dixon said.
“It should make quite an improvement in the odds,” Reinhart agreed. He patted the envelope, bulging in his inside pocket. “We’re two days ahead of time.”
“It should really improve our chances,” Reinhart agreed. He patted the envelope, which was bulging in his inside pocket. “We’re two days ahead of schedule.”
Margaret Duffe got up slowly from her desk. She pushed her chair automatically back. “Let me get all this straight. You mean the bomb is finished? Ready to go?”
Margaret Duffe slowly got up from her desk. She automatically pushed her chair back. “Let me get this straight. Are you saying the bomb is finished? Ready to go?”
“Thirty minutes! Then—”
"Thirty minutes! Then—"
“Then the attack can begin at once. I assume the fleet is ready for action.”
“Then we can start the attack right away. I assume the fleet is ready to go.”
“Of course. It’s been ready for several days. But I can’t believe the bomb is ready so soon.” Margaret Duffe moved numbly toward the door of her office. “This is a great day, Commissioner. An old era lies behind us. This time tomorrow Centaurus will be gone. And eventually the colonies will be ours.”
“Of course. It’s been ready for several days. But I can’t believe the bomb is ready so soon.” Margaret Duffe walked slowly toward the door of her office. “This is a great day, Commissioner. An old era is behind us. This time tomorrow, Centaurus will be gone. And eventually, the colonies will be ours.”
“It’s been a long climb,” Reinhart murmured.
“It’s been a long climb,” Reinhart said quietly.
“One thing. Your charge against Sherikov. It seems incredible that a person of his caliber could ever—”
“One thing. Your accusation against Sherikov. It’s hard to believe that someone like him could ever—”
“We’ll discuss that later,” Reinhart interrupted coldly. He pulled the manila envelope from his coat. “I haven’t had an opportunity to feed the additional data to the SRB machines. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll do that now.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Reinhart interrupted coldly. He took the manila envelope out of his coat. “I haven’t had a chance to input the extra data into the SRB machines. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take care of that now.”
For a moment Margaret Duffe stood at the door. The two of them faced each other silently, neither speaking, a faint smile on Reinhart’s thin lips, hostility in the woman’s blue eyes.
For a moment, Margaret Duffe stood at the door. The two of them faced each other silently, neither saying a word, a faint smile on Reinhart’s thin lips and hostility in the woman’s blue eyes.
“Reinhart, sometimes I think perhaps you’ll go too far. And sometimes I think you’ve already gone too far….”
“Reinhart, sometimes I think maybe you’ll go too far. And sometimes I think you’ve already gone too far….”
“I’ll inform you of any change in the odds showing.” Reinhart strode past her, out of the office and down the hall. He headed toward the SRB room, an intense thalamic excitement rising up inside him.
“I’ll let you know if there’s any change in the odds.” Reinhart walked past her, out of the office and down the hall. He made his way toward the SRB room, feeling an intense excitement building inside him.
A few moments later he entered the SRB room. He made his way to the machines. The odds 7-6 showed in the view windows. Reinhart smiled a little. 7-6. False odds, based on incorrect information. Now they could be removed.
A few moments later, he walked into the SRB room. He approached the machines. The odds of 7-6 were displayed in the view windows. Reinhart smiled slightly. 7-6. Those were fake odds, based on wrong information. Now they could be taken down.
Kaplan hurried over. Reinhart handed him the envelope, and moved over to the window, gazing down at the scene below. Men and cars scurried frantically everywhere. Officials coming and going like ants, hurrying in all directions.
Kaplan rushed over. Reinhart gave him the envelope and moved to the window, looking down at the scene below. People and cars moved around frantically. Officials were coming and going like ants, hurrying in every direction.
The war was on. The signal had been sent out to the warfleet that had waited so long near Proxima Centaurus. A feeling of triumph raced through Reinhart. He had won. He had destroyed the man from the past and broken Peter Sherikov. The war had begun as planned. Terra was breaking out. Reinhart smiled thinly. He had been completely successful.
The war had started. The signal had been sent out to the war fleet that had waited for so long near Proxima Centauri. A wave of triumph surged through Reinhart. He had won. He had eliminated the man from the past and taken down Peter Sherikov. The war had begun just as they had planned. Terra was on the move. Reinhart smiled faintly. He had been totally successful.
“Commissioner.”
"Commissioner."
Reinhart turned slowly. “All right.”
Reinhart turned slowly. “Okay.”
Sudden alarm plucked at Reinhart. There was something in Kaplan’s voice. He hurried quickly over. “What is it?”
Sudden alarm tugged at Reinhart. There was something in Kaplan’s voice. He rushed over. “What’s wrong?”
Kaplan looked up at him, his face white, his eyes wide with terror. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came.
Kaplan looked up at him, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“What is it?” Reinhart demanded, chilled. He bent toward the machines, studying the reading.
“What is it?” Reinhart demanded, feeling uneasy. He leaned closer to the machines, inspecting the display.
And sickened with horror.
And filled with horror.
100-1. Against Terra!
100-1. Against Earth!
He could not tear his gaze away from the figures. He was numb, shocked with disbelief. 100-1. What had happened? What had gone wrong? The turret was finished, Icarus was ready, the fleet had been notified—
He couldn't take his eyes off the figures. He felt numb, stunned with disbelief. 100-1. What had happened? What went wrong? The turret was complete, Icarus was ready, and the fleet had been notified—
There was a sudden deep buzz from outside the building. Shouts drifted up from below. Reinhart turned his head slowly toward the window, his heart frozen with fear.
There was a sudden deep buzz from outside the building. Shouts floated up from below. Reinhart turned his head slowly toward the window, his heart frozen with fear.
Across the evening sky a trail moved, rising each moment. A thin line of white. Something climbed, gaining speed each moment. On the ground, all eyes were turned toward it, awed faces peering up.
Across the evening sky, a trail moved, rising with each passing moment. A thin line of white. Something was climbing, gaining speed every second. On the ground, all eyes were turned toward it, amazed faces looking up.
The object gained speed. Faster and faster. Then it vanished. Icarus was on his way. The attack had begun; it was too late to stop, now.
The object sped up. Faster and faster. Then it disappeared. Icarus was on his way. The attack had started; it was too late to stop now.
And on the machines the odds read a hundred to one—for failure.
And on the machines, the odds showed a hundred to one—for failure.
At eight o’clock in the evening of May 15, 2136, Icarus was launched toward the star Centaurus. A day later, while all Terra waited, Icarus entered the star, traveling at thousands of times the speed of light.
At 8 PM on May 15, 2136, Icarus was launched toward the star Centaurus. A day later, while everyone on Earth waited, Icarus entered the star, moving at thousands of times the speed of light.
Nothing happened. Icarus disappeared into the star. There was no explosion. The bomb failed to go off.
Nothing happened. Icarus vanished into the star. There was no explosion. The bomb didn't go off.
At the same time the Terran warfleet engaged the Centauran outer fleet, sweeping down in a concentrated attack. Twenty major ships were seized. A good part of the Centauran fleet was destroyed. Many of the captive systems began to revolt, in the hope of throwing off the Imperial bonds.
At the same time, the Terran warfleet engaged the Centauran outer fleet, launching a focused attack. Twenty major ships were captured. A significant portion of the Centauran fleet was destroyed. Many of the captured systems began to rebel, hoping to break free from Imperial control.
Two hours later the massed Centauran warfleet from Armun abruptly appeared and joined battle. The great struggle illuminated half the Centauran system. Ship after ship flashed briefly and then faded to ash. For a whole day the two fleets fought, strung out over millions of miles of space. Innumerable fighting men died—on both sides.
Two hours later, the combined Centauran warfleet from Armun suddenly showed up and joined the fight. The massive battle lit up half of the Centauran system. Ship after ship blinked briefly and then turned to ash. For a whole day, the two fleets battled, spread out over millions of miles of space. Countless soldiers died—on both sides.
Icarus had not functioned. Centaurus had not exploded. The attack was a failure.
Icarus hadn't worked. Centaurus hadn't detonated. The attack was a failure.
The war was over.
The war is over.
“We’ve lost the war,” Margaret Duffe said in a small voice, wondering and awed. “It’s over. Finished.”
“We’ve lost the war,” Margaret Duffe said in a quiet voice, filled with wonder and awe. “It’s over. Finished.”
The Council members sat in their places around the conference table, gray-haired elderly men, none of them speaking or moving. All gazed up mutely at the great stellar maps that covered two walls of the chamber.
The Council members sat in their seats around the conference table, gray-haired old men, none of them speaking or moving. All stared silently at the huge stellar maps that covered two walls of the room.
“I have already empowered negotiators to arrange a truce,” Margaret Duffe murmured. “Orders have been sent out to Vice-Commander Jessup to give up the battle. There’s no hope. Fleet Commander Carleton destroyed himself and his flagship a few minutes ago. The Centauran High Council has agreed to end the fighting. Their whole Empire is rotten to the core. Ready to topple of its own weight.”
“I’ve already told negotiators to set up a truce,” Margaret Duffe whispered. “Vice-Commander Jessup has been ordered to withdraw from the battle. There’s no hope. Fleet Commander Carleton took out himself and his flagship just minutes ago. The Centauran High Council has agreed to stop the fighting. Their entire Empire is decaying from within. It’s ready to collapse under its own weight.”
Reinhart was slumped over at the table, his head in his hands. “I don’t understand…. Why? Why didn’t the bomb explode?” He mopped his forehead shakily. All his poise was gone. He was trembling and broken. “What went wrong?”
Reinhart was slumped over at the table, his head in his hands. “I don’t get it…. Why? Why didn’t the bomb go off?” He wiped his forehead unsteadily. All his confidence was gone. He was shaking and defeated. “What went wrong?”
Gray-faced, Dixon mumbled an answer. “The variable man must have sabotaged the turret. The SRB machines knew…. They analyzed the data. They knew! But it was too late.”
Gray-faced, Dixon mumbled an answer. “The variable man must have sabotaged the turret. The SRB machines knew... They analyzed the data. They knew! But it was too late.”
Reinhart’s eyes were bleak with despair as he raised his head a little. “I knew he’d destroy us. We’re finished. A century of work and planning.” His body knotted in a spasm of furious agony. “All because of Sherikov!”
Reinhart's eyes were filled with despair as he lifted his head slightly. “I knew he’d ruin us. We’re done for. A hundred years of work and planning.” His body tensed in a spasm of furious pain. “All because of Sherikov!”
Margaret Duffe eyed Reinhart coldly. “Why because of Sherikov?”
Margaret Duffe looked at Reinhart with a cold gaze. “What, because of Sherikov?”
“He kept Cole alive! I wanted him killed from the start.” Suddenly Reinhart jumped from his chair. His hand clutched convulsively at his gun. “And he’s still alive! Even if we’ve lost I’m going to have the pleasure of putting a blast beam through Cole’s chest!”
“He kept Cole alive! I wanted him dead from the beginning.” Suddenly, Reinhart jumped up from his chair. His hand gripped his gun tightly. “And he’s still alive! Even if we’ve lost, I’ll still get the satisfaction of blasting a beam through Cole’s chest!”
“Sit down!” Margaret Duffe ordered.
"Sit down!" Margaret Duffe said.
Reinhart was half way to the door. “He’s still at the Euthanasia Ministry, waiting for the official—”
Reinhart was halfway to the door. “He’s still at the Euthanasia Ministry, waiting for the official—”
“No, he’s not,” Margaret Duffe said.
“No, he’s not,” Margaret Duffe said.
“Cole isn’t at the Ministry. I ordered him transferred and your instructions cancelled.”
“Cole isn’t at the Ministry. I had him transferred and cancelled your instructions.”
“Where—where is he?”
"Where is he?"
There was unusual hardness in Margaret Duffe’s voice as she answered. “With Peter Sherikov. In the Urals. I had Sherikov’s full authority restored. I then had Cole transferred there, put in Sherikov’s safe keeping. I want to make sure Cole recovers, so we can keep our promise to him—our promise to return him to his own time.”
There was an unusual toughness in Margaret Duffe's voice as she replied. “With Peter Sherikov. In the Urals. I had Sherikov’s full authority reinstated. I then had Cole moved there, put in Sherikov’s protection. I want to ensure Cole gets better, so we can keep our promise to him—our promise to return him to his own time.”
Reinhart’s mouth opened and closed. All the color had drained from his face. His cheek muscles twitched spasmodically. At last he managed to speak. “You’ve gone insane! The traitor responsible for Earth’s greatest defeat—”
Reinhart's mouth opened and closed. All the color had drained from his face. His cheek muscles twitched uncontrollably. Finally, he managed to speak. “You’ve lost your mind! The traitor responsible for Earth’s greatest defeat—”
“We have lost the war,” Margaret Duffe stated quietly. “But this is not a day of defeat. It is a day of victory. The most incredible victory Terra has ever had.”
“We have lost the war,” Margaret Duffe said quietly. “But this isn’t a day of defeat. It’s a day of victory. The most incredible victory Terra has ever had.”
Reinhart and Dixon were dumbfounded. “What—” Reinhart gasped. “What do you—” The whole room was in an uproar. All the Council members were on their feet. Reinhart’s words were drowned out.
Reinhart and Dixon were shocked. “What—” Reinhart breathed. “What do you—” The whole room was in chaos. All the Council members were standing up. Reinhart’s voice was lost in the noise.
“Sherikov will explain when he gets here,” Margaret Duffe’s calm voice came. “He’s the one who discovered it.” She looked around the chamber at the incredulous Council members. “Everyone stay in his seat. You are all to remain here until Sherikov arrives. It’s vital you hear what he has to say. His news transforms this whole situation.”
“Sherikov will explain when he gets here,” said Margaret Duffe in a calm voice. “He’s the one who discovered it.” She glanced around the room at the incredulous Council members. “Everyone stay in your seats. You all need to remain here until Sherikov arrives. It’s crucial that you hear what he has to say. His news changes everything.”
Peter Sherikov accepted the briefcase of papers from his armed technician. “Thanks.” He pushed his chair back and glanced thoughtfully around the Council chamber. “Is everybody ready to hear what I have to say?”
Peter Sherikov took the briefcase of papers from his armed technician. “Thanks.” He pushed his chair back and looked thoughtfully around the Council chamber. “Is everyone ready to hear what I have to say?”
“We’re ready,” Margaret Duffe answered. The Council members sat alertly around the table. At the far end, Reinhart and Dixon watched uneasily as the big Pole removed papers from his briefcase and carefully examined them.
“We’re ready,” Margaret Duffe replied. The Council members sat attentively around the table. At the far end, Reinhart and Dixon observed nervously as the large Pole took papers out of his briefcase and examined them closely.
“To begin, I recall to you the original work behind the ftl bomb. Jamison Hedge was the first human to propel an object at a speed greater than light. As you know, that object diminished in length and gained in mass as it moved toward light speed. When it reached that speed it vanished. It ceased to exist in our terms. Having no length it could not occupy space. It rose to a different order of existence.
“To start, I want to remind you of the original work behind the ftl bomb. Jamison Hedge was the first person to launch an object at a speed faster than light. As you know, that object shortened in length and increased in mass as it approached light speed. When it hit that speed, it disappeared. It no longer existed in our terms. Without length, it couldn’t take up space. It ascended to a different level of existence.”
“When Hedge tried to bring the object back, an explosion occurred. Hedge was killed, and all his equipment was destroyed. The force of the blast was beyond calculation. Hedge had placed his observation ship many millions of miles away. It was not far enough, however. Originally, he had hoped his drive might be used for space travel. But after his death the principle was abandoned.
“When Hedge tried to bring the object back, an explosion happened. Hedge was killed, and all his equipment was destroyed. The force of the blast was off the charts. Hedge had positioned his observation ship millions of miles away. It wasn’t far enough, though. At first, he had hoped his drive could be used for space travel. But after his death, the idea was dropped.
“That is—until Icarus. I saw the possibilities of a bomb, an incredibly powerful bomb to destroy Centaurus and all the Empire’s forces. The reappearance of Icarus would mean the annihilation of their System. As Hedge had shown, the object would re-enter space already occupied by matter, and the cataclysm would be beyond belief.”
"That is—until Icarus. I saw the potential for a bomb, an incredibly powerful bomb to wipe out Centaurus and all of the Empire’s forces. The return of Icarus would mean the total destruction of their System. As Hedge had demonstrated, the object would re-enter space already filled with matter, and the disaster would be unimaginable."
“But Icarus never came back,” Reinhart cried. “Cole altered the wiring so the bomb kept on going. It’s probably still going.”
“But Icarus never came back,” Reinhart shouted. “Cole messed with the wiring so the bomb just kept going. It’s probably still running.”
“Wrong,” Sherikov boomed. “The bomb did reappear. But it didn’t explode.”
“Wrong,” Sherikov shouted. “The bomb did come back. But it didn’t blow up.”
Reinhart reacted violently. “You mean—”
Reinhart reacted aggressively. “You mean—”
“The bomb came back, dropping below the ftl speed as soon as it entered the star Proxima. But it did not explode. There was no cataclysm. It reappeared and was absorbed by the sun, turned into gas at once.”
“The bomb returned, dropping below FTL speed as soon as it entered the star Proxima. But it didn’t explode. There was no disaster. It reappeared and was absorbed by the sun, turning into gas immediately.”
“Why didn’t it explode?” Dixon demanded.
“Why didn’t it blow up?” Dixon asked.
“Because Thomas Cole solved Hedge’s problem. He found a way to bring the ftl object back into this universe without collision. Without an explosion. The variable man found what Hedge was after….”
“Because Thomas Cole solved Hedge's problem. He figured out how to bring the ftl object back into this universe without causing a collision. Without an explosion. The variable man discovered what Hedge was looking for….”
The whole Council was on its feet. A growing murmur filled the chamber, a rising pandemonium breaking out on all sides.
The entire Council was standing. A growing hum filled the room, and chaos erupted all around.
“I don’t believe it!” Reinhart gasped. “It isn’t possible. If Cole solved Hedge’s problem that would mean—” He broke off, staggered.
“I can’t believe it!” Reinhart gasped. “That’s not possible. If Cole solved Hedge’s problem, that would mean—” He paused, staggering.
“Faster than light drive can now be used for space travel,” Sherikov continued, waving the noise down. “As Hedge intended. My men have studied the photographs of the control turret. They don’t know how or why, yet. But we have complete records of the turret. We can duplicate the wiring, as soon as the laboratories have been repaired.”
“Faster-than-light drive can now be used for space travel,” Sherikov continued, waving away the noise. “Just as Hedge intended. My team has examined the photos of the control turret. They don’t know how or why yet. But we have complete records of the turret. We can replicate the wiring as soon as the labs are fixed.”
Comprehension was gradually beginning to settle over the room. “Then it’ll be possible to build ftl ships,” Margaret Duffe murmured, dazed. “And if we can do that—”
Comprehension was slowly starting to spread across the room. “So, it really will be possible to build faster-than-light ships,” Margaret Duffe murmured, stunned. “And if we can do that—”
“When I showed him the control turret, Cole understood its purpose. Not my purpose, but the original purpose Hedge had been working toward. Cole realized Icarus was actually an incomplete spaceship, not a bomb at all. He saw what Hedge had seen, an ftl space drive. He set out to make Icarus work.”
“When I showed him the control turret, Cole understood its purpose. Not my purpose, but the original purpose Hedge had been working toward. Cole realized Icarus was actually an incomplete spaceship, not a bomb at all. He saw what Hedge had seen, an ftl space drive. He set out to make Icarus work.”
“We can go beyond Centaurus,” Dixon muttered. His lips twisted. “Then the war was trivial. We can leave the Empire completely behind. We can go beyond the galaxy.”
“We can go beyond Centaurus,” Dixon murmured. His lips twisted. “Then the war was pointless. We can completely leave the Empire behind. We can go beyond the galaxy.”
“The whole universe is open to us,” Sherikov agreed. “Instead of taking over an antiquated Empire, we have the entire cosmos to map and explore, God’s total creation.”
“The whole universe is open to us,” Sherikov agreed. “Instead of taking over an outdated Empire, we have the entire cosmos to map and explore, God’s complete creation.”
Margaret Duffe got to her feet and moved slowly toward the great stellar maps that towered above them at the far end of the chamber. She stood for a long time, gazing up at the myriad suns, the legions of systems, awed by what she saw.
Margaret Duffe stood up and slowly walked towards the huge stellar maps that loomed over them at the far end of the room. She stayed there for a long time, looking up at the countless stars and the many systems, amazed by what she was seeing.
“Do you suppose he realized all this?” she asked suddenly. “What we can see, here on these maps?”
“Do you think he understood all of this?” she asked suddenly. “What we can see on these maps?”
“Thomas Cole is a strange person,” Sherikov said, half to himself. “Apparently he has a kind of intuition about machines, the way things are supposed to work. An intuition more in his hands than in his head. A kind of genius, such as a painter or a pianist has. Not a scientist. He has no verbal knowledge about things, no semantic references. He deals with the things themselves. Directly.
“Thomas Cole is a weird guy,” Sherikov said, mostly to himself. “It seems like he has a natural instinct for machines, like he knows how they're meant to function. It’s more in his hands than in his mind. A kind of talent, similar to what a painter or a musician has. Not a scientist. He doesn’t have any technical vocabulary about things, no descriptive references. He interacts with the actual objects. Directly.
“I doubt very much if Thomas Cole understood what would come about. He looked into the globe, the control turret. He saw unfinished wiring and relays. He saw a job half done. An incomplete machine.”
“I seriously doubt that Thomas Cole understood what was going to happen. He looked into the globe, the control turret. He saw unfinished wiring and relays. He saw a job half done. An incomplete machine.”
“Something to be fixed,” Margaret Duffe put in.
“Something to be fixed,” Margaret Duffe added.
“Something to be fixed. Like an artist, he saw his work ahead of him. He was interested in only one thing: turning out the best job he could, with the skill he possessed. For us, that skill has opened up a whole universe, endless galaxies and systems to explore. Worlds without end. Unlimited, untouched worlds.”
“Something that needs fixing. Like an artist, he envisioned his work before him. He was focused on just one thing: producing the best work he could with the skills he had. For us, that skill has unlocked an entire universe, countless galaxies and systems to discover. Endless worlds. Infinite, untouched worlds.”
Reinhart got unsteadily to his feet. “We better get to work. Start organizing construction teams. Exploration crews. We’ll have to reconvert from war production to ship designing. Begin the manufacture of mining and scientific instruments for survey work.”
Reinhart stood up unsteadily. “We should get to work. Let’s start organizing construction teams and exploration crews. We need to switch from war production to ship design. We’ll begin making mining and scientific instruments for survey work.”
“That’s right,” Margaret Duffe said. She looked reflectively up at him. “But you’re not going to have anything to do with it.”
“That’s right,” Margaret Duffe said. She looked thoughtfully up at him. “But you’re not going to get involved in it.”
Reinhart saw the expression on her face. His hand flew to his gun and he backed quickly toward the door. Dixon leaped up and joined him. “Get back!” Reinhart shouted.
Reinhart noticed the look on her face. He quickly grabbed his gun and stepped back toward the door. Dixon jumped up and joined him. “Get back!” Reinhart yelled.
Margaret Duffe signalled and a phalanx of Government troops closed in around the two men. Grim-faced, efficient soldiers with magnetic grapples ready.
Margaret Duffe signaled, and a group of government troops surrounded the two men. Serious, skilled soldiers with magnetic grapples at the ready.
Reinhart’s blaster wavered—toward the Council members sitting shocked in their seats, and toward Margaret Duffe, straight at her blue eyes. Reinhart’s features were distorted with insane fear. “Get back! Don’t anybody come near me or she’ll be the first to get it!”
Reinhart's blaster shook as he pointed it toward the Council members who were frozen in shock and then at Margaret Duffe, aiming right at her blue eyes. His face was twisted with frantic fear. "Stay back! Don’t anyone come near me, or she’ll be the first one to pay the price!"
Peter Sherikov slid from the table and with one great stride swept his immense bulk in front of Reinhart. His huge black-furred fist rose in a smashing arc. Reinhart sailed against the wall, struck with ringing force and then slid slowly to the floor.
Peter Sherikov got up from the table and, with one big step, moved his massive frame in front of Reinhart. His huge, black-furred fist lifted in a powerful swing. Reinhart crashed into the wall, hit with a bone-jarring impact, and then slowly slid down to the floor.
The Government troops threw their grapples quickly around him and jerked him to his feet. His body was frozen rigid. Blood dripped from his mouth. He spat bits of tooth, his eyes glazed over. Dixon stood dazed, mouth open, uncomprehending, as the grapples closed around his arms and legs.
The government troops quickly grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. His body was stiff with fear. Blood dripped from his mouth. He spat out pieces of his teeth, his eyes glazed over. Dixon stood there, dazed, mouth hanging open, not understanding what was happening as the troops tightened their grip on his arms and legs.
Reinhart’s gun skidded to the floor as he was yanked toward the door. One of the elderly Council members picked the gun up and examined it curiously. He laid it carefully on the table. “Fully loaded,” he murmured. “Ready to fire.”
Reinhart’s gun slid to the floor as he was pulled toward the door. One of the older Council members picked up the gun and looked at it with interest. He set it down gently on the table. “Fully loaded,” he said quietly. “Ready to fire.”
Reinhart’s battered face was dark with hate. “I should have killed all of you. All of you!” An ugly sneer twisted across his shredded lips. “If I could get my hands loose—”
Reinhart’s beaten face was filled with rage. “I should have killed every one of you. Every one of you!” A nasty sneer curled around his torn lips. “If I could just get my hands free—”
“You won’t,” Margaret Duffe said. “You might as well not even bother to think about it.” She signalled to the troops and they pulled Reinhart and Dixon roughly out of the room, two dazed figures, snarling and resentful.
“You won’t,” Margaret Duffe said. “You might as well not even bother thinking about it.” She signaled to the troops and they dragged Reinhart and Dixon roughly out of the room, two confused figures, growling and bitter.
For a moment the room was silent. Then the Council members shuffled nervously in their seats, beginning to breathe again.
For a moment, the room was silent. Then the Council members shifted nervously in their seats, starting to breathe again.
Sherikov came over and put his big paw on Margaret Duffe’s shoulder. “Are you all right, Margaret?”
Sherikov walked over and placed his large hand on Margaret Duffe’s shoulder. “Are you okay, Margaret?”
She smiled faintly. “I’m fine. Thanks….”
She smiled slightly. “I’m good. Thanks….”
Sherikov touched her soft hair briefly. Then he broke away and began to pack up his briefcase busily. “I have to go. I’ll get in touch with you later.”
Sherikov briefly touched her soft hair. Then he pulled away and started to pack his briefcase hurriedly. “I have to go. I’ll contact you later.”
“Where are you going?” she asked hesitantly. “Can’t you stay and—”
“Where are you headed?” she asked cautiously. “Can’t you stick around and—”
Thomas Cole was sitting up in bed when Sherikov came to the door. Most of his awkward, hunched-over body was sealed in a thin envelope of transparent airproof plastic. Two robot attendants whirred ceaselessly at his side, their leads contacting his pulse, blood-pressure, respiration, body temperature.
Thomas Cole was sitting up in bed when Sherikov knocked on the door. Most of his awkward, hunched-over body was wrapped in a thin layer of clear airproof plastic. Two robot attendants buzzed continuously at his side, their connections monitoring his pulse, blood pressure, respiration, and body temperature.
Cole turned a little as the huge Pole tossed down his briefcase and seated himself on the window ledge.
Cole turned slightly as the large Pole dropped his briefcase and sat down on the window ledge.
“How are you feeling?” Sherikov asked him.
“How are you feeling?” Sherikov asked him.
“Better.”
"Improved."
“You see we’ve quite advanced therapy. Your burns should be healed in a few months.”
“You see, we’ve really advanced in therapy. Your burns should be healed in a few months.”
“How is the war coming?”
“How’s the war going?”
“The war is over.”
"The war is over."
Cole’s lips moved. “Icarus—”
Cole's lips moved. "Icarus—"
“Icarus went as expected. As you expected.” Sherikov leaned toward the bed. “Cole, I promised you something. I mean to keep my promise—as soon as you’re well enough.”
“Icarus went as expected. As you expected.” Sherikov leaned toward the bed. “Cole, I promised you something. I intend to keep my promise—as soon as you’re well enough.”
“To return me to my own time?”
“To bring me back to my own time?”
“That’s right. It’s a relatively simple matter, now that Reinhart has been removed from power. You’ll be back home again, back in your own time, your own world. We can supply you with some discs of platinum or something of the kind to finance your business. You’ll need a new Fixit truck. Tools. And clothes. A few thousand dollars ought to do it.”
“That’s right. It’s pretty straightforward now that Reinhart is out of power. You’ll be back home soon, back in your own time and your own world. We can get you some platinum discs or something similar to fund your business. You’ll need a new Fixit truck. Tools. And clothes. A few thousand dollars should cover it.”
Cole was silent.
Cole was quiet.
“I’ve already contacted histo-research,” Sherikov continued. “The time bubble is ready as soon as you are. We’re somewhat beholden to you, as you probably realize. You’ve made it possible for us to actualize our greatest dream. The whole planet is seething with excitement. We’re changing our economy over from war to—”
“I’ve already reached out to histo-research,” Sherikov continued. “The time bubble is ready whenever you are. We're kind of reliant on you, as you probably get. You’ve enabled us to realize our greatest dream. The entire planet is buzzing with excitement. We’re transitioning our economy from war to—”
“They don’t resent what happened? The dud must have made an awful lot of people feel downright bad.”
“They don’t hold any grudges about what happened? The failure must have made a lot of people feel really bad.”
“At first. But they got over it—as soon as they understood what was ahead. Too bad you won’t be here to see it, Cole. A whole world breaking loose. Bursting out into the universe. They want me to have an ftl ship ready by the end of the week! Thousands of applications are already on file, men and women wanting to get in on the initial flight.”
"At first. But they got past it—as soon as they realized what was coming. Too bad you won’t be here to witness it, Cole. A whole new world about to unfold. Exploding into the universe. They want me to have an FTL ship ready by the end of the week! Thousands of applications are already on file, men and women eager to be part of the initial flight."
Cole smiled a little, “There won’t be any band, there. No parade or welcoming committee waiting for them.”
Cole smiled slightly, “There won’t be any band there. No parade or welcoming committee waiting for them.”
“Afraid I must get back to the labs. Lots of reconstruction work being started.” Sherikov dug into his bulging briefcase. “By the way…. One little thing. While you’re recovering here, you might like to look at these.” He tossed a handful of schematics on the bed.
“Sorry, I have to get back to the labs. There's a lot of reconstruction work starting.” Sherikov rummaged through his overflowing briefcase. “Oh, and one last thing. While you're recovering here, you might want to take a look at these.” He threw a handful of schematics onto the bed.
Cole picked them up slowly. “What’s this?”
Cole picked them up slowly. “What’s this?”
“Just a little thing I designed.” Sherikov arose and lumbered toward the door. “We’re realigning our political structure to eliminate any recurrence of the Reinhart affair. This will block any more one-man power grabs.” He jabbed a thick finger at the schematics. “It’ll turn power over to all of us, not to just a limited number one person could dominate—the way Reinhart dominated the Council.
“Just a little thing I designed.” Sherikov got up and stumbled toward the door. “We’re reorganizing our political structure to prevent any repeat of the Reinhart incident. This will stop any more individual power grabs.” He pointed a thick finger at the schematics. “It’ll give power to all of us, not just a small group that one person could control— the way Reinhart controlled the Council.
“This gimmick makes it possible for citizens to raise and decide issues directly. They won’t have to wait for the Council to verbalize a measure. Any citizen can transmit his will with one of these, make his needs register on a central control that automatically responds. When a large enough segment of the population wants a certain thing done, these little gadgets set up an active field that touches all the others. An issue won’t have to go through a formal Council. The citizens can express their will long before any bunch of gray-haired old men could get around to it.”
“This device allows citizens to bring up and address issues directly. They won’t need to wait for the Council to voice a measure. Any citizen can share their wishes with one of these tools, making their needs known on a central system that responds automatically. When a significant number of people want something to happen, these small gadgets create an active network that connects with all the others. An issue won’t need to go through a formal Council. Citizens can express their desires long before any group of elderly officials could get to it.”
Sherikov broke off, frowning.
Sherikov stopped, frowning.
“Of course,” he continued slowly, “there’s one little detail….”
“Of course,” he continued slowly, “there’s one small detail….”
“What’s that?”
“What’s that?”
“I haven’t been able to get a model to function. A few bugs…. Such intricate work never was in my line.” He paused at the door. “Well, I hope I’ll see you again before you go. Maybe if you feel well enough later on we could get together for one last talk. Maybe have dinner together sometime. Eh?”
“I haven't been able to get a model to work. A few bugs... This kind of intricate work has never really been my thing.” He paused at the door. “Well, I hope I get to see you again before you leave. Maybe if you're feeling well enough later, we could meet up for one last chat. Maybe have dinner together sometime. Sound good?”
But Thomas Cole wasn’t listening. He was bent over the schematics, an intense frown on his weathered face. His long fingers moved restlessly over the schematics, tracing wiring and terminals. His lips moved as he calculated.
But Thomas Cole wasn’t paying attention. He was focused on the schematics, a deep frown on his worn face. His long fingers moved nervously over the diagrams, following the wiring and terminals. His lips moved as he computed.
Sherikov waited a moment. Then he stepped out into the hall and softly closed the door after him.
Sherikov paused for a moment. Then he walked into the hallway and quietly shut the door behind him.
He whistled merrily as he strode off down the corridor.
He whistled happily as he walked down the hallway.
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