Dr. Futurity (1960) (9 page)

"We're quite secluded here," Loris said. "This is our Lodge. It dates back three hundred years."

In the center of an open field, Parsons saw a second time travel ship and several men at work on it.

"You may be interested in this," Loris said. Leading the way, she brought Parsons over to the ship; there she took a smooth, shiny sphere from one of the technicians. The sphere, the size of a grapefruit, lifted of its own accord from her hands; she caught hold of it at once. "It's all set to go," she said. "We're in the process of taking these into the future." She pointed; the ship had been filled with these spheres.

Helmar said, "I presume by the time you came onto it, the thing was rather shabby looking."

Parsons took the sphere from Loris. "I don't recognize it," he said, examining it.

Helmar and Loris exchanged glances. "These are the markers," Loris said. "One of these contacted you in the far future."

"These transmit for hundreds of miles," Helmar said. "To your ship's radio." They both stared at him. "Didn't you get your instructions through the loudspeaker? Didn't you hear one of these telling you how to operate the ship to bring it back here?"

"No," Parsons said. "I found a granite monument with a metal plaque. The instructions were engraved in the metal."

Silence.

At last Loris said quietly, "We know nothing about that. We constructed no such device. And it gave you
instruction
?"

Helmar said, "For operating our time ship?"

"Yes," Parsons said, "And it was addressed to me. It had my name on it."

Helmar said, "We've sent out hundreds of these markers. You never encountered
one
?"

"No," Parsons said.

The man and woman had lost their air of confidence. And Parsons, too, wondered the same thing. What had become of these spheres? And, if these people hadn't erected the plaque,
then who had
?

EIGHT

Parsons said, "Why did you bring me to your time?"

After a pause, Loris said, "We have a medical problem. We've tried to solve it, but we've failed. More accurately, we've had only a limited success. Our medical knowledge falls short, and in our world there's no better knowledge that we can draw on."

"How many of you are there?" Parsons said.

Loris smiled. "Just ourselves and a few others. A few who are sympathetic."

"Within your tribe?"

"Yes," she said.

"What will the government think happened to me? They know something happened to the prison rocket."

"The rocket disappeared," Helmar said. "Very common. That's why the prisoner is sent unescorted. Travel between planets is as erratic as time travel. Like the early days of travel between Europe and the New World . . . tiny ships setting out into the void."

Parsons said, "But they'll suspect that--"

"Suspecting is not the same as knowing," Loris said. "What information does it give them about us? Not even that we exist, let alone who we are or what we are trying to do. At best, they know no more than they did already."

"Then they do suspect you," Parsons said. "Already."

"The government suspects that someone has been able to make use of the time-travel experiments which they abandoned. Our early efforts were unfortunate. We dumped telltale material where they could find it and study it. They've had clues for some time." Her fierce, compelling eyes blazed. "But they wouldn't dare accuse me. They can't come here; this is sacred land. Our land. Our Lodge." Under her robes her breasts rose and fell.

Parsons said, "Is this medical problem getting worse while we stand here?"

"No," Helmar said. "We've managed to bring it to a stasis." His calm came as a contrast to Loris' fervor. "Remember, Doctor,
we have gained control of time
. If we're careful, no one can defeat us. We have a unique advantage."

"No group in history," Loris breathed, "has ever had our weapon, our opportunity."

As the three of them entered the Wolf Lodge, ascending a flight of wide stairs, Parsons thought to himself,
But one of
the principal discoveries in science is the demonstration that a
thing is possible. Once that's been done, then half the work is
over. These people have proved to the government that a time-travelmachine can be built.
The government now knows that it made an error in dropping its experiments. It doesn't know
how
the experiments were successfully completed, or by whom. But it does know--or at least, has good reason to presume--that time travel is possible. And that alone is a uniquely important discovery.

Both Loris and Helmar strode ahead with such determination that Parsons got only a glimpse of the long, dark-paneled hall. A double door slid back, and he was led into a luxurious alcove. Helmar seated him in a leather-covered armchair, and then, with a flourish, placed an ashtray beside him--and a package of Lucky Strike cigarettes.

"From your century," Helmar said. "Correct?"

"Yes," Parsons said, with gratitude.

"What about a beer?" Helmar said. "We have several beers from your period, all ice cold."

"This is fine," Parsons said, lighting one of the cigarettes and inhaling with enjoyment.

Loris, seating herself opposite, said, "And we've brought magazines forward. And clothing. And a variety of objects, some of which we can't identify. Chance plays quite a role, as you might guess. The time dredge scoops up more than three tons; we often get mere debris, however, especially in the earlier stages." She also took one of the cigarettes.

"Have you been able to orient yourself in our world?" Helmar said, seating himself and crossing his legs.

Parsons said, "The government official I ran into--"

"Stenog," Loris said. Her face showed her aversion. "We know him. Technically, he's in charge of the Fountain, but we have reason to believe he's tied up with the
shupos
. Of course, he disavows that."

"They harness what would be delinquent children," Helmar said. "Putting their energies and talents at the disposal of the government. The desire to maim and kill and fight. They train the youth to have contempt for death, which, as you have learned, is a valuable point of view to have in our society." His eyes had a deep grimness in them.

"You must realize," Loris said, "that this society has been long established. This way of life has the sanction of years. This is not a momentary abnormality in history. Human beings are a cheap commodity in history; we've seen quite a panorama come and go, during our work with the dredge. It gives one a rather different point of view, to go back and forth into time. Both Helmar and I can see--at least intellectually--the tribes' concept of the inevitability of life. They do not encourage life in the same way as they encourage death. They limit birth, for instance, to achieve a static population."

Helmar said, "Had they not limited birth, there would be by now a valuable human population on Mars and Venus. But as you know, Mars is used only as a prison. Venus is used as a source of raw materials. Sapped, year after year. Plundered."

"As the New World was plundered by the Spanish and French and English," Loris said.

She pointed upward, and Parsons saw that along one wall of the room hung large framed portraits, ancient faces familiar to him. Portraits of Cortez, Pizarro, Drake, Cabrillo, and others that he could not manage to identify. But all wore the ruffles of the sixteenth century; all were noblemen and explorers of that period.

Those were the only pictures in the room.

"Why your interest in sixteenth century explorers?" he asked.

Loris said, "You'll learn about that in due time. The point which I mean to stress is this. Despite the morbid strain in this society, there is no reason to expect it to expire and decline from its own imbalances. Having looked ahead, we can see that there's a life expectancy for it of several centuries. We share your aversion to its dynamics, but--" She shrugged. "We're more stoic about it. As you will be, finally."

Rome, Parsons thought, didn't decline in a day.

"What about my own society?" he said.

"It depends on what you identify as the authentic values of your society. Some, of course, still survive and may always survive. The superiority of the white nations, Russia, Europe, and North American democracies, lasted about a century after your time; then Asia and Africa emerged as the dominant areas, with the so-called 'colored' races acquiring their rightful heritage."

Helmar said, "In the wars of the twenty-third century, all races blended together, you understand. So, from that time on, it was not meaningful to speak of 'white' or 'colored' races."

"I see," Parsons said. "But the appearance of this Soul Cube, and these tribes--"

"That, of course," Loris said, "was not connected with the blending of the several races. The divisions into tribes is purely artificial, as you've probably concluded. It stems from a twenty-third century innovation, a great world-wide competition along the Olympics line--but with the victors becoming eligible for national office. At that time, there were still nations, and the participants at first came as representatives of their nations."

"The Communist youth festivals," Helmar said, "were one of the historic sources of the custom. And of course the medieval jousts."

Loris said, "But the principal origin of the Soul Cube, and the planned manipulation of zygotes, doesn't lie in any sources that you would be aware of." Facing Parsons, her eyes intense, she said, "You must understand that for centuries the colored races of the world had been told they were inferior, that they couldn't control their own destinies. There is in all of us this lingering sense that we have to prove we're better, prove we're able to construct a society and a population far more advanced than any seen in the past."

Helmar said, "We've made our point, but we've achieved a calcified society that spends its time meditating about death; it has no plans, no direction. No desire for growth. Our nagging sense of inferiority has betrayed us; it's made us expend our energies in recovering our pride, in proving our ancient enemies false. Like the Egyptian society--death and life so interwoven that the world has become a cemetery, and the people nothing more than custodians living among the bones of the dead. They are virtually the pre-dead, in their own minds. So their great heritage has been frittered away. Think what they--we--might have become." He broke off, his face a study of conflicting emotions.

For a time none of them spoke. Then Parsons, eager to change the subject, said, "What's your medical problem?" He wanted, now, to see it at once. To find out what it was.

"Turn your chair," Loris said. She and Helmar turned until they faced the far wall of the room. Parsons did so, too.

Breathing quickly, her lips half-parted, her fists clenched at her sides, Loris stared at the wall.

"Watch," she said. She pressed a stud.

The wall dimmed. It flickered and was gone. Parsons found himself looking into another room. Familiar, he thought. A place he had been. Was it--the Fountain!

Not quite. Everything here was minute. This chamber was a replica of what he had seen at the Fountain. The same syndromes of equipment, power cables, freight elevators. And at the far end, the gleaming blank surface of a cube--a scaled down cube, perhaps ten feet high and three feet in depth.

"What's in it?" Parsons demanded.

Loris hesitated.

"Go ahead," Helmar said.

Now she touched the stud again. The blank face of the cube faded. They were looking inside, into its depths. Into the swirling liquid that filled it.

A man stood upright, suspended in the medium of the cube. He lay motionless, arms at his sides, eyes shut. With a shock, Parsons realized that the man was dead. Dead--and somehow preserved within the cube. He was tall, powerfully built, with a great gleaming copper-colored torso. His nude body was maintained uncorrupted by this miniature Soul Cube, this small version of the great government cube at the Fountain.

Instead of a hundred billion zygotes and developed embryos, this small cube contained the preserved body of a single man, a fully developed male perhaps thirty years old.

"Your husband?" Parsons asked Loris, without thinking.

"No. We have no husbands." Loris gazed at the man with great emotion. She seemed in the grip of a swelling tide of feeling.

Parsons persisted, "You had an emotional relationship? He was your lover?"

Loris shuddered, then abruptly laughed. "No, not my lover." Her whole body swayed, trembled, as she rubbed her forehead and turned away a moment. "Although we have lovers, of course. Quite a few. Sexual activity continues, independent of reproduction." She seemed almost in a trance. Her words came slowly, tonelessly.

In his chair, Helmar said, "Go closer, Doctor. You'll see how he met his death."

Getting up, Parsons walked toward the wall. What at first appeared to be a small spot on the left breast of the man turned out to be something quite different. Here, beyond a doubt, was the cause of death. How out of place in this world, Parsons thought. He gazed up at it, amazed. But there was no doubt.

From the dead man's chest protruded the feathered, notched end of an arrow.

NINE

At a signal from Loris, a servant approached Parsons. Bowing formally, the servant set down an object at Parsons' feet. He recognized it at once. Dented, stained, it was still familiar. His gray instrument case.

"We were not able to get you," Helmar said, "but we managed to pick this up. In the hotel lobby. During the confusion, after the government understood that the girl would recover."

With tension, they watched as he opened the instrument case and began inspecting the contents.

"We examined those instruments," Loris said, from over his shoulder. "But none of our technicians could make use of them. Our orientation does not equip us--we lack the basic principles. If you don't have all you need, we can supply you with other medical material which we dredged from the past. Originally, we imagined that if we had the material, we could make use of it ourselves."