Now Wait for Last Year (21 page)

'Well,' Hazeltine said, 'it's a possibility, logically at least. To go into the future, obtain the cure – perhaps not a quantity of it but anyhow the formula; memorize it and then return to the present, turn the formula over to our chemists at H. Corporation. And that would be that. It seems almost too easy, doesn't it? The drug's effects contain the method for procuring the nullifying agent, the source of a new, unknown molecule to enter the liver metabolism in place of JJ-180 ... The first objection that occurs to me is that there may never be such an antidote, in which case going into the future is useless. After all, there is not yet any sure cure for addiction to opium derivatives; heroin is still illegal and dangerous, as much so as a century ago. But another objection, a deeper one, occurs to me. Frankly – and I've supervised all phases of testing JJ-180 – I feel that the time period entered by the subject under its influence is phony. I don't believe it's the real future or the real past.'

Then what is it?' Eric asked.

'What we at Hazeltine Corporation have maintained from the start; we claim that JJ-180 is an hallucinogenic drug and we mean just that. Just because the hallucinations seem real, that's no criterion to go by; most hallucinations seem real whatever the cause, whether from a drug, a psychosis, brain damage, or electrical stimulation given directly to specific areas of the brain. You must know that, doctor; a person experiencing hallucinosis doesn't merely think he sees, say, a tree of oranges – he really does see it. For him it's an authentic experience, as much so as our presence here in your living room. No one who's taken JJ-180 and gone into the past has returned with any artifact; he doesn't disappear or—'

Miss Bachis interrupted, 'I disagree, Mr Hazeltine. I've talked to a number of JJ-180 addicts and they've given details about the past which I'm positive they wouldn't know except by having gone there. I can't prove it but I do believe it. Excuse me for interrupting.'

'Buried memories,' Hazeltine said irritably. 'Or Christ, possibly past lives; maybe there is reincarnation.'

Eric said, 'If JJ-180 did induce authentic time travel it might not constitute a good weapon to use against the reegs. It might give them hallucinosis, Mr Hazeltine. As long as you have plans of selling it to the government.'

'An ad hominem argument,' Hazeltine said. 'Attack my motives, not my argument; I'm surprised, doctor.' He looked glum. 'But maybe you're right. How do I know? I've never taken it, and we've given it to no one once we discovered its addictive properties; we're limited to animal experiments, our first – and unfortunate – human subjects, and more recent ones such as your wife whom the 'Starmen have made into addicts. And—' He hesitated, then shrugged and continued. 'And, obviously, we've given it to captured reegs in POW camps; otherwise we would have no way of determining its effects on them.'

'How have they responded?' Eric asked.

'More or less as our own people. Complete addiction, neurological decay, hallucinations of an overpowering order which made them apathetic to their actual situation.' He added, half to himself, The things you have to do in wartime. And they talk about the Nazis.'

Miss Bachis said, 'We must win the war, Mr Hazeltine.'

'Yes,' Hazeltine said lifelessly. 'Oh, you're so goddam right, Miss Bachis; how truly right you are.' He stared sightlessly down at the floor.

'Give Dr Sweetscent the supply of the drug,' Miss Bachis said.

Nodding, Hazeltine reached into his coat. 'Here.' He held out a flat metal tin. 'JJ-180. Legally we can't give it to your wife; we can't supply a known addict. So you take it – this is a formality, obviously – and what you do with it is your own business. Anyhow, there's enough in that tin to keep her alive for as long as she'll live.' He did not meet Eric's gaze; he continued to stare at the floor.

Eric, as he accepted the tin, said, 'You're not very happy about this invention of your company's.'

'Happy?' Hazeltine echoed. 'Oh sure; can't you see? Doesn't it show? You know, oddly enough, the worst has been watching the POWs after they've taken it. They just plain fold up, wilt; there's no remission at all for them ... they live JJ-180, once they've touched it. They're glad to be on it; the hallucinations are that – what should I say? — entertaining for them ... no, not entertaining. Engrossing? I don't know, but they act as if they've looked into the ultimate. But it's one which clinically speaking, physiologically speaking, constitutes an insidious hell.'

'Life is short,' Eric pointed out.

'And brutish and nasty,' Hazeltine added, vaguely quoting, as if responding unconsciously. 'I can't be fatalistic, doctor. Maybe you're lucky or smart, some such thing.'

'No,' Eric said. 'Hardly that.' To be a depressive was certainly not desirable; fatalism was not a talent but a protracted illness. 'How soon after taking JJ-180 do the withdrawal symptoms appear? In other words must—'

'You can go from twelve to twenty-four hours between dosages,' Miss Bachis said. 'Then the physiological requirements, the collapse of adequate liver metabolism, sets in. It's unpleasant. So to speak.'

Hazeltine said hoarsely, 'Unpleasant – God in heaven, be realistic; it's unendurable. It's a death agony, literally. And the person knows it. Feels it without being able to label it. After all, how many of us have gone into our death agonies?'

'Gino Molinari has,' Eric said. 'But he's unique.' Placing the tin of JJ-180 in his coat pocket, he thought, So I have up to twenty-four hours before I'll be forced to take my second dose of the drug. But it could come as soon as this evening.

So the reegs may have a cure, he thought. Would I go over to them to save my life? Kathy's life? I wonder. He did not really know.

Perhaps, he thought, I'll know after I undergo my first bout with the withdrawal symptoms. And, if not that, after I detect the first signs of neurological deterioration in my body.

It still dazed him that his wife had, just like that, addicted him. What hatred that showed. What enormous contempt for the value of life. But didn't he feel the same way? He remembered his initial discussion with Gino Molinari; his sentiments had emerged then and he had faced them. In the final analysis he felt as Kathy did. This one great effect of war; the survival of one individual seems trivial. So perhaps he could blame it on the war. That would make it easier.

But he knew better.

On his way to the infirmary to turn over to Kathy her supply of the drug, he found himself facing unbelievably, the slumped, ill figure of Gino Molinari. In his wheel chair the UN Secretary sat with his heavy wool rug over his knees, his eyes writhing like separate living things, pinning Eric into immobility.

'Your conapt was bugged,' Molinari said. 'Your conversation with Hazeltine and Bachis was picked up, recorded, and delivered in transcript form to me.'

'So quickly?' Eric managed to say. Thank God he had made no reference to his own addiction.

'Get her out of here,' Molinari moaned. 'She's a 'Star fink; she'll do anything – I know. This has happened before.' He was shaking. 'As a matter of fact she's already out of here; my Secret Service men grabbed her and took her to the field, to a 'copter. So I don't know why I'm getting myself upset like this . .. intellectually I know the situation's in hand.'

'If you have a transcript you know that Miss Bachis already arranged for Kathy to—'

'I know! All right.' Molinari panted for breath, his face unhealthy and raw; his skin hung in folds, dark wrinkled wattles of loose flesh. 'See how Lilistar operates? Using our own drug against us; it's just like the bastards, something they'd get a kick out of. We ought to drop it in their reservoirs. I let you in here and then you let your wife in; to obtain that crap, that miserable drug, she'd be willing to do anything – assassinate me if they asked her to. I know everything there is to know about Frohedadrine; I'm the one who thought up the name. From the German Froh, meaning joy, and the Latin heda-, the root for pleasure. Drine, of course—' He broke off, his swollen lips twitching. 'I'm too sick to get agitated like this; I'm supposed to be recovering from that operation. Are you trying to heal me or kill me, doctor? Or do you know?'

Eric said, 'I don't know.' He felt confused, numbed; this was just too much.

'You look bad. This is tough on you, even though according to your security file and your own statements you detest your wife – and her you. I guess you figure if you'd stayed wtih her she wouldn't have become an addict. Listen: everyone has to live his own life; she has to take the responsibility. You didn't make her do it. She decided to do it. Does that help you? Feel any better?' He scanned Eric's face for his reaction.

'I'll – be okay,' Eric said briefly.

'In a pig's ass. You look as bad as she does; I went down there to have a look at her, I couldn't resist. The poor goddam dame; you already can make out the destruction caused by that stuff. And giving her a new liver and all new blood won't help; that's been tried before, as they told you.'

'Did you talk to Kathy at all?'

'Me? Talk to a 'Star fink?' Molinari glared at him. 'Yes, I talked to her a little. While they were wheeling her out. I was curious to see what sort of woman you'd get mixed up with; you've got a masochistic streak eight yards wide and she proves it; she's a harpy, Sweetscent, a monster. Like you told me. You know what she said?' He grinned. 'She told me you're an addict. Anything to cause trouble, right?'

'Right,' Eric said stiffly.

'Why are you looking at me that way?' Molinari regarded him, his black, fat eyes showing his regained control. 'It upsets you to hear that, doesn't it? To know she'd do everything possible to destroy your career here. Eric, if I thought you'd dabbled with that stuff I wouldn't have you kicked out of here; I'd have you killed. During wartime I kill people; it's my job. Just as you know and I know, because we discussed it, there may come a time not far from now when it will be necessary for you to—' He hesitated. 'What we said. Kill even me. Right, doctor?'

Eric said, 'I have to give her the drug supply. May I go. Secretary? Before they take off.'

'No,' Molinari said. 'You can't go because there's something I want to ask you. Minister Freneksy is here still; you are aware of that. With his party, in the East Wing, in seclusion.' He held out his hand. 'I want one capsule of JJ-180, doctor. Give it to me and then forget we had this talk.'

To himself Eric thought, I know what you're going to do. Or rather try to do. But you don't have a chance; this isn't the Renaissance.

'I'm going to hand it to him personally,' Molinari said. 'To see that it actually gets there and isn't drunk by some pimp along the way.'

'No,' Eric said. 'I absolutely refuse.'

'Why?' Molinari cocked his head on one side.

'It's suicidal. For everyone on Terra.'

'You know how the Russians got rid of Beria? Beria carried a pistol into the Kremlin, which was against the law; he had it in his briefcase and they stole his briefcase and shot him with his own pistol. You think matters at the top have to be complex? There're simple solutions average people always overlook; that's the main defect of the mass man—' Molinari broke off, put his hand suddenly to his chest. 'My heart. I think it stopped. It's going now, but for a second there, nothing.' He had blanched and his voice now ebbed to a whisper.

'I'll wheel you to your room.' Eric stepped behind Molinari's wheel chair and began to push it; the Mole did not protest but sat slumped forward, massaging his fleshy chest, exploring and touching himself, with the tentativeness of disintegrating, overwhelming fear. Everything else was forgotten; he perceived nothing more than his sick, failing body. It had become his universe.

With the assistance of two nurses he managed to get Molinari back into bed.

'Listen, Sweetscent,' Molinari whispered as he lay back against the pillow. 'I don't have to get that stuff through you; I can put pressure on Hazeltine and he'll deliver it right to me. Virgil Ackerman is a friend of mine; Virgil will see to it that Hazeltine complies. And don't try to tell me my job; you do yours and I'll do mine.' He shut his eyes and groaned. 'God, I know an artery near my heart just burst; I can feel the blood leaking out. Get Teagarden in here.' Again he groaned and then turned his face to the wall. 'What a day. But I'll get that Freneksy yet.' All at once he opened his eyes and said, 'I knew it was a stupid idea. But that's the kind of ideas I've been having lately, dumb ideas like that. And what else can I do but that? Can you think of something else?' He waited. 'No. Because there isn't anything else, that's why.' Again he shut his eyes. 'I feel terrible. I think I really am dying this time and you won't be able to save me.'

'I'll get Dr Teagarden,' Eric said, and started toward the door.

Molinari said, T know you're an addict, doctor.' He drew himself up slightly. 'I can almost invariably tell when someone is lying, and your wife wasn't. As soon as I saw you I spotted it; you don't know how much you've changed.'

After a pause Eric said, 'What are you going to do?'

'We'll see, doctor,' Molinari said, and again turned his face to the wall.

As soon as he had completed the task of delivering the supply of JJ-180 to Kathy he boarded an express ship for Detroit.

Forty-five minutes later he had reached the Detroit field and was on his way to Hazeltine Corporation by taxi. Gino Molinari, not the drug, had forced him to move this swiftly; he could not even wait until evening.

'Here we are, sir,' the autonomic circuit cab said respectfully. It slid open its door so that he could emerge. 'That gray one-story building with the hedge of rose-colored calyx with the whorl of green bracts at the base ... that is Hazeltine Corporation.' Looking out, Eric saw the building, the lawn and heather hedge. It wasn't a large structure as industrial installations went. So this was the point at which JJ-180 had entered the world.