Second Variety and Other Stories (46 page)

"You ready?"

"Yes."

Frank opened the door. "Here we are."

Director Douglas and the three Clearance agents turned expectantly as Jill and Frank entered.
"Good," Douglas murmured, with relief. "I was beginning to get worried."

The sitting man got slowly to his feet, picking up his coat. He gripped his ivory-headed cane
tightly, his hands tense. He said nothing. He watched silently as the woman entered the room, Frank
behind her. "This is Mrs Herrick," Frank said. "Jill, this is Clearance Director Douglas."

"I've heard of you," Jill said faintly.

"Then you know our work."

"Yes. I know your work."

"This is an unfortunate business. It's happened before. I don't know what Frank has told you --"

"He explained the situation."

"Good." Douglas was relieved. "I'm glad of that. It's not easy to explain. You understand, then,
what we want. The previous cases were caught in deep space. We vibro-tubed them and got the original
contents back. But this time we must work through legal channels." Douglas picked up a vidtape
recorder. "We will need your statement, Mrs Herrick. Since no physical change has occurred we'll have
no direct evidence to make our case. We'll have only your testimony of character alteration to present to
the court."

He held the vidtape recorder out. Jill took it slowly.

"Your statement will undoubtedly be accepted by the court. The court will give us the release we
want and then we can go ahead. If everything goes correctly we hope to be able to set things exactly as
they were before."

Jill was gazing silently at the man standing in the corner with his coat and ivory-headed cane.
"Before?" she said. "What do you mean?"

"Before the change."

Jill turned toward Director Douglas. Calmly, she laid the vidtape recorder down on the table.
"What change are you talking about?"

Douglas paled. He licked his lips. All eyes in the room were on Jill. "The change in him." He
pointed at the man.

pointed at the man.

"That's odd," Jill said thoughtfully. "I haven't noticed any change."

Frank and Director Douglas looked at each other. "I don't get it," Frank muttered, dazed.

"Mrs Herrick --" Douglas began.

Jill walked over to the man standing quietly in the corner. "Can we go now, dear?" she asked.
She took his arm. "Or is there some reason why my husband has to stay here?"

The man and woman walked silently along the dark street.

"Come on," Jill said. "Let's go home."

The man glanced at her. "It's a nice afternoon," he said. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs.
"Spring is coming -- I think. Isn't it?"

Jill nodded.

"I wasn't sure. It's a nice smell. Plants and soil and growing things."

"Yes."

"Are we going to walk? Is it far?"

"Not too far."

The man gazed at her intently, a serious expression on his face. "I am very indebted to you, my
dear," he said.

Jill nodded.

"I wish to thank you. I must admit I did not expect such a --"

Jill turned abruptly. "What is your name? Your real name."

The man's gray eyes flickered. He smiled a little, a kind, gentle smile. "I'm afraid you would not
be able to pronounce it. The sounds cannot be formed..."

Jill was silent as they walked along, deep in thought. The city lights were coming on all around
them. Bright yellow spots in the gloom. "What are you thinking?" the man asked.

"I was thinking perhaps I will still call you Lester," Jill said. "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind," the man said. He put his arm around her, drawing her close to him. He gazed
down tenderly as they walked through the thickening darkness, between the yellow candles of light that
marked the way. "Anything you wish. Whatever will make you happy."

It was bright morning. The sun shone down on the damp lawns and sidewalks, reflecting off the
sparkling parked cars. The Clerk came walking hurriedly, leafing through his instructions, flipping pages
and frowning. He stopped in front of the small green stucco house for a moment, and then turned up the
walk, entering the back yard.

The dog was asleep inside his shed, his back turned to the world. Only his thick tail showed.

"For heaven's sake," the Clerk exclaimed, hands on his hips. He tapped his mechanical pencil
noisily against his clipboard. "Wake up, you in there."

The dog stirred. He came slowly out of his shed, head first, blinking and yawning in the morning
sunlight. "Oh, it's you. Already?" He yawned again.

"Big doings." The Clerk ran his expert finger down the traffic-control sheet. "They're adjusting
Sector T137 this morning. Starting at exactly nine o'clock." He glanced at his pocket watch. "Three hour
alteration. Will finish by noon."

"T137? That's not far from here."

The Clerk's thin lips twisted with contempt. "Indeed. You're showing astonishing perspicacity, my
black-haired friend. Maybe you can divine why I'm here."

The Clerk's thin lips twisted with contempt. "Indeed. You're showing astonishing perspicacity, my
black-haired friend. Maybe you can divine why I'm here."

"Exactly. Elements from this Sector are involved. We must make sure they're properly placed
when the adjustment begins." The Clerk glanced toward the small green stucco house. "Your particular
task concerns the man in there. He is employed by a business establishment lying within Sector T137. It's
essential that he be there before nine o'clock."

The dog studied the house. The shades had been let up. The kitchen light was on. Beyond the
lace curtains dim shapes could be seen, stirring around the table. A man and woman. They were drinking
coffee.

"There they are," the dog murmured. "The man, you say? He's not going to be harmed, is he?"

"Of course not. But he must be at his office early. Usually he doesn't leave until after nine. Today
he must leave at eight-thirty. He must be within Sector T137 before the process begins, or he won't be
altered to coincide with the new adjustment."

The dog sighed. "That means I have to summon."

"Correct." The Clerk checked his instruction sheet. "You're to summon at precisely eight-fifteen.
You've got that? Eight-fifteen. No later."

"What will the eight-fifteen summons bring?"

The Clerk flipped open his instruction book, examining the code columns. "It will bring A Friend
with a Car. To drive him to work early." He closed the book and folded his arms, preparing to wait.
"That way he'll get to his office almost an hour ahead of time. Which is vital."

"Vital," the dog murmured. He lay down, half inside his shed. His eyes closed. "Vital."

"Wake up! This must be done exactly on time. If you summon too soon or too late --"

The dog nodded sleepily. "I know. I'll do it right. I always do it right."

Ed Fletcher poured more cream in his coffee. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. Behind him the
oven hissed softly, filling the kitchen with warm fumes. The yellow overhead light beamed down.

"Another roll?" Ruth asked.

"I'm full." Ed sipped his coffee. "You can have it."

"Have to go." Ruth got to her feet, unfastening her robe. Time to go to work."

"Already?"

"Sure. You lucky bum! Wish I could sit around." Ruth moved toward the bathroom, running her
fingers through her long black hair. "When you work for the Government you start early."

"But you get off early," Ed pointed out. He unfolded the Chronicle, examining the sporting green.
"Well, have a good time today. Don't type any wrong words, any double-entendres."

The bathroom door closed, as Ruth shed her robe and began dressing.

Ed yawned and glanced up at the clock over the sink. Plenty of time. Not even eight. He sipped
more coffee and then rubbed his stubbled chin. He would have to shave. He shrugged lazily. Ten minutes,
maybe.

Ruth came bustling out in her nylon slip, hurrying into the bedroom. "I'm late." She rushed rapidly
around, getting into her blouse and skirt, her stockings, her little white shoes. Finally she bent over and
kissed him. "Good-bye, honey. I'll do the shopping tonight."

"Good-bye." Ed lowered his newspaper and put his arm around his wife's trim waist, hugging her
affectionately. "You smell nice. Don't flirt with the boss."

Ruth ran out the front door, clattering down the steps. He heard the click of her heels diminish
down the sidewalk.

She was gone. The house was silent. He was alone.

Ed got to his feet, pushing his chair back. He wandered lazily into the bathroom, and got his razor
down. Eight-ten. He washed his face, rubbing it down with shaving cream, and began to shave. He
shaved leisurely. He had plenty of time.

The Clerk bent over his round pocket watch, licking his lips nervously. Sweat stood out on his
forehead. The second hand ticked on. Eight-fourteen. Almost time.

The Clerk bent over his round pocket watch, licking his lips nervously. Sweat stood out on his
forehead. The second hand ticked on. Eight-fourteen. Almost time.

"Time!" the Clerk cried out.

Nothing happened.

The Clerk turned, eyes wide with horror. From the little shed a thick black tail showed. The dog
had gone back to sleep.

"TIME!" the Clerk shrieked. He kicked wildly at the furry rump. "In the name of God --"

The dog stirred. He thumped around hastily, backing out of the shed. "My goodness."
Embarrassed, he made his way quickly to the fence. Standing up on his hind paws, he opened his mouth
wide. "Woof!" he summoned. He glanced apologetically at the Clerk. "I beg your pardon. I can't
understand how --"

The Clerk gazed fixedly down at his watch. Cold terror knotted his stomach. The hands showed
eight-sixteen. "You failed," he grated. "You failed! You miserable flea-bitten ragbag of a wornout old
mutt! You failed!"

The dog dropped and came anxiously back. "I failed, you say? You mean the summons time was
--?"

"You summoned too late." The Clerk put his watch away slowly, a glazed expression on his face.
"You summoned too late. We won't get A Friend with a Car. There's no telling what will come instead.
I'm afraid to see what eight-sixteen brings."

"I hope he'll be in Sector T137 in time."

"He won't," the Clerk wailed. "He won't be there. We've made a mistake. We've made things go
wrong!"

Ed was rinsing the shaving cream from his face when the muffled sound of the dog's bark echoed
through the silent house.

"Damn," Ed muttered. "Wake up the whole block." He dried his face, listening. Was somebody
coming?

A vibration. Then -

The doorbell rang.

Ed came out of the bathroom. Who could it be? Had Ruth forgotten something? He tossed on a
white shirt and opened the front door.

A bright young man, face bland and eager, beamed happily at him. "Good morning, sir." He
tipped his hat. "I'm sorry to bother you so early --"

"What do you want?"

"I'm from the Federal Life Insurance Company. I'm here to see you about --"

Ed pushed the door closed. "Don't want any. I'm in a rush. Have to get to work."

"Your wife said this was the only time I could catch you." The young man picked up his
briefcase, easing the door open again. "She especially asked me to come this early. We don't usually
begin our work at this time, but since she asked me, I made a special note about it."

"Okay." Sighing wearily, Ed admitted the young man. "You can explain your policy while I get
dressed."

The young man opened his briefcase on the couch, laying out heaps of pamphlets and illustrated
folders. "I'd like to show you some of these figures, if I may. It's of great importance to you and your
family to --"

Ed found himself sitting down, going over the pamphlets. He purchased a ten-thousand-dollar
policy on his own life and then eased the young man out. He looked at the clock. Practically nine-thirty!

"Damn." He'd be late to work. He finished fastening his tie, grabbed his coat, turned off the oven
and the lights, dumped the dishes in the sink, and ran out on the porch.

As he hurried toward the bus stop he was cursing inwardly. Life insurance salesmen. Why did the
jerk have to come just as he was getting ready to leave?

Ed groaned. No telling what the consequences would be, getting to the office late. He wouldn't
get there until almost ten. He set himself in anticipation. A sixth sense told him he was in for it. Something
bad. It was the wrong day to be late.

Ed groaned. No telling what the consequences would be, getting to the office late. He wouldn't
get there until almost ten. He set himself in anticipation. A sixth sense told him he was in for it. Something
bad. It was the wrong day to be late.

Ed hopped off the bus a block from his office. He began walking rapidly. The huge clock in front
of Stein's Jewelry Store told him it was almost ten.

His heart sank. Old Douglas would give him hell for sure. He could see it now. Douglas puffing
and blowing, red-faced, waving his thick finger at him; Miss Evans, smiling behind her typewriter; Jackie,
the office boy, grinning and snickering; Earl Hendricks; Joe and Tom; Mary, dark-eyed, full bosom and
long lashes. All of them, kidding him the whole rest of the day.

He came to the corner and stopped for the light. On the other side of the street rose a big white
concrete building, the towering column of steel and cement, girders and glass windows -- the office
building. Ed flinched. Maybe he could say the elevator got stuck. Somewhere between the second and
third floor.