tantaliz (36 page)

Mr. Ciano keenly looked Gansy up and down, noting what looked like grass stains on his knees, the strange coat he was wearing, and the wide-brimmed hat with the droopy plume. Mr. Ciano himself stooped to wipe a finger along Gansy's shoes. The mud was still moist Gansy, in fact, was quite damp; his hat quite heavy with soaking. He smelt of rain—and other things.

"You've been drinking!" Leigher accused. "You fool, if you'd got drunk, you might have passed out!"

Gansy struggled out of the coat to offer a bare arm. "It was cold there," he groused. "You dropped me in some kind of field, and it was raining on and off. I had to walk a mile before I met anybody."

Leigher dabbed alcohol on the presented arm, inserted the needle, emptied the syringe.

"I hope you're in time." Gansy sounded somewhat anxious. "I don't feel so good."

"You're all right," Leigher said. "What else have you brought back?"

"What else? I wasn't there long enough to get organized. What did you expect? When you got poison, you shouldn't get excited."

Coat and hat to one side, Leigher helped Gansy remove his traveling harness. "Didn't you see anything, do anything?"

"I didn't have time, did I?" Gansy retorted. "What was I supposed to do? It takes a day or two to settle in, find the best places, pick the best targets." He rubbed his knee. "And I caught a bench and nearly broke my leg."

Seffan went through the pockets of the coat—lace handkerchief, copper snuff box, a battered nosegay that had lost most of its fragrance, a large iron key, a tinderbox, some beads, two crumpled letters, loose pennies and a money pouch containing ten-and-a-half guineas and some silver.

"What's this?" Leigher tugged.

"Go easy! It's loaded, I think." Gansy freed the shag and removed the flintlock pistol from beside the more modern version in his belt "I didn't want to take it off him, but you know how it is. I didn't want to have to shoot him just to borrow his coat for a spell. It was wet, man."

"I'm sorry." Leigher turned to Mr. Ciano with a shrug. "That's another thing I wish to correct, to select the most climatically propitious times. My work." He held out his hands. "There is so much to do!"

Mr. Ciano nodded. "I can see." But there was a new gleam in his eye.

They dickered about who would go next Gansy went out to hide the car under a camouflage sheet.

No one would take on the poison trick. It was generally agreed that a few days would have to be spent in order to reconnoiter the ground and orientate to the past surroundings.

It was first thought that Seffan and Carl should go together. They were willing. But Mr. Ciano thought twice, and three times, and four times, and gnawed his Hp. He did not trust Seffan, and began to trust him even less. And Carl had disappointed him recently. Seffan and Moke? Moke and Carl? The more he thought about it, the less he liked the combinations.

"Three days should be sufficient," Seffan said. "We can stake out the best prospects, get everything set for what the market will take —which should be plenty. They'll be wide open for anything. With our know-how we should be able to move in and mow the hay."

Mr. Ciano wriggled his fingers, tapping ash. He made his decision. "Carl and I will go. You will stay and keep an eye on things here."

"What?" Seffan was surprised. "You are going yourself?"

"This is big," Mr. Ciano said. "I want to see for myself, firsthand. I want no foul-ups, and I want no mistakes. There seems need to establish some positive form of control at the reception end." He spat fragments of cigar. "The only way I can be sure that there is no deviation is to attend to the matter personally."

"But, Mr. Ciano..."

"No buts'. I will come back." He turned to the inventor/discoverer. "Dr. Leigher, you can send Carl and myself to some suitable place where we might study the conditions for a permanent rendezvous area?"

"You anticipate a regular traffic to one particular era? Ah." Leigher raised his eyebrows. "If someone remained to provide a permanent fix, yes. The continuity-gap remains constant. I can send any number of persons to match a current past-contact on the board." He played with a pen. This is perhaps one reason why absconders invariably return their recall harness—it makes it extremely difficult to find them again."

"Well," Mr. Ciano mashed out his cigar, "you won't see my recall-harness without me in it. So—let's get going, shall we?"

"As you wish. I think you will find that 1640 was a very interesting year in London. Ah, two of you wish to travel together?"

That's right, just me and Carl."

"Good," Leigher said. That'll be another twenty thousand dollars, please. . ."

"Carl's has got a corner missing—will it make any difference?"

"No, it's only a casing. In here now, gentlemen."

And stiffly back-to-back, Carl and Mr. Ciano were put in darkness as
sssss-sook,
the chamber door sealed.

Primed to readiness, came the hum to shiver the nerve ends of their teeth, the closing of contacts. And at the key moment the throwing-in of the major circuits.

Bang
! like the crack of doom, and the hum dropped to a steady pulsing, and Carl and Mr. Ciano were on their way.

One day passed, and another. And another.

Gansy was sent to town to get some supplies, and to order a heap of special components that Leigher desired. Leigher spent most of his time shut away in his workroom fooling around with a cabinetful of complicated wiring. Seffan and Moke played cards, Gansy joining them as available from his chores.

There was much private thinking, much silent pondering and speculation upon the whereabouts and doings of the couple who had departed. There was some temperamental disparity in the group remaining. Moke had the limited outlook of a hired gun, Seffan the devious mind of an intriguer. Gansy was now more or less a supernumerary, a small man who'd found himself a good thing but was a degree nervous of his new-found "partners." Leigher lived in a world of his own.

Towards the end of the third day, the orange light blipped once, twice, three times. Seffan hastened to fetch Leigher, but Leigher had a relay to his workroom and was already on his way.

Sssss-sook.
Leigher went through his own planned drill.

The drag of idle waiting was swept away, and in two minutes the tension had hearts pounding and breath hanging shallow.

Come on, come on!

It seemed ages before
sssss-sook
, the chamber door slid open. There was no one there.

Leigher ran forward, but Seffan beat him. On the floor of the chamber was a single harness and, attached to it, a letter.

Seffan scooped up the bundle, tore the letter free, opened it. The paper felt gritty. He read the inky scrawl: "Doc Layah, you were right. Mr. Ciano had bad luck, is at the bottom of river. Send nobody else. Don't follow me. Everything be O.K.—CM."

Seffan was bewildered. "What. . . ? What. . . ?"

Leigher took the letter from his hands, read.

Seffan looked at the harness. Yes, it was Carl's all right, the recaller-button case had a chipped corner.

"M'yah." Leigher handed the letter back. He seemed not the least perturbed. "That's the way it happens. The good old days are really good—being there, we know that the future is assured. It is known that the world will not end tomorrow, and the good things of life are plentiful."

"Mr. Ciano at the bottom of the river." Seffan was stunned. "Carl wouldn't dare do a thing like that."

"It may have been an accident," Leigher said. "Or perhaps he didn't want competition. Or perhaps didn't like being told which apple to pick in an overloaded orchard."

"Yeah?" Seffan snarled. "Well he wont get—" He stopped. And truly Carl was beyond his jurisdiction.

"If you'd like to go back to his time, I still have a fix on Mr. Ciano's recaller. Carl may have thought, erroneously, that the water would destroy its efficiency."

"Can you bring Mr. Ciano back?"

"Not if he had the recaller in his pocket. I can override the safety guard, but all we might get could be just a portion of his jacket, say."

"Carl!" Seffan threw aside the harness. "Hell pay for this!"

"While Mr. Ciano's recaller is locus operable, we can at least know where Carl is in time, if not in place."

"Ah." Seffan smote his fist "Yes." His sense of fidelity and loyalty had been outraged. The Code had been broken. What
would
other Chiefs have to say about this?

Seffan took respite to reflect. Yes, what would the Chiefs have to say about this? Would they believe him? Yes. Would they? What if they didn't? Mr. Ciano had been his boss. Seffan's mind came up with a skitter of awkward questions. Blame. Fault Carl scot-free. They wouldn't like that

Seffan went cold. He swung on Leigher. "Look what you've done!" Could he take Moke, a spare harness, bring Carl back, alive or dead? How reliable would Moke be? "Blast you!" This was a job for the organization. How many to send back? How trustworthy the enforcers, with no living network to keep them in line?

Seffan stamped. He saw trouble ahead. With his patron, guide and mentor gone, his security was shattered. Questions, too many questions to answer. And Carl, at peace forevermore, laughing at them.

Moke spoke. "Thinking of going after him?"

"No," Seffan said. He thought of Elaine. Never satisfied, everlastingly wanting things. He'd already thought about the chances of losing her, half-seriously. No more Elaine. Or Charlotte, either. Women tired a man. A fresh start Why not? Others appeared to revel in it. If Carl could prefer it, choose it, find it so plainly desirable . . . "No," Seffan repeated, "I'm going back to a different time." It was obvious. It would be refreshing, exhilarating, a brand-new life. With his brains . . .

"Huh? What about me?"

"You can suit yourself."

Seffan got the valise, came to drop it at Leigher's feet "My passage money is in there." He stooped, retrieved the bag, opened it to remove two boxes of cartridges. "I might need these." He dropped the bag again. "Doc, I want to go back someplace. Make it around," he guessed at a number, "1773."

"Now hold it" Moke said grimly. "You ain't going nowhere. You're not leaving me here to carry the baby."

"Oh? Well, I don't want
you
where I'm going. You make your own arrangements."

"Yeah?" Moke's gun was loose in his hand. "I'm as entitled to that passage money as you are."

Leigher, perhaps mollified by his increased income, or sensitive and fearful that a shooting match might damage his equipment, interrupted, "Please! There is no need to fight Under the circumstances I shall be willing to accommodate both of you for the single fee." He sighed. I understand the situation only too well. It is happening all the time." Leigher kicked the valise to one side. T shall do my best for you both." He sounded weary suddenly. "If you would just tell me where you would like to go. . ."

Seffan stuck with his random selection of 1773. Moke opted for a nearer era—he wanted to go back only as far as Prohibition, a great time to be alive.

In due course they each in turn entered the transposer chamber, and so dropped into history.

Gansy lived like a king—Leigher was quite indulgent with him. Gansy was one who always came back.

The Mob tagged Gansy, twisted his arm. Gansy was forced to talk. He introduced other high-ranking officers to pester Dr. Leigher. The good doctor's equipment became more sophisticated. Leigher professed unhappiness at the service he was obliged to afford persons who owned not the least of altruistic motives—but they did pay promptly, and in cash, without fussing over minor details such as receipts and tax-duties. And they were discreet

But all good things come to an end.

Much of the folding money that Gansy got to spend while living it up in Miami turned out to be part of the ransom that had been paid to the much-wanted kidnaper of Bernice Bernousie. Which little thing brought Gansy very smartly to the notice of the law. And from there it was but a step to making everything legal.

"A time-and-space transposer. Fantastic." Federal Agent Dixel surveyed the plant. The batteries of dials, screens, knobs, and switches, gleamed and winked back at him. "What a project!"

His fellow agent, Gordon, stepped gingerly into the transposer chamber. "You said it. What a racket, sending hoods into the past." He mulled the thought "One way of getting rid of them, I guess."

Dixel shook his head, marveling at the intricate machinery. "Wired every piece himself. The man was a genius."

"He'd have been better if he'd used his talents to serve society." Gordon mulled
this
thought over. "Maybe he did, at that Another one and he'd have had a round forty taking his escape trail. From as low as five thousand bucks. That's a small price to pay to raise hell sometime else. Hey! don't touch anything! I don't want to go anyplace!"

Dixel laughed. Take it easy, Johnny, the power's off." He came over to the chamber. This place is sealed, right? And if we want to go anywhere, we'll have to do it in our own time."

"My wife would miss me," Gordon said simply, "and the way this thing works she might have trouble collecting the insurance."

Dixel peered. "Is that an inspection hatch up there?"

"Huh? Yes, it looks like it" Gordon tested the rings of radiation bars. "Wouldn't grab these when they're hot It must have been like an oven in here." But cold, he found that they made a serviceable ladder.

Gordon climbed. He tested the hatch, found that it moved easily to one side. He poked his head up through, and a hand with a flashlight

"What's up there?" Dixel asked. "A valvo transistorium?"

"Uh-huh." The torch beam played.

Satisfied, Gordon descended. He did not feel comfortable in the chamber and felt that he had overcome his reluctance sufficiently for this investigation.

"Well? What did you see?"

"An air-bed, a refrigerator, a hose and a couple buckets, a clothes closet and spare harness things, and a paperback library." Gordon stepped out and dusted his hands. "Friend Gansy's hideaway." He scanned the laboratory. "Beautiful. A time machine. He could afford it. Tin, flashbulbs, and imagination." He turned to gaze somberly at the floor of the chamber. "And a trapdoor over the deepest abandoned mine in the state of Arizona. . ."