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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6b984d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51809 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51809) diff --git a/old/51809-h.zip b/old/51809-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9ffd0d1..0000000 --- a/old/51809-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51809-h/51809-h.htm b/old/51809-h/51809-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index f7c7612..0000000 --- a/old/51809-h/51809-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2110 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Survival Kit, by Frederik Pohl. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Survival Kit, by Frederik Pohl - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Survival Kit - -Author: Frederik Pohl - -Release Date: April 20, 2016 [EBook #51809] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SURVIVAL KIT *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="388" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p><i>It wasn't fair—a smart but luckless man<br /> -like Mooney had to scrounge, while Harse<br /> -always made out just because he had a....</i></p> - -<h1>Survival Kit</h1> - -<p>By FREDERIK POHL</p> - -<p>Illustrated by GAUGHAN</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Science Fiction May 1957.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="465" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">I</p> - -<p>Mooney looked out of his window, and the sky was white.</p> - -<p>It was a sudden, bright, cold flare and it was gone again. It had no -more features than a fog, at least not through the window that was -showered with snow and patterned with spray from the windy sea.</p> - -<p>Mooney blew on his hands and frowned at the window.</p> - -<p>"Son of a gun," he said, and thought for a moment about phoning the -Coast Guard station. Of course, that meant going a quarter of a mile in -the storm to reach the only other house nearby that was occupied; the -Hansons had a phone that worked, but a quarter of a mile was a long way -in the face of a December gale. And it was all dark out there now. Less -than twenty miles across the bay was New York, but this Jersey shore -coast was harsh as the face of the Moon.</p> - -<p>Mooney decided it was none of his business.</p> - -<p>He shook the kettle, holding it with an old dish towel because it was -sizzling hot. It was nearly empty, so he filled it again and put it -back on the stove. He had all four top burners and the oven going, -which made the kitchen tolerably warm—as long as he wore the scarf and -the heavy quilted jacket and kept his hands in his pockets. And there -was plenty of tea.</p> - -<p>Uncle Lester had left that much behind him—plenty of tea, nearly a -dozen boxes of assorted cookies and a few odds and ends of canned -goods. And God's own quantity of sugar.</p> - -<p>It wasn't exactly a balanced diet, but Mooney had lived on it for three -weeks now—smoked turkey sausages for breakfast, and oatmeal cookies -for lunch, and canned black olives for dinner. And always plenty of tea.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The wind screamed at him as he poured the dregs of his last cup of tea -into the sink and spooned sugar into the cup for the next one. It was, -he calculated, close to midnight. If the damn wind hadn't blown down -the TV antenna, he could be watching the late movies now. It helped to -pass the time; the last movie was off the air at two or three o'clock, -and then he could go to bed and, with any luck, sleep till past noon.</p> - -<p>And Uncle Lester had left a couple of decks of sticky, child-handled -cards behind him, too, when the family went back to the city at the end -of the summer. So what with four kinds of solitaire, and solo bridge, -and television, and a few more naps, Mooney could get through to the -next two or three A.M. again. If only the wind hadn't blown down the -antenna!</p> - -<p>But as it was, all he could get on the cheap little set his uncle had -left behind was a faint gray herringbone pattern—</p> - -<p>He straightened up with the kettle in his hand, listening.</p> - -<p>It was almost as though somebody was knocking at the door.</p> - -<p>"That's crazy," Mooney said out loud after a moment. He poured the -water over the tea bag, tearing a little corner off the paper tag on -the end of the string to mark the fact that this was the second cup he -had made with the bag. He had found he could get three cups out of a -single bag, but even loaded with sugar, the fourth cup was no longer -very good. Still, he had carefully saved all the used, dried-out bags -against the difficult future day when even the tea would be gone.</p> - -<p>That was going to be one bad day for Howard Mooney.</p> - -<p>Rap, tap. It really was someone at the door! Not knocking, exactly, but -either kicking at it or striking it with a stick.</p> - -<p>Mooney pulled his jacket tight around him and walked out into the -frigid living room, not quite so frigid as his heart.</p> - -<p>"Damn!" he said. "Damn, damn!"</p> - -<p>What Mooney knew for sure was that nothing good could be coming in that -door for him. It might be a policeman from Sea Bright, wondering about -the light in the house; it might be a member of his uncle's family. -It was even possible that one of the stockholders who had put up the -money for that unfortunate venture into frozen-food club management -had tracked him down as far as the Jersey shore. It could be almost -anything or anybody, but it couldn't be good.</p> - -<p>All the same, Mooney hadn't expected it to turn out to be a tall, lean -man with angry pale eyes, wearing a silvery sort of leotard.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"I come in," said the angry man, and did.</p> - -<p>Mooney slammed the door behind him. Too bad, but he couldn't keep it -open, even if it was conceding a sort of moral right to enter to the -stranger; he couldn't have all that cold air coming in to dilute his -little bubble of warmth.</p> - -<p>"What the devil do you want?" Mooney demanded.</p> - -<p>The angry man looked about him with an expression of revulsion. He -pointed to the kitchen. "It is warmer. In there?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose so. What do—" But the stranger was already walking into the -kitchen. Mooney scowled and started to follow, and stopped, and scowled -even more. The stranger was leaving footprints behind him, or anyway -some kind of marks that showed black on the faded summer rug. True, he -was speckled with snow, but—that much snow? The man was drenched. It -looked as though he had just come out of the ocean.</p> - -<p>The stranger stood by the stove and glanced at Mooney warily. Mooney -stood six feet, but this man was bigger. The silvery sort of thing he -had on covered his legs as far as the feet, and he wore no shoes. It -covered his body and his arms, and he had silvery gloves on his hands. -It stopped at the neck, in a collar of what looked like pure silver, -but could not have been because it gave with every breath the man took -and every tensed muscle or tendon in his neck. His head was bare and -his hair was black, cut very short.</p> - -<p>He was carrying something flat and shiny by a molded handle. If it -had been made of pigskin, it would have resembled a junior executive's -briefcase.</p> - -<p>The man said explosively: "You will help me."</p> - -<p>Mooney cleared his throat. "Listen, I don't know what you want, but -this is my house and—"</p> - -<p>"You will help me," the man said positively. "I will pay you. Very -well?"</p> - -<p>He had a peculiar way of parting his sentences in the middle, but -Mooney didn't care about that. He suddenly cared about one thing and -that was the word "pay."</p> - -<p>"What do you want me to do?"</p> - -<p>The angry-eyed man ran his gloved hands across his head and sluiced -drops of water onto the scuffed linoleum and the bedding of the cot -Mooney had dragged into the kitchen. He said irritably: "I am a -wayfarer who needs a. Guide? I will pay you for your assistance."</p> - -<p>The question that rose to Mooney's lips was "How much?" but he fought -it back. Instead, he asked, "Where do you want to go?"</p> - -<p>"One moment." The stranger sat damply on the edge of Mooney's cot and, -click-snap, the shiny sort of briefcase opened itself in his hands. -He took out a flat round thing like a mirror and looked into it, -squeezing it by the edges, and holding it this way and that.</p> - -<p>Finally he said: "I must go to Wednesday, the twenty-sixth of December, -at—" He tilted the little round thing again. "Brooklyn?" he finished -triumphantly.</p> - -<p>Mooney said, after a second: "That's a funny way to put it."</p> - -<p>"Question?"</p> - -<p>"I mean," said Mooney, "I know where Brooklyn is and I know <i>when</i> the -twenty-sixth of December is—it's next week—but you have to admit that -that's an odd way of putting it. I mean you don't <i>go</i> anywhere in -time."</p> - -<p>The wet man turned his pale eyes on Mooney. "Perhaps you are. Wrong?"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">II</p> - -<p>Mooney stared at his napping guest in a mood of wonder and fear and -delight.</p> - -<p>Time traveler! But it was hard to doubt the pale-eyed man. He had said -he was from the future and he mentioned a date that made Mooney gasp. -He had said: "When you speak to me, you must know that my. Name? Is -Harse." And then he had curled up on the floor, surrounding his shiny -briefcase like a mother cat around a kitten, and begun dozing alertly.</p> - -<p>But not before he showed Mooney just what it was he proposed to pay -him with.</p> - -<p>Mooney sipped his cooling tea and forgot to shiver, though the drafts -were fiercer and more biting than ever, now just before dawn. He -was playing with what had looked at first like a string of steel -ball-bearings, a child's necklace, half-inch spheres linked together in -a strand a yard long.</p> - -<p>Wampum! That was what Harse had called the spheres when he picked the -string out of his little kit, and that was what they were.</p> - -<p>Each ball-bearing was hollow. Open them up and out come the treasures -of the crown. Pop, and one of the spheres splits neatly in half, -and out spills a star sapphire, as big as the ball of your finger, -glittering like the muted lights of hell. Pop, and another sphere drops -a ball of yellow gold into your palm. Pop for a narwhal's tooth, pop -for a cube of sugar; pop, pop, and there on the table before Harse -sparkled diamonds and lumps of coal, a packet of heroin, a sphere of -silver, pearls, beads of glass, machined pellets of tungsten, lumps of -saffron and lumps of salt.</p> - -<p>"It is," said Harse, "for your. Pay? No, <i>no</i>!" And he headed off -Mooney's greedy fingers.</p> - -<p>Click, click, click, and the little pellets of treasure and trash were -back in the steel balls.</p> - -<p>"No, <i>no</i>!" said Harse again, grinning, snapping the balls together -like poppets in a string. "After you have guided me to Brooklyn and the -December twenty-sixth. But I must say to you. This? That some of the -balls contain plutonium and some radium. And I do not think that you -can get them. Open? But if you did, you perhaps would die. Oh. Ho?" -And, laughing, he began his taut nap.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mooney swallowed the last of his icy tea. It was full daylight outside.</p> - -<p>Very well, castaway, he said silently to the dozing pale-eyed man, I -will guide you. Oh, there never was a guide like Mooney—not when a -guide's fee can run so high. But when you are where you want to go, -then we'll discuss the price....</p> - -<p>A hacksaw, he schemed, and a Geiger counter. He had worn his fingers -raw trying to find the little button or knob that Harse had used to -open them. All right, he was licked there. But there were more ways -than one to open a cat's eye.</p> - -<p>A hacksaw. A Geiger counter. And, Mooney speculated drowsily, maybe a -gun, if the pale-eyed man got tough.</p> - -<p>Mooney fell asleep in joy and anticipation for the first time in more -than a dozen years.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was bright the next morning. Bright and very cold.</p> - -<p>"Look alive!" Mooney said to the pale-eyed man, shivering. It had been -a long walk from Uncle Lester's house to the bridge, in that ripping, -shuddering wind that came in off the Atlantic.</p> - -<p>Harse got up off his knees, from where he had been examining the -asphalt pavement under the snow. He stood erect beside Mooney, while -Mooney put on an egg-sucking smile and aimed his thumb down the road.</p> - -<p>The station wagon he had spotted seemed to snarl and pick up speed as -it whirled past them onto the bridge.</p> - -<p>"I hope you skid into a ditch!" Mooney bawled into the icy air. He was -in a fury. There was a bus line that went where they wanted to go. -A warm, comfortable bus that would stop for them if they signaled, -that would drop them just where they wanted to be, to convert one of -Harse's ball-bearings into money. The gold one, Mooney planned. Not the -diamond, not the pearl. Just a few dollars was all they wanted, in this -Jersey shore area where the towns were small and the gossip big. Just -the price of fare into New York, where they could make their way to -Tiffany's.</p> - -<p>But the bus cost thirty-five cents apiece. Total, seventy cents. Which -they didn't have.</p> - -<p>"Here comes another. Car?"</p> - -<p>Mooney dragged back the corners of his lips into another smile and held -out his thumb.</p> - -<p>It was a panel truck, light blue, with the sides lettered: <i>Chris's -Delicatessen. Free Deliveries.</i> The driver slowed up, looked them over -and stopped. He leaned toward the right-hand window.</p> - -<p>He called: "I can take you far's Red Ba—"</p> - -<p>He got a good look at Mooney's companion then and swallowed. Harse had -put on an overcoat because Mooney insisted on it and he wore a hat -because Mooney had told him flatly there would be trouble and questions -if he didn't. But he hadn't taken off his own silvery leotard, which -peeped through between neck and hat and where the coat flapped open.</p> - -<p>"—ank," finished the driver thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>Mooney didn't give him a chance to change his mind. "Red Bank is just -where we want to go. Come on!" Already he had his hand on the door. He -jumped in, made room for Harse, reached over him and slammed the door.</p> - -<p>"Thank you very much," he said chattily to the driver. "Cold morning, -isn't it? And that was some storm last night. Say, we really do -appreciate this. Anywhere in Red Bank will be all right to drop us, -anywhere at all."</p> - -<p>He leaned forward slightly, just enough to keep the driver from being -able to get a really good look at his other passenger.</p> - -<p>It would have gone all right, it really would, except that just past -Fair Haven, Harse suddenly announced: "It is the time for me to. Eat?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He snip-snapped something around the edges of the gleaming sort of -dispatch case, which opened. Mooney, peering over his shoulder, caught -glimpses of shiny things and spinning things and things that seemed to -glow. So did the driver.</p> - -<p>"Hey," he said, interested, "what've you got there?"</p> - -<p>"My business," said Harse, calmly and crushingly.</p> - -<p>The driver blinked. He opened his mouth, and then he shut it again, and -his neck became rather red.</p> - -<p>Mooney said rapidly: "Say, isn't there—uh—isn't there a lot of snow?" -He feigned fascination with the snow on the road, leaning forward until -his face was nearly at the frosty windshield. "My gosh, I've never seen -the road so snowy!"</p> - -<p>Beside him, Harse was methodically taking things out of other things. A -little cylinder popped open and began to steam; he put it to his lips -and drank. A cube the size of a fist opened up at one end and little -pellets dropped out into a cup. Harse picked a couple up and began to -chew them. A flat, round object the shape of a cafeteria pie flipped -open and something gray and doughy appeared—</p> - -<p>"Holy heaven!"</p> - -<p>Mooney's face slammed into the windshield as the driver tramped on his -brakes. Not that Mooney could really blame him. The smell from that -doughy mass could hardly be believed; and what made it retchingly worse -was that Harse was eating it with a pearly small spoon.</p> - -<p>The driver said complainingly: "Out! Out, you guys! I don't mind giving -you a lift, but I've got hard rolls in the back of the truck and that -smell's going to—Out! You heard me!"</p> - -<p>"Oh," said Harse, tasting happily. "No."</p> - -<p>"<i>No?</i>" roared the driver. "Now listen! I don't have to take any lip -from hitchhikers! I don't have to—"</p> - -<p>"One moment," said Harse. "Please." Without hurry and without delay, -beaming absently at the driver, he reached into the silvery case again. -Snip, snippety-snap; a jointed metal thing wriggled and snicked into -place. And Harse, still beaming, pointed it at the driver.</p> - -<p>Pale blue light and a faint whine.</p> - -<p>It was a good thing the truck was halted, because the whining blue -light reached diffidently out and embraced the driver; and then there -was no driver. There was nothing. He was gone, beyond the reach of any -further lip from hitchhikers.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">III</p> - -<p>So there was Mooney, driving a stolen panel truck, Mooney the bankrupt, -Mooney the ne'er-do-well, and now Mooney the accomplice murderer. Or so -he thought, though the pale-eyed man had laughed like a panther when -he'd asked.</p> - -<p>He rehearsed little speeches all the day down U.S. One, Mooney did, and -they all began: "Your Honor, I didn't know—"</p> - -<p>Well, he hadn't. How could a man like Mooney know that Harse was so -bereft of human compassion as to snuff out a life for the sake of -finishing his lunch in peace? And what could Mooney have done about it, -without drawing the diffident blue glow to himself? No, Your Honor, -really, Your Honor, he took me by surprise....</p> - -<p>But by the time they ditched the stolen car, nearly dry of gas, at the -Hoboken ferry, Mooney had begun to get his nerve back. In fact, he was -beginning to perceive that in that glittering silvery dispatch case -that Harse hugged to him were treasures that might do wonders for a -smart man unjustly dogged by hard times. The wampum alone! But beyond -the wampum, the other good things that might in time be worth more than -any amount of mere money.</p> - -<p>There was that weapon. Mooney cast a glance at Harse, blank-eyed and -relaxed, very much disinterested in the crowds of commuters on the -ferry.</p> - -<p>Nobody in all that crowd would believe that Harse could pull out a -little jointed metal thing and push a button and make any one of them -cease to exist. Nobody would believe it—not even a jury. Corpus -delicti, body of evidence—why, there would <i>be</i> no evidence! It was a -simple, workable, foolproof way of getting any desired number of people -out of the way without fuss, muss or bother—and couldn't a smart but -misfortunate man like Mooney do wonders by selectively removing those -persons who stood as obstacles in his path?</p> - -<p>And there would be more, much, much more. The thing to do, Mooney -schemed, was to find out just what Harse had in that kit and how to -work it; and then—who could know, perhaps Harse would himself find the -diffident blue light reaching out for him before the intersection of -Brooklyn and December twenty-sixth?</p> - -<p>Mooney probed.</p> - -<p>"Ah," laughed Harse. "Ho! I perceive what you want. You think perhaps -there is something you can use in my survival kit."</p> - -<p>"All right, Harse," Mooney said submissively, but he did have -reservations.</p> - -<p>First, it was important to find out just what was in the kit. After -that—</p> - -<p>Well, even a man from the future had to sleep.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mooney was in a roaring rage. How dared the Government stick its -bureaucratic nose into a simple transaction of citizens! But it turned -out to be astonishingly hard to turn Harse's wampum into money. The -first jeweler asked crudely threatening questions about an emerald -the size of the ball of his thumb; the second quoted chapter and -verse on the laws governing possession of gold. Finally they found a -pawnbroker, who knowingly accepted a diamond that might have been worth -a fortune; and when they took his first offer of a thousand dollars, -the pawnbroker's suspicions were confirmed. Mooney dragged Harse away -from there fast.</p> - -<p>But they did have a thousand dollars.</p> - -<p>As the cab took them across town, Mooney simmered down; and by the -time they reached the other side, he was entirely content. What was a -fortune more or less to a man who very nearly owned some of the secrets -of the future?</p> - -<p>He sat up, lit a cigarette, waved an arm and said expansively to Harse: -"Our new home."</p> - -<p>The pale-eyed man took a glowing little affair with eyepieces away from -in front of his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Ah," he said. "So."</p> - -<p>It was quite an attractive hotel, Mooney thought judiciously. It did a -lot to take away the sting of those sordidly avaricious jewelers. The -lobby was an impressively close approximation of a cathedral and the -bellboys looked smart and able.</p> - -<p>Harse made an asthmatic sound. "What is. That?" He was pointing at -a group of men standing in jovial amusement around the entrance to -the hotel's grand ballroom, just off the lobby. They wore purple -harem pants and floppy green hats, and every one of them carried a -silver-paper imitation of a scimitar.</p> - -<p>Mooney chuckled in a superior way. "You aren't up on our local customs, -are you? That's a convention, Harse. They dress up that way because -they belong to a lodge. A lodge is a kind of fraternal organization. A -fraternal organization is—"</p> - -<p>Harse said abruptly: "I want."</p> - -<p>Mooney began to feel alarm. "What?"</p> - -<p>"I want one for a. Specimen? Wait, I think I take the big one there."</p> - -<p>"Harse! Wait a minute!" Mooney clutched at him. "Hold everything, man! -You can't do that."</p> - -<p>Harse stared at him. "Why?"</p> - -<p>"Because it would upset everything, that's why! You want to get to -your rendezvous, don't you? Well, if you do anything like that, we'll -<i>never</i> get there!"</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Please," Mooney said, "please take my word for it. You hear me? I'll -explain later!"</p> - -<p>Harse looked by no means convinced, but he stopped opening the silvery -metal case. Mooney kept an eye on him while registering. Harse -continued to watch the conventioneers, but he went no further. Mooney -began to breathe again.</p> - -<p>"Thank <i>you</i>, sir," said the desk clerk—not every guest, even in this -hotel, went for a corner suite with two baths. "Front!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A smart-looking bellboy stepped forward, briskly took the key from the -clerk, briskly nodded at Mooney and Harse. With the automatic reflex -of any hotel bellhop, he reached for Harse's silvery case. Baggage was -baggage, however funny it looked.</p> - -<p>But Harse was not just any old guest. The bellboy got the bag away -from him, all right, but his victory was purely transitory. He yelled, -dropped the bag, grabbed his fist with the other hand.</p> - -<p>"Hey! It shocked me! What kind of tricks are you trying to do with -electric suitcases?"</p> - -<p>Mooney moaned softly. The whole lobby was looking at them—even the -conventioneers at the entrance to the ballroom; even the men in mufti -mingling with the conventioneers, carrying cameras and flash guns; even -the very doorman, the whole lobby away. That was bad. What was worse -was that Harse was obviously getting angry.</p> - -<p>"Wait, wait!" Mooney stepped between them in a hurry. "I can explain -everything. My friend is, uh, an inventor. There's some very important -material in that briefcase, believe me!"</p> - -<p>He winked, patted the bellhop on the shoulder, took his hand with -friendly concern and left in it a folded bill.</p> - -<p>"Now," he said confidentially, "we don't want any disturbance. I'm -sure you understand how it is, son. Don't you? My friend can't take -any chances with his, uh, confidential material, you see? Right. Well, -let's say no more about it. Now if you'll show us to our room—"</p> - -<p>The bellhop, still stiff-backed, glanced down at the bill and the -stiffness disappeared as fast as any truck-driver bathed in Harse's -pale blue haze. He looked up again and grinned.</p> - -<p>"Sorry, sir—" he began.</p> - -<p>But he didn't finish. Mooney had let Harse get out of his sight a -moment too long.</p> - -<p>The first warning he had was when there was a sudden commotion among -the lodge brothers. Mooney turned, much too late. There was Harse; he -had wandered over there, curious and interested and—Harse. He had -stared them up and down, but he hadn't been content to stare. He had -opened the little silvery dispatch-case and taken out of it the thing -that looked like a film viewer; and maybe it was a camera, too, because -he was looking through it at the conventioneers. He was covering them -as Dixie is covered by the dew, up and down, back and forth, heels to -head.</p> - -<p>And it was causing a certain amount of attention. Even one of -the photographers thought maybe this funny-looking guy with the -funny-looking opera glasses was curious enough to be worth a shot. -After all, that was what the photographer was there for. He aimed and -popped a flash gun.</p> - -<p>There was an abrupt thin squeal from the box. Black fog sprayed out of -it in a greasy jet. It billowed toward Harse. It collected around him, -swirled high. Now all the flashguns were popping....</p> - -<p>It was a clear waste of a twenty-dollar bill, Mooney told himself -aggrievedly out on the sidewalk. There had been no point in buttering -up the bellhop as long as Harse was going to get them thrown out anyway.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On the other side of the East River, in a hotel that fell considerably -below Mooney's recent, brief standards of excellence, Mooney cautiously -tipped a bellboy, ushered him out, locked the door behind him and, -utterly exhausted, flopped on one of the twin beds.</p> - -<p>Harse glanced at him briefly, then wandered over to the window and -stared incuriously at the soiled snow outside.</p> - -<p>"You were fine, Harse," said Mooney without spirit. "You didn't do -anything wrong at all."</p> - -<p>"Ah," said Harse without turning. "So?"</p> - -<p>Mooney sat up, reached for the phone, demanded setups and a bottle from -room service and hung up.</p> - -<p>"Oh, well," he said, beginning to revive, "at least we're in Brooklyn -now. Maybe it's just as well."</p> - -<p>"As well. What?"</p> - -<p>"I mean this is where you wanted to be. Now we just have to wait four -days, until the twenty-sixth. We'll have to raise some more money, of -course," he added experimentally.</p> - -<p>Harse turned and looked at him with the pale eyes. "One thousand -dollars you have. Is not enough?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, Harse," Mooney assured him. "Why, that won't be nearly enough. -The room rent in this hotel alone is likely to use that up. Besides all -the extras, of course."</p> - -<p>"Ah." Harse, looking bored, sat down in the chair near Mooney, opened -his kit, took out the thing that looked like a film viewer and put it -to his eyes.</p> - -<p>"We'll have to sell some more of those things. After all—" Mooney -winked and dug at the pale-eyed man's ribs with his elbow—"we'll be -needing some, well, entertainment."</p> - -<p>Harse took the viewer away from his eyes. He glanced thoughtfully at -the elbow and then at Mooney. "So," he said.</p> - -<p>Mooney coughed and changed the subject. "One thing, though," he begged. -"Don't get me in any more trouble like you did in that hotel lobby—or -with that guy in the truck. Please? I mean, after all, you're making it -hard for me to carry out my job."</p> - -<p>Harse was thoughtfully silent.</p> - -<p>"Promise?" Mooney urged.</p> - -<p>Harse said, after some more consideration: "It is not altogether -me. That is to say, it is a matter of defense. My picture should not -be. Photographed? So the survival kit insures that it is not. You -understand?"</p> - -<p>Mooney leaned back. "You mean—" The bellboy with the drinks -interrupted him; he took the bottle, signed the chit, tipped the boy -and mixed himself a reasonably stiff but not quite stupefying highball, -thinking hard.</p> - -<p>"Did you say 'survival kit'?" he asked at last.</p> - -<p>Harse was deep in the viewer again, but he looked away from it -irritably. "Naturally, survival kit. So that I can. Survive?" He went -back to the viewer.</p> - -<p>Mooney took a long, thoughtful slug of the drink.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Survival kit. Why, that made sense. When the Air Force boys went out -and raided the islands in the Pacific during the war, sometimes they -got shot down—and it was enemy territory, or what passed for it. Those -islands were mostly held by Japanese, though their populations hardly -knew it. All the aboriginals knew was that strange birds crossed the -sky and sometimes men came from them. The politics of the situation -didn't interest the headhunters. What really interested them was heads.</p> - -<p>But for a palatable second choice, they would settle for trade -goods—cloth, mirrors, beads. And so the bomber pilots were equipped -with survival kits—maps, trade goods, rations, weapons, instructions -for proceeding to a point where, God willing, a friendly submarine -might put ashore a rubber dinghy to take them off.</p> - -<p>Mooney said persuasively: "Harse. I'm sorry to bother you, but we have -to talk." The man with the pale eyes took them away from the viewer -again and stared at Mooney. "Harse, were you shot down like an airplane -pilot?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Harse frowned—not in anger, or at least not at Mooney. It was the -effort to make himself understood. He said at last: "Yes. Call it that."</p> - -<p>"And—and this place you want to go to—is that where you will be -rescued?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>Aha, thought Mooney, and the glimmerings of a new idea began to kick -and stretch its fetal limbs inside him. He put it aside, to bear and -coddle in private. He said: "Tell me more. Is there any particular part -of Brooklyn you have to go to?"</p> - -<p>"Ah. The Nexus Point?" Harse put down the viewer and, snap-snap, opened -the gleaming kit. He took out the little round thing he had consulted -in the house by the cold Jersey sea. He tilted it this way and that, -frowned, consulted a small square sparkly thing that came from another -part of the case, tilted the round gadget again.</p> - -<p>"Correcting for local time," he said, "the Nexus Point is one hour and -one minute after midnight at what is called. The Vale of Cashmere?"</p> - -<p>Mooney scratched his ear. "The Vale of Cashmere? Where the devil is -that—somewhere in Pakistan?"</p> - -<p>"Brooklyn," said Harse with an imp's grimace. "You are the guide and -you do not know where you are guiding me to?"</p> - -<p>Mooney said hastily: "All right, Harse, all right. I'll find it. But -tell me one thing, will you? Just suppose—suppose, I said—that for -some reason or other, we don't make it to the what-you-call, Nexus -Point. Then what happens?"</p> - -<p>Harse for once neither laughed nor scowled. The pale eyes opened wide -and glanced around the room, at the machine-made candlewick spreads on -the beds, at the dusty red curtains that made a "suite" out of a long -room, at the dog-eared Bible that lay on the night table.</p> - -<p>"Suh," he stammered, "suh—suh—seventeen years until there is another -Nexus Point!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">IV</p> - -<p>Mooney dreamed miraculous dreams and not entirely because of the empty -bottle that had been full that afternoon. There never was a time, -never will be a time, like the future Mooney dreamed of—Mooney-owned, -houri-inhabited, a fair domain for a live-wire Emperor of the Eons....</p> - -<p>He woke up with a splitting head.</p> - -<p>Even a man from the future had to sleep, so Mooney had thought, and it -had been in his mind that, even this first night, it might pay to stay -awake a little longer than Harse, just in case it might then seem like -a good idea to—well, to bash him over the head and grab the bag. But -the whiskey had played him dirty and he had passed out—drunk, blind -drunk, or at least he hoped so. He hoped that he hadn't seen what he -thought he had seen <i>sober</i>.</p> - -<p>He woke up and wondered what was wrong. Little tinkling ice spiders -were moving around him. He could hear their tiny crystal sounds and -feel their chill legs, so lightly, on him. It was still a dream—wasn't -it?</p> - -<p>Or was he awake? The thing was, he couldn't tell. If he was awake, it -was the middle of the night, because there was no light whatever; and -besides, he didn't seem to be able to move.</p> - -<p>Thought Mooney with anger and desperation: I'm dead. And: What a time -to die!</p> - -<p>But second thoughts changed his mind; there was no heaven and no hell, -in all the theologies he had investigated, that included being walked -over by tiny spiders of ice. He <i>felt</i> them. There was no doubt about -it.</p> - -<p>It was Harse, of course—had to be. Whatever he was up to, Mooney -couldn't say, but as he lay there sweating cold sweat and feeling the -crawling little feet, he knew that it was something Harse had made -happen.</p> - -<p>Little by little, he began to be able to see—not much, but enough to -see that there really was something crawling. Whatever the things were, -they had a faint, tenuous glow, like the face of a watch just before -dawn. He couldn't make out shapes, but he could tell the size—not much -bigger than a man's hand—and he could tell the number, and there were -dozens of them.</p> - -<p>He couldn't turn his head, but on the walls, on his chest, on his face, -even on the ceiling, he could see faint moving patches of fox-fire -light.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He took a deep breath. "Harse!" he started to call; wake him up, make -him stop this! But he couldn't. He got no further than the first -huff of the aspirate when the scurrying cold feet were on his lips. -Something cold and damp lay across them and it stuck. Like spider silk, -but stronger—he couldn't speak, couldn't move his lips, though he -almost tore the flesh.</p> - -<p>Oh, he could make a noise, all right. He started to do so, to snort and -hum through his nose. But Mooney was not slow of thought and he had a -sudden clear picture of that same cold ribbon crossing his nostrils, -and what would be the use of all of time's treasures then, when it was -no longer possible to breathe at all?</p> - -<p>It was quite apparent that he was not to make a noise.</p> - -<p>He had patience—the kind of patience that grows with a diet of -thrice-used tea bags and soggy crackers. He waited.</p> - -<p>It wasn't the middle of the night after all, he perceived, though it -was still utterly dark except for the moving blobs. He could hear -sounds in the hotel corridor outside—faintly, though: the sound of a -vacuum cleaner, and it might have been a city block away; the tiniest -whisper of someone laughing.</p> - -<p>He remembered one of his drunken fantasies of the night before—little -robot mice, or so they seemed, spinning a curtain across the window; -and he shuddered, because that had been no fantasy. The window was -curtained. And it was mid-morning, at the earliest, because the -chambermaids were cleaning the halls.</p> - -<p>Why couldn't he move? He flexed the muscles of his arms and legs, but -nothing happened. He could feel the muscles straining, he could feel -his toes and fingers twitch, but he was restrained by what seemed a web -of Gulliver's cords....</p> - -<p>There was a tap at the door. A pause, the scratching of a key, and the -room was flooded with light from the hall.</p> - -<p>Out of the straining corner of his eye, Mooney saw a woman in a gray -cotton uniform, carrying fresh sheets, standing in the doorway, and her -mouth was hanging slack. No wonder, for in the light from the hall, -Mooney could see the room festooned with silver, with darting silvery -shapes moving about. Mooney himself wore a cocoon of silver, and on the -bed next to him, where Harse slept, there was a fantastic silver hood, -like the basketwork of a baby's bassinet, surrounding his head.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="600" height="369" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>It was a fairyland scene and it lasted only a second. For Harse cried -out and leaped to his feet. Quick as an adder, he scooped up something -from the table beside his bed and gestured with it at the door. It -was, Mooney half perceived, the silvery, jointed thing he had used in -the truck; and he used it again.</p> - -<p>Pale blue light streamed out.</p> - -<p>It faded and the chambermaid, popping eyes and all, was gone.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It didn't hurt as much the second time.</p> - -<p>Mooney finally attracted Harse's attention, and Harse, with a Masonic -pass over one of the little silvery things, set it to loosening and -removing the silver bonds. The things were like toy tanks with jointed -legs; as they spun the silver webs, they could also suck them in. In -moments, the webs that held Mooney down were gone.</p> - -<p>He got up, aching in his tired muscles and his head, but this time the -panic that had filled him in the truck was gone. Well, one victim more -or less—what did it matter? And besides, he clung to the fact that -Harse had not exactly said the victims were dead.</p> - -<p>So it didn't hurt as much the second time.</p> - -<p>Mooney planned. He shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed. "Shut -up—you put us in a lousy fix and I have to think a way out of it," -he rasped at Harse when Harse started to speak; and the man from the -future looked at him with opaque pale eyes, and silently opened one of -the flat canisters and began to eat.</p> - -<p>"All right," said Mooney at last. "Harse, get rid of all this stuff."</p> - -<p>"This. Stuff?"</p> - -<p>"The stuff on the walls. What your little spiders have been spinning, -understand? Can't you get it off the walls?"</p> - -<p>Harse leaned forward and touched the kit. The little spider-things that -had been aimlessly roving now began to digest what they had created, as -the ones that had held Mooney had already done. It was quick—Mooney -hoped it would be quick enough. There were over a dozen of the things, -more than Mooney would have believed the little kit could hold; and he -had seen no sign of them before.</p> - -<p>The silvery silk on the walls, in aimless tracing, disappeared. The -thick silvery coat over the window disappeared. Harse's bassinet-hood -disappeared. A construction that haloed the door disappeared—and as -it dwindled, the noises from the corridor grew louder; some sort of -sound-absorbing contrivance, Mooney thought, wondering.</p> - -<p>There was an elaborate silvery erector-set affair on the floor between -the beds; it whirled and spun silently and the little machines took it -apart again and swallowed it. Mooney had no notion of its purpose. When -it was gone, he could see no change, but Harse shuddered and shifted -his position uncomfortably.</p> - -<p>"All right," said Mooney when everything was back in the kit. "Now you -just keep your mouth shut. I won't ask you to lie—they'll have enough -trouble understanding you if you tell the truth. Hear me?"</p> - -<p>Harse merely stared, but that was good enough. Mooney put his hand on -the phone. He took a deep breath and held it until his head began to -tingle and his face turned red. Then he picked up the phone and, when -he spoke, there was authentic rage and distress in his voice.</p> - -<p>"Operator," he snarled, "give me the manager. And hurry up—I want to -report a thief!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the manager had gone—along with the assistant manager, the -house detective and the ancient shrew-faced head housekeeper—Mooney -extracted a promise from Harse and left him. He carefully hung a "Do -Not Disturb" card from the doorknob, crossed his fingers and took the -elevator downstairs.</p> - -<p>The fact seemed to be that Harse didn't care about <i>aboriginals</i>. -Mooney had arranged a system of taps on the door which, he thought, -Harse would abide by, so that Mooney could get back in. Just the same, -Mooney vowed to be extremely careful about how he opened that door. -Whatever the pale blue light was, Mooney wanted no part of it directed -at him.</p> - -<p>The elevator operator greeted him respectfully—a part of the -management's policy of making amends, no doubt. Mooney returned the -greeting with a barely civil nod. Sure, it had worked; he'd told the -manager that he'd caught the chambermaid trying to steal something -valuable that belonged to that celebrated proprietor of valuable -secrets, Mr. Harse; the chambermaid had fled; how dared they employ a -person like that?</p> - -<p>And he had made very sure that the manager and the house dick and all -the rest had plenty of opportunity to snoop apologetically in every -closet and under the beds, just so there would be no suspicion in -their minds that a dismembered chambermaid-torso was littering some -dark corner of the room. What could they do but accept the story? The -chambermaid wasn't there to defend herself, and though they might -wonder how she had got out of the hotel without being noticed, it was -their problem to figure it out, not Mooney's to explain it.</p> - -<p>They had even been grateful when Mooney offered handsomely to refrain -from notifying the police.</p> - -<p>"Lobby, sir," sang out the elevator operator, and Mooney stepped out, -nodded to the manager, stared down the house detective and walked out -into the street.</p> - -<p>So far, so good.</p> - -<p>Now that the animal necessities of clothes and food and a place to live -were taken care of, Mooney had a chance to operate. It was a field in -which he had always had a good deal of talent—the making of deals, the -locating of contacts, the arranging of transactions that were better -conducted in private.</p> - -<p>And he had a good deal of business to transact. Harse had accepted -without question his statement that they would have to raise more money.</p> - -<p>"Try heroin or Platinum?" he had suggested, and gone back to his -viewer.</p> - -<p>"I will," Mooney assured him, and he did; he tried them both, and more -besides.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Not only was it good that he had such valuable commodities to vend, but -it was a useful item in his total of knowledge concerning Harse that -the man from the future seemed to have no idea of the value of money in -the 20th Century, <i>chez</i> U.S.A.</p> - -<p>Mooney found a buyer for the drugs; and there was a few thousand -dollars there, which helped, for although the quantity was not large, -the drugs were chemically pure. He found a fence to handle the -jewels and precious metals; and he unloaded all the ones of moderate -value—not the other diamond, not the rubies, not the star sapphire.</p> - -<p>He arranged to keep those without mentioning it to Harse. No point in -selling them now, not when they had several thousand dollars above any -conceivable expenses, not when some future date would do as well, just -in case Harse should get away with the balance of the kit.</p> - -<p>Having concluded his business, Mooney undertook a brief but expensive -shopping tour of his own and found a reasonably satisfactory place to -eat. After a pleasantly stimulating cocktail and the best meal he had -had in some years—doubly good, for there was no reek from Harse's -nauseating concoctions to spoil it—he called for coffee, for brandy, -for the day's papers.</p> - -<p>The disappearance of the truck driver made hardly a ripple. There were -a couple of stories, but small and far in the back—amnesia, said one; -an underworld kidnaping, suggested another; but the story had nothing -to feed on and it would die.</p> - -<p>Good enough, thought Mooney, waving for another glass of that enjoyable -brandy; and then he turned back to the front page and saw his own face.</p> - -<p>There was the hotel lobby of the previous day, and a pillar of churning -black smoke that Mooney knew was Harse, and there in the background, -mouth agape, expression worried, was Howard Mooney himself.</p> - -<p>He read it all very, very carefully.</p> - -<p>Well, he thought, at least they didn't get our names. The story was all -about the Loyal and Beneficent Order of Exalted Eagles, and the only -reference to the picture was a brief line about a disturbance outside -the meeting hall. Nonetheless, the second glass of brandy tasted -nowhere near as good as the first.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Time passed. Mooney found a man who explained what was meant by the -Vale of Cashmere. In Brooklyn, there is a very large park—the name is -Prospect Park—and in it is a little planted valley, with a brook and -a pool; and the name of it on the maps of Prospect Park is the Vale of -Cashmere. Mooney sent out for a map, memorized it; and that was that.</p> - -<p>However, Mooney didn't really want to go to the Vale of Cashmere with -Harse. What he wanted was that survival kit. Wonders kept popping out -of it, and each day's supply made Mooney covet the huger store that -was still inside. There had been, he guessed, something like a hundred -separate items that had somehow come out of that tiny box. There -simply was no room for them all; but that was not a matter that Mooney -concerned himself with. They were there, possible or not, because he -had seen them.</p> - -<p>Mooney laid traps.</p> - -<p>The trouble was that Harse did not care for conversation. He spent -endless hours with his film viewer, and when he said anything at all -to Mooney, it was to complain. All he wanted was to exist for four -days—nothing else.</p> - -<p>Mooney laid conversational traps, tried to draw him out, and there was -no luck. Harse would turn his blank, pale stare on him, and refuse to -be drawn.</p> - -<p>At night, however hard Mooney tried, Harse was always awake past him; -and in his sleep, always and always, the little metal guardians -strapped Mooney tight. Survival kit? But how did the little metal -things know that Mooney was a threat?</p> - -<p>It was maddening and time was passing. There were four days, then only -three, then only two. Mooney made arrangements of his own.</p> - -<p>He found two girls—lovely girls, the best that money could buy, and -he brought them to the suite with a wink and a snigger. "A little -relaxation, eh, Harse? The red-haired one is named Ginger and she's -partial to men with light-colored eyes."</p> - -<p>Ginger smiled a rehearsed and lovely smile. "I certainly <i>am</i>, Mr. -Harse. Say, want to dance?"</p> - -<p>But it came to nothing, though the house detective knocked -deferentially on the door to ask if they could be a little more quiet, -please. It wasn't the sound of celebration that the neighbors were -objecting to. It was the shrill, violent noise of Harse's laughter. -First he had seemed not to understand, and then he looked as astonished -as Mooney had ever seen him. And then the laughter.</p> - -<p>Girls didn't work. Mooney got rid of the girls.</p> - -<p>All right, Mooney was a man of infinite resource and sagacity—hadn't -he proved that many a time? He excused himself to Harse, made sure his -fat new pigskin wallet was in his pocket, and took a cab to a place on -Brooklyn's waterfront where cabs seldom go. The bartender had arms like -beer kegs and a blue chin.</p> - -<p>"Beer," said Mooney, and made sure he paid for it with a twenty-dollar -bill—thumbing through a thick wad of fifties and hundreds to find the -smallest. He retired to a booth and nursed his beer.</p> - -<p>After about ten minutes, a man stood beside him, blue-chinned and -muscular enough to be the bartender's brother—which, Mooney found, he -was.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Mooney, "it took you long enough. Sit down. You don't have -to roll me; you can earn this."</p> - -<p>Girls didn't work? Okay, if not girls, then try boys ... well, not boys -exactly. Hoodlums. Try hoodlums and see what Harse might do against the -toughest inhabitants of the area around the Gowanus Canal.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Harse, sloshing heedlessly through melted snow, spattering Mooney, -grumbled: "I do not see why we. Must? Wander endlessly across the face -of this wretched slum."</p> - -<p>Mooney said soothingly: "We have to make <i>sure</i>, Harse. We have to be -sure it's the right place."</p> - -<p>"Huff," said Harse, but he went along. They were in Prospect Park and -it was nearly dark.</p> - -<p>"Hey, look," said Mooney desperately, "look at those kids on sleds!"</p> - -<p>Harse glanced angrily at the kids on sleds and even more angrily at -Mooney. Still, he wasn't refusing to come and that was something. It -had been possible that Harse would sit tight in the hotel room and it -had taken all of the persuasive powers Mooney prided himself on to get -him out. But Mooney was able to paint a horrible picture of getting -to the wrong place, missing the Nexus Point, seventeen long years of -waiting for the next one.</p> - -<p>They crossed the Sheep Meadow, crossed the walk, crossed an old covered -bridge; and they were at the head of a flight of shallow steps.</p> - -<p>"The Vale of Cashmere!" cried Mooney, as though he were announcing a -miracle.</p> - -<p>Harse said nothing.</p> - -<p>Mooney licked his lips, glancing at the kit Harse carried under an arm, -glancing around. No one was in sight.</p> - -<p>Mooney coughed. "Uh. You're sure this is the place you mean?"</p> - -<p>"If it is the Vale of Cashmere." Harse looked once more down the steps, -then turned.</p> - -<p>"No, wait!" said Mooney frantically. "I mean—well, <i>where</i> in the -Vale of Cashmere is the Nexus Point? This is a big place!"</p> - -<p>Harse's pale eyes stared at him for a moment. "No. Not big."</p> - -<p>"Oh, <i>fairly</i> big. After all—"</p> - -<p>Harse said positively: "Come."</p> - -<p>Mooney swore under his breath and vowed never to trust anyone again, -especially a bartender's brother; but just then it happened. Out of the -snowy bushes stepped a man in a red bandanna, holding a gun. "This is a -stickup! Gimme that bag!"</p> - -<p>Mooney exulted.</p> - -<p>There was no chance for Harse now. The man was leaping toward him; -there would be no time for him to open the bag, take out the weapon....</p> - -<p>But he didn't have to. There was a thin, singing, whining sound from -the bag. It leaped out of Harse's hand, leaped free as though it had -invisible wings, and flew at the man in the red bandanna. The man -stumbled and jumped aside, the eyes incredulous over the mask. The -silvery flat metal kit spun round him, whining. It circled him once, -spiraled up. Behind it, like a smoke trail from a destroyer, a pale -blue mist streamed backward. It surrounded the man and hid him.</p> - -<p>The bag flew back into Harse's hand.</p> - -<p>The violet mist thinned and disappeared.</p> - -<p>And the man was gone, as utterly and as finally as any chambermaid or -driver of a truck.</p> - -<p>There was a moment of silence. Mooney stared without belief at the snow -sifting down from the bushes that the man had hid in.</p> - -<p>Harse looked opaquely at Mooney. "It seems," he said, "that in these -slums are many. Dangers?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mooney was very quiet on the way back to the hotel. Harse, for once, -was not gazing into his viewer. He sat erect and silent beside Mooney, -glancing at him from time to time. Mooney did not relish the attention.</p> - -<p>The situation had deteriorated.</p> - -<p>It deteriorated even more when they entered the lobby of the hotel. The -desk clerk called to Mooney.</p> - -<p>Mooney hesitated, then said to Harse: "You go ahead. I'll be up in a -minute. And listen—don't forget about my knock."</p> - -<p>Harse inclined his head and strode into the elevator. Mooney sighed.</p> - -<p>"There's a gentleman to see you, Mr. Mooney," the desk clerk said -civilly.</p> - -<p>Mooney swallowed. "A—a gentleman? To see me?"</p> - -<p>The clerk nodded toward the writing room. "In there, sir. A gentleman -who says he knows you."</p> - -<p>Mooney pursed his lips.</p> - -<p>In the writing room? Well, that was an advantage. The writing room was -off the main lobby; it would give Mooney a chance to peek in before -whoever it was could see him. He approached the entrance cautiously....</p> - -<p>"Howard!" cried an accusing familiar voice behind him.</p> - -<p>Mooney turned. A small man with curly red hair was coming out of a -door, marked "Men."</p> - -<p>"Why—why, Uncle Lester!" said Mooney. "What a p-pleasant surprise!"</p> - -<p>Lester, all of five feet tall, wispy red hair surrounding his red plump -face, looked up at him belligerently.</p> - -<p>"No doubt!" he snapped. "I've been waiting all day, Howard. Took the -afternoon off from work to come here. And I wouldn't have been here at -all if I hadn't seen <i>this</i>."</p> - -<p>He was holding a copy of the paper with Mooney's picture, behind -the pillar of black fog. "Your aunt wrapped my lunch in it, Howard. -Otherwise I might have missed it. Went right to the hotel. You weren't -there. The doorman helped, though. Found a cab driver. Told me where -he'd taken you. Here I am."</p> - -<p>"That's nice," lied Mooney.</p> - -<p>"No, it isn't. Howard, what in the world are you up to? Do you know the -Monmouth County police are looking for you? Said there was somebody -missing. Want to talk to you." The little man shook his head angrily. -"Knew I shouldn't let you stay at my place. Your aunt warned me, too. -Why do you make trouble for me?"</p> - -<p>"Police?" Mooney asked faintly.</p> - -<p>"At my age! Police coming to the house. Who was that fella who's -missing, Howard? Where did he go? Why doesn't he go home? His wife's -half crazy. He shouldn't worry her like that."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mooney clutched his uncle's shoulder. "Do the police know where I am? -You didn't tell them?"</p> - -<p>"Tell them? How could I tell them? Only I saw your picture while I was -eating my sandwich, so I went to the hotel and—"</p> - -<p>"Uncle Lester, listen. What did they come to see you for?"</p> - -<p>"Because I was stupid enough to let you stay in my house, that's what -for," Lester said bitterly. "Two days ago. Knocking on my door, hardly -eight o'clock in the morning. They said there's a man missing, driving -a truck, found the truck empty. Man from the Coast Guard station knows -him, saw him picking up a couple of hitchhikers at a bridge someplace, -recognized one of the hitchhikers. Said the hitchhiker'd been staying -at my house. That's you, Howard. Don't lie; he described you. Pudgy, -kind of a squinty look in the eyes, dressed like a bum—oh, it was you, -all right."</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute. Nobody knows you've come here, right? Not even Auntie?"</p> - -<p>"No, course not. She didn't see the picture, so how would she know? -Would've said something if she had. Now come on, Howard, we've got to -go to the police and—"</p> - -<p>"Uncle Lester!"</p> - -<p>The little man paused and looked at him suspiciously. But that was all -right; Mooney began to feel confidence flow back into him. It wasn't -all over yet, not by a long shot.</p> - -<p>"Uncle Lester," he said, his voice low-pitched and persuasive, "I -have to ask you a very important question. Think before you answer, -please. This is the question: Have you ever belonged to any Communist -organization?"</p> - -<p>The old man blinked. After a moment, he exploded. "Now what are you up -to, Howard? <i>You</i> know I never—"</p> - -<p>"Think, Uncle Lester! Please. Way back when you were a boy—anything -like that?"</p> - -<p>"Of course not!"</p> - -<p>"You're sure? Because I'm warning you, Uncle Lester, you're going to -have to take the strictest security check anybody ever took. You've -stumbled onto something important. You'll have to prove you can be -trusted or—well, I can't answer for the consequences. You see, this -involves—" he looked around him furtively—"Schenectady Project."</p> - -<p>"Schenec—"</p> - -<p>"Schenectady Project." Mooney nodded. "You've heard of the atom bomb? -Uncle Lester, this is bigger!"</p> - -<p>"Bigger than the at—"</p> - -<p>"Bigger. It's the <i>molecule</i> bomb. There aren't seventy-five men in the -country that know what that so-called driver in the truck was up to, -and now you're one of them."</p> - -<p>Mooney nodded soberly, feeling his power. The old man was hooked, tied -and delivered. He could tell by the look in the eyes, by the quivering -of the lips. Now was the time to slip the contract in his hand; or, in -the present instance, to—</p> - -<p>"I'll tell you what to do," whispered Mooney. "Here's my key. You go up -to my room. Don't knock—we don't want to attract attention. Walk right -in. You'll see a man there and he'll explain everything. Understand?"</p> - -<p>"Why—why, sure, Howard. But why don't you come with me?"</p> - -<p>Mooney raised a hand warningly. "You might be followed. I'll have to -keep a lookout."</p> - -<p>Five minutes later, when Mooney tapped on the door of the room—three -taps, pause, three taps—and cautiously pushed it open, the pale blue -mist was just disappearing. Harse was standing angrily in the center of -the room with the jointed metal thing thrust out ominously before him.</p> - -<p>And of Uncle Lester, there was no trace at all.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">V</p> - -<p>Time passed; and then time was all gone, and it was midnight, nearly -the Nexus Point.</p> - -<p>In front of the hotel, a drowsy cab-driver gave them an argument. "The -Public Liberry? Listen, the Liberry ain't open this time of night. I -ought to—Oh, thanks. Hop in." He folded the five-dollar bill and put -the cab in gear.</p> - -<p>Harse said ominously: "Liberry, Mooney? Why do you instruct him to take -us to the Liberry?"</p> - -<p>Mooney whispered: "There's a law against being in the Park at night. -We'll have to sneak in. The Library's right across the street."</p> - -<p>Harse stared, with his luminous pale eyes. But it was true; there was -such a law, for the parks of the city lately had become fields of honor -where rival gangs contended with bottle shards and zip guns, where a -passerby was odds-on to be mugged.</p> - -<p>"High Command must know this," Harse grumbled. "Must proceed, they -say, to Nexus Point. But then one finds the aboriginals have made laws! -Oh, I shall make a report!"</p> - -<p>"<i>Sure</i> you will," Mooney soothed; but in his heart, he was prepared to -bet heavily against it.</p> - -<p>Because he had a new strategy. Clearly he couldn't get the survival -kit from Harse. He had tried that and there was no luck; his arm still -tingled as the bellboy's had, from having seemingly absent-mindedly -taken the handle to help Harse. But there was a way.</p> - -<p>Get rid of this clown from the future, he thought contentedly; meet -the Nexus Point instead of Harse and there was the future, ripe for -the taking! He knew where the rescuers would be—and, above all, -he knew how to talk. Every man has one talent and Mooney's was -salesmanship.</p> - -<p>All the years wasted on peddling dime-store schemes like frozen-food -plans! But this was the big time at last, so maybe the years of -seasoning were not wasted, after all.</p> - -<p>"That for you, Uncle Lester," he muttered. Harse looked up from his -viewer angrily and Mooney cleared his throat. "I said," he explained -hastily, "we're almost at the—the Nexus Point."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Snow was drifting down. The cab-driver glanced at the black, quiet -library, shook his head and pulled away, leaving black, wet tracks in -the thin snow.</p> - -<p>The pale-eyed man looked about him irritably. "You!" he cried, waking -Mooney from a dream of possessing the next ten years of stock-market -reports. "You! Where is this Vale of Cashmere?"</p> - -<p>"Right this way, Harse, right this way," said Mooney placatingly.</p> - -<p>There was a wide sort of traffic circle—Grand Army Plaza was the name -of it—and there were a few cars going around it. But not many, and -none of them looked like police cars. Mooney looked up and down the -broad, quiet streets.</p> - -<p>"Across here," he ordered, and led the time traveler toward the edge of -the park. "We can't go in the main entrance. There might be cops."</p> - -<p>"Cops?"</p> - -<p>"Policemen. Law-enforcement officers. We'll just walk down here a way -and then hop over the wall. Trust me," said Mooney, in the voice that -had put frozen-food lockers into so many suburban homes.</p> - -<p>The look from those pale eyes was anything but a look of trust, but -Harse didn't say anything. He stared about with an expression of -detached horror, like an Alabama gentlewoman condemned to walk through -Harlem.</p> - -<p>"Now!" whispered Mooney urgently.</p> - -<p>And over the wall they went.</p> - -<p>They were in a thicket of shrubs and brush, snow-laden, the snow -sifting down into Mooney's neck every time he touched a branch, which -was always; he couldn't avoid it. They crossed a path and then a -road—long, curving, broad, white, empty. Down a hill, onto another -path. Mooney paused, glancing around.</p> - -<p>"You know where you are. Going?"</p> - -<p>"I think so. I'm looking for cops." None in sight. Mooney frowned. What -the devil did the police think they were up to? They passed laws; why -weren't they around to enforce them?</p> - -<p>Mooney had his landmarks well in mind. There was the Drive, and there -was the fork he was supposed to be looking for. It wouldn't be hard to -find the path to the Vale. The only thing was, it was kind of important -to Mooney's hope of future prosperity that he find a policeman first. -And time was running out.</p> - -<p>He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch—self-winding, shockproof, -non-magnetic; the man in the hotel's jewelry shop had assured him only -yesterday that he could depend on its time-keeping as on the beating -of his heart. It was nearly a quarter of one.</p> - -<p>"Come along, come along!" grumbled Harse.</p> - -<p>Mooney stalled: "I—I think we'd better go along this way. It <i>ought</i> -to be down there—"</p> - -<p>He cursed himself. Why hadn't he gone in the main entrance, where there -was sure to be a cop? Harse would never have known the difference. But -there was the artist in him that wanted the thing done perfectly, and -so he had held to the pretense of avoiding police, had skulked and -hidden. And now—</p> - -<p>"Look!" he whispered, pointing.</p> - -<p>Harse spat soundlessly and turned his eyes where Mooney was pointing.</p> - -<p>Yes. Under a distant light, a moving figure, swinging a nightstick.</p> - -<p>Mooney took a deep breath and planted a hand between Harse's shoulder -blades.</p> - -<p>"Run!" he yelled at the top of his voice, and shoved. He sounded so -real, he almost convinced himself. "We'll have to split up—I'll meet -you there. Now <i>run</i>!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph4">VI</p> - -<p>Oh, clever Mooney! He crouched under a snowy tree, watching the man -from the future speed effortlessly away ... in the wrong direction.</p> - -<p>The cop was hailing him; clever cop! All it had taken was a couple of -full-throated yells and at once the cop had perceived that someone was -in the park. But cleverer than any cop was Mooney.</p> - -<p>Men from the future. Why, thought Mooney contentedly, no Mrs. -Meyerhauser of the suburbs would have let me get away with a trick like -that to sell her a freezer. There's going to be no problem at all. I -don't have to worry about a thing. Mooney can take care of himself!</p> - -<p>By then, he had caught his breath—and time was passing, passing.</p> - -<p>He heard a distant confused yelling. Harse and the cop? But it didn't -matter. The only thing that mattered was getting to the Nexus Point at -one minute past one.</p> - -<p>He took a deep breath and began to trot. Slipping in the snow, panting -heavily, he went down the path, around the little glade, across the -covered bridge.</p> - -<p>He found the shallow steps that led down to the Vale.</p> - -<p>And there it was below him: a broad space where walks joined, and in -the space a thing shaped like a dinosaur egg, rounded and huge. It -glowed with a silvery sheen.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="391" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Confidently, Mooney started down the steps toward the egg and the -moving figures that flitted soundlessly around it. Harse was not the -only time traveler, Mooney saw. Good, that might make it all the -simpler. Should he change his plan and feign amnesia, pass himself off -as one of their own men?</p> - -<p>Or—</p> - -<p>A movement made him look over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>Somebody was standing at the top of the steps. "Hell's fire," whispered -Mooney. He'd forgotten all about that aboriginal law; and here above -him stood a man in a policeman's uniform, staring down with pale eyes.</p> - -<p>No, not a policeman. The face was—Harse's.</p> - -<p>Mooney swallowed and stood rooted.</p> - -<p>"You!" Harse's savage voice came growling. "You are to stand. Still?"</p> - -<p>Mooney didn't need the order; he couldn't move. No twentieth-century -cop was a match for Harse, that was clear; Harse had bested him, taken -his uniform away from him for camouflage—and here he was.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, so was Howard Mooney.</p> - -<p>The figures below were looking up, pointing and talking; Harse from -above was coming down. Mooney could only stand, and wish—wish that he -were back in Sea Bright, living on cookies and stale tea, wish he had -planned things with more intelligence, more skill—perhaps even with -more honesty. But it was too late for wishing.</p> - -<p>Harse came down the steps, paused a yard from Mooney, scowled a -withering scowl—and passed on.</p> - -<p>He reached the bottom of the steps and joined the others waiting about -the egg. They all went inside.</p> - -<p>The glowing silvery colors winked and went out. The egg flamed purple, -faded, turned transparent and disappeared.</p> - -<p>Mooney stared and, yelling a demand for payment, ran stumbling down the -steps to where it had been. There was a round thawed spot, a trampled -patch—nothing else.</p> - -<p>They were gone....</p> - -<p>Almost gone. Because there was a sudden bright wash of flame from -overhead—cold silvery flame. He looked up, dazzled. Over him, the egg -was visible as thin smoke, hovering. A smoky, half-transparent hand -reached out of a port. A thin, reedy voice cried: "I promised you. Pay?"</p> - -<p>And the silvery dispatch-case sort of thing, the survival kit, dropped -soundlessly to the snow beside Mooney.</p> - -<p>When he looked up again, the egg was gone for good.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He was clear back to the hotel before he got a grip on himself—and -then he was drunk with delight. Honest Harse! Splendidly trustable -Harse! Why, all this time, Mooney had been so worried, had worked so -hard—and the whole survival kit was his, after all!</p> - -<p>He had touched it gingerly before picking it up but it didn't shock -him; clearly the protective devices, whatever they were, were off.</p> - -<p>He sweated over it for an hour and a half, looking for levers, buttons, -a slit that he might pry wider with the blade of a knife. At last he -kicked it and yelled, past endurance: "Open up, damn you!"</p> - -<p>It opened wide on the floor before him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, bless your heart!" cried Mooney, falling to his knees to drag out -the string of wampum, the little mechanical mice, the viewing-machine -sort of thing. Treasures like those were beyond price; each one might -fetch a fortune, if only in the wondrous new inventions he could patent -if he could discover just how they worked.</p> - -<p>But where were they?</p> - -<p>Gone! The wampum was gone. The goggles were gone. Everything was -gone—the little flat canisters, the map instruments, everything but -one thing.</p> - -<p>There was, in a corner of the case, a squarish, sharp-edged thing that -Mooney stared at blindly for a long moment before he recognized it. It -was a part—only a part—of the jointed construction that Harse had -used to rid himself of undesirables by bathing them in blue light.</p> - -<p>What a filthy trick! Mooney all but sobbed to himself.</p> - -<p>He picked up the squarish thing bitterly. Probably it wouldn't even -work, he thought, the world a ruin around him. It wasn't even the whole -complete weapon.</p> - -<p>Still—</p> - -<p>There was a grooved, saddle-shaped affair that was clearly a sort of -trigger; it could move forward or it could move back. Mooney thought -deeply for a while.</p> - -<p>Then he sat up, held the thing carefully away from him with the pointed -part toward the wall and pressed, ever so gently pressed forward on the -saddle-shaped thumb-trigger.</p> - -<p>The pale blue haze leaped out, swirled around and, not finding anything -alive in its range, dwindled and died.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Aha, thought Mooney, not everything is lost yet! Surely a bright young -man could find some use for a weapon like this which removed, if it did -not kill, which prevented any nastiness about a corpse turning up, or -a messy job of disposal.</p> - -<p>Why not see what happened if the thumb-piece was moved backward?</p> - -<p>Well, why not? Mooney held the thing away from him, hesitated, and slid -it back.</p> - -<p>There was a sudden shivering tingle in his thumb, in the gadget he was -holding, running all up and down his arm. A violet haze, very unlike -the blue one, licked soundlessly forth—not burning, but destroying -as surely as flame ever destroyed; for where the haze touched the -gadget itself, the kit, everything that had to do with the man from the -future, it seared and shattered. The gadget fell into white crystalline -powder in Mooney's hand and the case itself became a rectangular shape -traced in white powder ridges on the rug.</p> - -<p>Oh, no! thought Mooney, even before the haze had gone. It can't be!</p> - -<p>The flame danced away like a cloud, spreading and rising. While Mooney -stared, it faded away, but not without leaving something behind.</p> - -<p>Mooney threw his taut body backward, almost under the bed. What he saw, -he didn't believe; what he believed filled him with panic.</p> - -<p>No wonder Harse had laughed so when Mooney asked if its victims were -dead. For there they were, all of them. Like djinn out of a jar, human -figures jelled and solidified where the cloud of violet flame had not -at all diffidently rolled.</p> - -<p>They were alive, as big as life, and beginning to move—and so many of -them! Three—five—six:</p> - -<p>The truck-driver, yes, and a man in long red flannel underwear who must -have been the policeman, and Uncle Lester, and the bartender's brother, -and the chambermaid, and a man Mooney didn't know.</p> - -<p>They were there, all of them; and they came toward him, and oh! but -they were angry!</p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Survival Kit, by Frederik Pohl - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SURVIVAL KIT *** - -***** This file should be named 51809-h.htm or 51809-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/8/0/51809/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Survival Kit - -Author: Frederik Pohl - -Release Date: April 20, 2016 [EBook #51809] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SURVIVAL KIT *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - It wasn't fair--a smart but luckless man - like Mooney had to scrounge, while Harse - always made out just because he had a.... - - Survival Kit - - By FREDERIK POHL - - Illustrated by GAUGHAN - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction May 1957. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - -I - -Mooney looked out of his window, and the sky was white. - -It was a sudden, bright, cold flare and it was gone again. It had no -more features than a fog, at least not through the window that was -showered with snow and patterned with spray from the windy sea. - -Mooney blew on his hands and frowned at the window. - -"Son of a gun," he said, and thought for a moment about phoning the -Coast Guard station. Of course, that meant going a quarter of a mile in -the storm to reach the only other house nearby that was occupied; the -Hansons had a phone that worked, but a quarter of a mile was a long way -in the face of a December gale. And it was all dark out there now. Less -than twenty miles across the bay was New York, but this Jersey shore -coast was harsh as the face of the Moon. - -Mooney decided it was none of his business. - -He shook the kettle, holding it with an old dish towel because it was -sizzling hot. It was nearly empty, so he filled it again and put it -back on the stove. He had all four top burners and the oven going, -which made the kitchen tolerably warm--as long as he wore the scarf and -the heavy quilted jacket and kept his hands in his pockets. And there -was plenty of tea. - -Uncle Lester had left that much behind him--plenty of tea, nearly a -dozen boxes of assorted cookies and a few odds and ends of canned -goods. And God's own quantity of sugar. - -It wasn't exactly a balanced diet, but Mooney had lived on it for three -weeks now--smoked turkey sausages for breakfast, and oatmeal cookies -for lunch, and canned black olives for dinner. And always plenty of tea. - - * * * * * - -The wind screamed at him as he poured the dregs of his last cup of tea -into the sink and spooned sugar into the cup for the next one. It was, -he calculated, close to midnight. If the damn wind hadn't blown down -the TV antenna, he could be watching the late movies now. It helped to -pass the time; the last movie was off the air at two or three o'clock, -and then he could go to bed and, with any luck, sleep till past noon. - -And Uncle Lester had left a couple of decks of sticky, child-handled -cards behind him, too, when the family went back to the city at the end -of the summer. So what with four kinds of solitaire, and solo bridge, -and television, and a few more naps, Mooney could get through to the -next two or three A.M. again. If only the wind hadn't blown down the -antenna! - -But as it was, all he could get on the cheap little set his uncle had -left behind was a faint gray herringbone pattern-- - -He straightened up with the kettle in his hand, listening. - -It was almost as though somebody was knocking at the door. - -"That's crazy," Mooney said out loud after a moment. He poured the -water over the tea bag, tearing a little corner off the paper tag on -the end of the string to mark the fact that this was the second cup he -had made with the bag. He had found he could get three cups out of a -single bag, but even loaded with sugar, the fourth cup was no longer -very good. Still, he had carefully saved all the used, dried-out bags -against the difficult future day when even the tea would be gone. - -That was going to be one bad day for Howard Mooney. - -Rap, tap. It really was someone at the door! Not knocking, exactly, but -either kicking at it or striking it with a stick. - -Mooney pulled his jacket tight around him and walked out into the -frigid living room, not quite so frigid as his heart. - -"Damn!" he said. "Damn, damn!" - -What Mooney knew for sure was that nothing good could be coming in that -door for him. It might be a policeman from Sea Bright, wondering about -the light in the house; it might be a member of his uncle's family. -It was even possible that one of the stockholders who had put up the -money for that unfortunate venture into frozen-food club management -had tracked him down as far as the Jersey shore. It could be almost -anything or anybody, but it couldn't be good. - -All the same, Mooney hadn't expected it to turn out to be a tall, lean -man with angry pale eyes, wearing a silvery sort of leotard. - - * * * * * - -"I come in," said the angry man, and did. - -Mooney slammed the door behind him. Too bad, but he couldn't keep it -open, even if it was conceding a sort of moral right to enter to the -stranger; he couldn't have all that cold air coming in to dilute his -little bubble of warmth. - -"What the devil do you want?" Mooney demanded. - -The angry man looked about him with an expression of revulsion. He -pointed to the kitchen. "It is warmer. In there?" - -"I suppose so. What do--" But the stranger was already walking into the -kitchen. Mooney scowled and started to follow, and stopped, and scowled -even more. The stranger was leaving footprints behind him, or anyway -some kind of marks that showed black on the faded summer rug. True, he -was speckled with snow, but--that much snow? The man was drenched. It -looked as though he had just come out of the ocean. - -The stranger stood by the stove and glanced at Mooney warily. Mooney -stood six feet, but this man was bigger. The silvery sort of thing he -had on covered his legs as far as the feet, and he wore no shoes. It -covered his body and his arms, and he had silvery gloves on his hands. -It stopped at the neck, in a collar of what looked like pure silver, -but could not have been because it gave with every breath the man took -and every tensed muscle or tendon in his neck. His head was bare and -his hair was black, cut very short. - -He was carrying something flat and shiny by a molded handle. If it -had been made of pigskin, it would have resembled a junior executive's -briefcase. - -The man said explosively: "You will help me." - -Mooney cleared his throat. "Listen, I don't know what you want, but -this is my house and--" - -"You will help me," the man said positively. "I will pay you. Very -well?" - -He had a peculiar way of parting his sentences in the middle, but -Mooney didn't care about that. He suddenly cared about one thing and -that was the word "pay." - -"What do you want me to do?" - -The angry-eyed man ran his gloved hands across his head and sluiced -drops of water onto the scuffed linoleum and the bedding of the cot -Mooney had dragged into the kitchen. He said irritably: "I am a -wayfarer who needs a. Guide? I will pay you for your assistance." - -The question that rose to Mooney's lips was "How much?" but he fought -it back. Instead, he asked, "Where do you want to go?" - -"One moment." The stranger sat damply on the edge of Mooney's cot and, -click-snap, the shiny sort of briefcase opened itself in his hands. -He took out a flat round thing like a mirror and looked into it, -squeezing it by the edges, and holding it this way and that. - -Finally he said: "I must go to Wednesday, the twenty-sixth of December, -at--" He tilted the little round thing again. "Brooklyn?" he finished -triumphantly. - -Mooney said, after a second: "That's a funny way to put it." - -"Question?" - -"I mean," said Mooney, "I know where Brooklyn is and I know _when_ the -twenty-sixth of December is--it's next week--but you have to admit that -that's an odd way of putting it. I mean you don't _go_ anywhere in -time." - -The wet man turned his pale eyes on Mooney. "Perhaps you are. Wrong?" - - -II - -Mooney stared at his napping guest in a mood of wonder and fear and -delight. - -Time traveler! But it was hard to doubt the pale-eyed man. He had said -he was from the future and he mentioned a date that made Mooney gasp. -He had said: "When you speak to me, you must know that my. Name? Is -Harse." And then he had curled up on the floor, surrounding his shiny -briefcase like a mother cat around a kitten, and begun dozing alertly. - -But not before he showed Mooney just what it was he proposed to pay -him with. - -Mooney sipped his cooling tea and forgot to shiver, though the drafts -were fiercer and more biting than ever, now just before dawn. He -was playing with what had looked at first like a string of steel -ball-bearings, a child's necklace, half-inch spheres linked together in -a strand a yard long. - -Wampum! That was what Harse had called the spheres when he picked the -string out of his little kit, and that was what they were. - -Each ball-bearing was hollow. Open them up and out come the treasures -of the crown. Pop, and one of the spheres splits neatly in half, -and out spills a star sapphire, as big as the ball of your finger, -glittering like the muted lights of hell. Pop, and another sphere drops -a ball of yellow gold into your palm. Pop for a narwhal's tooth, pop -for a cube of sugar; pop, pop, and there on the table before Harse -sparkled diamonds and lumps of coal, a packet of heroin, a sphere of -silver, pearls, beads of glass, machined pellets of tungsten, lumps of -saffron and lumps of salt. - -"It is," said Harse, "for your. Pay? No, _no_!" And he headed off -Mooney's greedy fingers. - -Click, click, click, and the little pellets of treasure and trash were -back in the steel balls. - -"No, _no_!" said Harse again, grinning, snapping the balls together -like poppets in a string. "After you have guided me to Brooklyn and the -December twenty-sixth. But I must say to you. This? That some of the -balls contain plutonium and some radium. And I do not think that you -can get them. Open? But if you did, you perhaps would die. Oh. Ho?" -And, laughing, he began his taut nap. - - * * * * * - -Mooney swallowed the last of his icy tea. It was full daylight outside. - -Very well, castaway, he said silently to the dozing pale-eyed man, I -will guide you. Oh, there never was a guide like Mooney--not when a -guide's fee can run so high. But when you are where you want to go, -then we'll discuss the price.... - -A hacksaw, he schemed, and a Geiger counter. He had worn his fingers -raw trying to find the little button or knob that Harse had used to -open them. All right, he was licked there. But there were more ways -than one to open a cat's eye. - -A hacksaw. A Geiger counter. And, Mooney speculated drowsily, maybe a -gun, if the pale-eyed man got tough. - -Mooney fell asleep in joy and anticipation for the first time in more -than a dozen years. - - * * * * * - -It was bright the next morning. Bright and very cold. - -"Look alive!" Mooney said to the pale-eyed man, shivering. It had been -a long walk from Uncle Lester's house to the bridge, in that ripping, -shuddering wind that came in off the Atlantic. - -Harse got up off his knees, from where he had been examining the -asphalt pavement under the snow. He stood erect beside Mooney, while -Mooney put on an egg-sucking smile and aimed his thumb down the road. - -The station wagon he had spotted seemed to snarl and pick up speed as -it whirled past them onto the bridge. - -"I hope you skid into a ditch!" Mooney bawled into the icy air. He was -in a fury. There was a bus line that went where they wanted to go. -A warm, comfortable bus that would stop for them if they signaled, -that would drop them just where they wanted to be, to convert one of -Harse's ball-bearings into money. The gold one, Mooney planned. Not the -diamond, not the pearl. Just a few dollars was all they wanted, in this -Jersey shore area where the towns were small and the gossip big. Just -the price of fare into New York, where they could make their way to -Tiffany's. - -But the bus cost thirty-five cents apiece. Total, seventy cents. Which -they didn't have. - -"Here comes another. Car?" - -Mooney dragged back the corners of his lips into another smile and held -out his thumb. - -It was a panel truck, light blue, with the sides lettered: _Chris's -Delicatessen. Free Deliveries._ The driver slowed up, looked them over -and stopped. He leaned toward the right-hand window. - -He called: "I can take you far's Red Ba--" - -He got a good look at Mooney's companion then and swallowed. Harse had -put on an overcoat because Mooney insisted on it and he wore a hat -because Mooney had told him flatly there would be trouble and questions -if he didn't. But he hadn't taken off his own silvery leotard, which -peeped through between neck and hat and where the coat flapped open. - -"--ank," finished the driver thoughtfully. - -Mooney didn't give him a chance to change his mind. "Red Bank is just -where we want to go. Come on!" Already he had his hand on the door. He -jumped in, made room for Harse, reached over him and slammed the door. - -"Thank you very much," he said chattily to the driver. "Cold morning, -isn't it? And that was some storm last night. Say, we really do -appreciate this. Anywhere in Red Bank will be all right to drop us, -anywhere at all." - -He leaned forward slightly, just enough to keep the driver from being -able to get a really good look at his other passenger. - -It would have gone all right, it really would, except that just past -Fair Haven, Harse suddenly announced: "It is the time for me to. Eat?" - - * * * * * - -He snip-snapped something around the edges of the gleaming sort of -dispatch case, which opened. Mooney, peering over his shoulder, caught -glimpses of shiny things and spinning things and things that seemed to -glow. So did the driver. - -"Hey," he said, interested, "what've you got there?" - -"My business," said Harse, calmly and crushingly. - -The driver blinked. He opened his mouth, and then he shut it again, and -his neck became rather red. - -Mooney said rapidly: "Say, isn't there--uh--isn't there a lot of snow?" -He feigned fascination with the snow on the road, leaning forward until -his face was nearly at the frosty windshield. "My gosh, I've never seen -the road so snowy!" - -Beside him, Harse was methodically taking things out of other things. A -little cylinder popped open and began to steam; he put it to his lips -and drank. A cube the size of a fist opened up at one end and little -pellets dropped out into a cup. Harse picked a couple up and began to -chew them. A flat, round object the shape of a cafeteria pie flipped -open and something gray and doughy appeared-- - -"Holy heaven!" - -Mooney's face slammed into the windshield as the driver tramped on his -brakes. Not that Mooney could really blame him. The smell from that -doughy mass could hardly be believed; and what made it retchingly worse -was that Harse was eating it with a pearly small spoon. - -The driver said complainingly: "Out! Out, you guys! I don't mind giving -you a lift, but I've got hard rolls in the back of the truck and that -smell's going to--Out! You heard me!" - -"Oh," said Harse, tasting happily. "No." - -"_No?_" roared the driver. "Now listen! I don't have to take any lip -from hitchhikers! I don't have to--" - -"One moment," said Harse. "Please." Without hurry and without delay, -beaming absently at the driver, he reached into the silvery case again. -Snip, snippety-snap; a jointed metal thing wriggled and snicked into -place. And Harse, still beaming, pointed it at the driver. - -Pale blue light and a faint whine. - -It was a good thing the truck was halted, because the whining blue -light reached diffidently out and embraced the driver; and then there -was no driver. There was nothing. He was gone, beyond the reach of any -further lip from hitchhikers. - - -III - -So there was Mooney, driving a stolen panel truck, Mooney the bankrupt, -Mooney the ne'er-do-well, and now Mooney the accomplice murderer. Or so -he thought, though the pale-eyed man had laughed like a panther when -he'd asked. - -He rehearsed little speeches all the day down U.S. One, Mooney did, and -they all began: "Your Honor, I didn't know--" - -Well, he hadn't. How could a man like Mooney know that Harse was so -bereft of human compassion as to snuff out a life for the sake of -finishing his lunch in peace? And what could Mooney have done about it, -without drawing the diffident blue glow to himself? No, Your Honor, -really, Your Honor, he took me by surprise.... - -But by the time they ditched the stolen car, nearly dry of gas, at the -Hoboken ferry, Mooney had begun to get his nerve back. In fact, he was -beginning to perceive that in that glittering silvery dispatch case -that Harse hugged to him were treasures that might do wonders for a -smart man unjustly dogged by hard times. The wampum alone! But beyond -the wampum, the other good things that might in time be worth more than -any amount of mere money. - -There was that weapon. Mooney cast a glance at Harse, blank-eyed and -relaxed, very much disinterested in the crowds of commuters on the -ferry. - -Nobody in all that crowd would believe that Harse could pull out a -little jointed metal thing and push a button and make any one of them -cease to exist. Nobody would believe it--not even a jury. Corpus -delicti, body of evidence--why, there would _be_ no evidence! It was a -simple, workable, foolproof way of getting any desired number of people -out of the way without fuss, muss or bother--and couldn't a smart but -misfortunate man like Mooney do wonders by selectively removing those -persons who stood as obstacles in his path? - -And there would be more, much, much more. The thing to do, Mooney -schemed, was to find out just what Harse had in that kit and how to -work it; and then--who could know, perhaps Harse would himself find the -diffident blue light reaching out for him before the intersection of -Brooklyn and December twenty-sixth? - -Mooney probed. - -"Ah," laughed Harse. "Ho! I perceive what you want. You think perhaps -there is something you can use in my survival kit." - -"All right, Harse," Mooney said submissively, but he did have -reservations. - -First, it was important to find out just what was in the kit. After -that-- - -Well, even a man from the future had to sleep. - - * * * * * - -Mooney was in a roaring rage. How dared the Government stick its -bureaucratic nose into a simple transaction of citizens! But it turned -out to be astonishingly hard to turn Harse's wampum into money. The -first jeweler asked crudely threatening questions about an emerald -the size of the ball of his thumb; the second quoted chapter and -verse on the laws governing possession of gold. Finally they found a -pawnbroker, who knowingly accepted a diamond that might have been worth -a fortune; and when they took his first offer of a thousand dollars, -the pawnbroker's suspicions were confirmed. Mooney dragged Harse away -from there fast. - -But they did have a thousand dollars. - -As the cab took them across town, Mooney simmered down; and by the -time they reached the other side, he was entirely content. What was a -fortune more or less to a man who very nearly owned some of the secrets -of the future? - -He sat up, lit a cigarette, waved an arm and said expansively to Harse: -"Our new home." - -The pale-eyed man took a glowing little affair with eyepieces away from -in front of his eyes. - -"Ah," he said. "So." - -It was quite an attractive hotel, Mooney thought judiciously. It did a -lot to take away the sting of those sordidly avaricious jewelers. The -lobby was an impressively close approximation of a cathedral and the -bellboys looked smart and able. - -Harse made an asthmatic sound. "What is. That?" He was pointing at -a group of men standing in jovial amusement around the entrance to -the hotel's grand ballroom, just off the lobby. They wore purple -harem pants and floppy green hats, and every one of them carried a -silver-paper imitation of a scimitar. - -Mooney chuckled in a superior way. "You aren't up on our local customs, -are you? That's a convention, Harse. They dress up that way because -they belong to a lodge. A lodge is a kind of fraternal organization. A -fraternal organization is--" - -Harse said abruptly: "I want." - -Mooney began to feel alarm. "What?" - -"I want one for a. Specimen? Wait, I think I take the big one there." - -"Harse! Wait a minute!" Mooney clutched at him. "Hold everything, man! -You can't do that." - -Harse stared at him. "Why?" - -"Because it would upset everything, that's why! You want to get to -your rendezvous, don't you? Well, if you do anything like that, we'll -_never_ get there!" - -"Why not?" - -"Please," Mooney said, "please take my word for it. You hear me? I'll -explain later!" - -Harse looked by no means convinced, but he stopped opening the silvery -metal case. Mooney kept an eye on him while registering. Harse -continued to watch the conventioneers, but he went no further. Mooney -began to breathe again. - -"Thank _you_, sir," said the desk clerk--not every guest, even in this -hotel, went for a corner suite with two baths. "Front!" - - * * * * * - -A smart-looking bellboy stepped forward, briskly took the key from the -clerk, briskly nodded at Mooney and Harse. With the automatic reflex -of any hotel bellhop, he reached for Harse's silvery case. Baggage was -baggage, however funny it looked. - -But Harse was not just any old guest. The bellboy got the bag away -from him, all right, but his victory was purely transitory. He yelled, -dropped the bag, grabbed his fist with the other hand. - -"Hey! It shocked me! What kind of tricks are you trying to do with -electric suitcases?" - -Mooney moaned softly. The whole lobby was looking at them--even the -conventioneers at the entrance to the ballroom; even the men in mufti -mingling with the conventioneers, carrying cameras and flash guns; even -the very doorman, the whole lobby away. That was bad. What was worse -was that Harse was obviously getting angry. - -"Wait, wait!" Mooney stepped between them in a hurry. "I can explain -everything. My friend is, uh, an inventor. There's some very important -material in that briefcase, believe me!" - -He winked, patted the bellhop on the shoulder, took his hand with -friendly concern and left in it a folded bill. - -"Now," he said confidentially, "we don't want any disturbance. I'm -sure you understand how it is, son. Don't you? My friend can't take -any chances with his, uh, confidential material, you see? Right. Well, -let's say no more about it. Now if you'll show us to our room--" - -The bellhop, still stiff-backed, glanced down at the bill and the -stiffness disappeared as fast as any truck-driver bathed in Harse's -pale blue haze. He looked up again and grinned. - -"Sorry, sir--" he began. - -But he didn't finish. Mooney had let Harse get out of his sight a -moment too long. - -The first warning he had was when there was a sudden commotion among -the lodge brothers. Mooney turned, much too late. There was Harse; he -had wandered over there, curious and interested and--Harse. He had -stared them up and down, but he hadn't been content to stare. He had -opened the little silvery dispatch-case and taken out of it the thing -that looked like a film viewer; and maybe it was a camera, too, because -he was looking through it at the conventioneers. He was covering them -as Dixie is covered by the dew, up and down, back and forth, heels to -head. - -And it was causing a certain amount of attention. Even one of -the photographers thought maybe this funny-looking guy with the -funny-looking opera glasses was curious enough to be worth a shot. -After all, that was what the photographer was there for. He aimed and -popped a flash gun. - -There was an abrupt thin squeal from the box. Black fog sprayed out of -it in a greasy jet. It billowed toward Harse. It collected around him, -swirled high. Now all the flashguns were popping.... - -It was a clear waste of a twenty-dollar bill, Mooney told himself -aggrievedly out on the sidewalk. There had been no point in buttering -up the bellhop as long as Harse was going to get them thrown out anyway. - - * * * * * - -On the other side of the East River, in a hotel that fell considerably -below Mooney's recent, brief standards of excellence, Mooney cautiously -tipped a bellboy, ushered him out, locked the door behind him and, -utterly exhausted, flopped on one of the twin beds. - -Harse glanced at him briefly, then wandered over to the window and -stared incuriously at the soiled snow outside. - -"You were fine, Harse," said Mooney without spirit. "You didn't do -anything wrong at all." - -"Ah," said Harse without turning. "So?" - -Mooney sat up, reached for the phone, demanded setups and a bottle from -room service and hung up. - -"Oh, well," he said, beginning to revive, "at least we're in Brooklyn -now. Maybe it's just as well." - -"As well. What?" - -"I mean this is where you wanted to be. Now we just have to wait four -days, until the twenty-sixth. We'll have to raise some more money, of -course," he added experimentally. - -Harse turned and looked at him with the pale eyes. "One thousand -dollars you have. Is not enough?" - -"Oh, no, Harse," Mooney assured him. "Why, that won't be nearly enough. -The room rent in this hotel alone is likely to use that up. Besides all -the extras, of course." - -"Ah." Harse, looking bored, sat down in the chair near Mooney, opened -his kit, took out the thing that looked like a film viewer and put it -to his eyes. - -"We'll have to sell some more of those things. After all--" Mooney -winked and dug at the pale-eyed man's ribs with his elbow--"we'll be -needing some, well, entertainment." - -Harse took the viewer away from his eyes. He glanced thoughtfully at -the elbow and then at Mooney. "So," he said. - -Mooney coughed and changed the subject. "One thing, though," he begged. -"Don't get me in any more trouble like you did in that hotel lobby--or -with that guy in the truck. Please? I mean, after all, you're making it -hard for me to carry out my job." - -Harse was thoughtfully silent. - -"Promise?" Mooney urged. - -Harse said, after some more consideration: "It is not altogether -me. That is to say, it is a matter of defense. My picture should not -be. Photographed? So the survival kit insures that it is not. You -understand?" - -Mooney leaned back. "You mean--" The bellboy with the drinks -interrupted him; he took the bottle, signed the chit, tipped the boy -and mixed himself a reasonably stiff but not quite stupefying highball, -thinking hard. - -"Did you say 'survival kit'?" he asked at last. - -Harse was deep in the viewer again, but he looked away from it -irritably. "Naturally, survival kit. So that I can. Survive?" He went -back to the viewer. - -Mooney took a long, thoughtful slug of the drink. - - * * * * * - -Survival kit. Why, that made sense. When the Air Force boys went out -and raided the islands in the Pacific during the war, sometimes they -got shot down--and it was enemy territory, or what passed for it. Those -islands were mostly held by Japanese, though their populations hardly -knew it. All the aboriginals knew was that strange birds crossed the -sky and sometimes men came from them. The politics of the situation -didn't interest the headhunters. What really interested them was heads. - -But for a palatable second choice, they would settle for trade -goods--cloth, mirrors, beads. And so the bomber pilots were equipped -with survival kits--maps, trade goods, rations, weapons, instructions -for proceeding to a point where, God willing, a friendly submarine -might put ashore a rubber dinghy to take them off. - -Mooney said persuasively: "Harse. I'm sorry to bother you, but we have -to talk." The man with the pale eyes took them away from the viewer -again and stared at Mooney. "Harse, were you shot down like an airplane -pilot?" - - * * * * * - -Harse frowned--not in anger, or at least not at Mooney. It was the -effort to make himself understood. He said at last: "Yes. Call it that." - -"And--and this place you want to go to--is that where you will be -rescued?" - -"Yes." - -Aha, thought Mooney, and the glimmerings of a new idea began to kick -and stretch its fetal limbs inside him. He put it aside, to bear and -coddle in private. He said: "Tell me more. Is there any particular part -of Brooklyn you have to go to?" - -"Ah. The Nexus Point?" Harse put down the viewer and, snap-snap, opened -the gleaming kit. He took out the little round thing he had consulted -in the house by the cold Jersey sea. He tilted it this way and that, -frowned, consulted a small square sparkly thing that came from another -part of the case, tilted the round gadget again. - -"Correcting for local time," he said, "the Nexus Point is one hour and -one minute after midnight at what is called. The Vale of Cashmere?" - -Mooney scratched his ear. "The Vale of Cashmere? Where the devil is -that--somewhere in Pakistan?" - -"Brooklyn," said Harse with an imp's grimace. "You are the guide and -you do not know where you are guiding me to?" - -Mooney said hastily: "All right, Harse, all right. I'll find it. But -tell me one thing, will you? Just suppose--suppose, I said--that for -some reason or other, we don't make it to the what-you-call, Nexus -Point. Then what happens?" - -Harse for once neither laughed nor scowled. The pale eyes opened wide -and glanced around the room, at the machine-made candlewick spreads on -the beds, at the dusty red curtains that made a "suite" out of a long -room, at the dog-eared Bible that lay on the night table. - -"Suh," he stammered, "suh--suh--seventeen years until there is another -Nexus Point!" - - -IV - -Mooney dreamed miraculous dreams and not entirely because of the empty -bottle that had been full that afternoon. There never was a time, -never will be a time, like the future Mooney dreamed of--Mooney-owned, -houri-inhabited, a fair domain for a live-wire Emperor of the Eons.... - -He woke up with a splitting head. - -Even a man from the future had to sleep, so Mooney had thought, and it -had been in his mind that, even this first night, it might pay to stay -awake a little longer than Harse, just in case it might then seem like -a good idea to--well, to bash him over the head and grab the bag. But -the whiskey had played him dirty and he had passed out--drunk, blind -drunk, or at least he hoped so. He hoped that he hadn't seen what he -thought he had seen _sober_. - -He woke up and wondered what was wrong. Little tinkling ice spiders -were moving around him. He could hear their tiny crystal sounds and -feel their chill legs, so lightly, on him. It was still a dream--wasn't -it? - -Or was he awake? The thing was, he couldn't tell. If he was awake, it -was the middle of the night, because there was no light whatever; and -besides, he didn't seem to be able to move. - -Thought Mooney with anger and desperation: I'm dead. And: What a time -to die! - -But second thoughts changed his mind; there was no heaven and no hell, -in all the theologies he had investigated, that included being walked -over by tiny spiders of ice. He _felt_ them. There was no doubt about -it. - -It was Harse, of course--had to be. Whatever he was up to, Mooney -couldn't say, but as he lay there sweating cold sweat and feeling the -crawling little feet, he knew that it was something Harse had made -happen. - -Little by little, he began to be able to see--not much, but enough to -see that there really was something crawling. Whatever the things were, -they had a faint, tenuous glow, like the face of a watch just before -dawn. He couldn't make out shapes, but he could tell the size--not much -bigger than a man's hand--and he could tell the number, and there were -dozens of them. - -He couldn't turn his head, but on the walls, on his chest, on his face, -even on the ceiling, he could see faint moving patches of fox-fire -light. - - * * * * * - -He took a deep breath. "Harse!" he started to call; wake him up, make -him stop this! But he couldn't. He got no further than the first -huff of the aspirate when the scurrying cold feet were on his lips. -Something cold and damp lay across them and it stuck. Like spider silk, -but stronger--he couldn't speak, couldn't move his lips, though he -almost tore the flesh. - -Oh, he could make a noise, all right. He started to do so, to snort and -hum through his nose. But Mooney was not slow of thought and he had a -sudden clear picture of that same cold ribbon crossing his nostrils, -and what would be the use of all of time's treasures then, when it was -no longer possible to breathe at all? - -It was quite apparent that he was not to make a noise. - -He had patience--the kind of patience that grows with a diet of -thrice-used tea bags and soggy crackers. He waited. - -It wasn't the middle of the night after all, he perceived, though it -was still utterly dark except for the moving blobs. He could hear -sounds in the hotel corridor outside--faintly, though: the sound of a -vacuum cleaner, and it might have been a city block away; the tiniest -whisper of someone laughing. - -He remembered one of his drunken fantasies of the night before--little -robot mice, or so they seemed, spinning a curtain across the window; -and he shuddered, because that had been no fantasy. The window was -curtained. And it was mid-morning, at the earliest, because the -chambermaids were cleaning the halls. - -Why couldn't he move? He flexed the muscles of his arms and legs, but -nothing happened. He could feel the muscles straining, he could feel -his toes and fingers twitch, but he was restrained by what seemed a web -of Gulliver's cords.... - -There was a tap at the door. A pause, the scratching of a key, and the -room was flooded with light from the hall. - -Out of the straining corner of his eye, Mooney saw a woman in a gray -cotton uniform, carrying fresh sheets, standing in the doorway, and her -mouth was hanging slack. No wonder, for in the light from the hall, -Mooney could see the room festooned with silver, with darting silvery -shapes moving about. Mooney himself wore a cocoon of silver, and on the -bed next to him, where Harse slept, there was a fantastic silver hood, -like the basketwork of a baby's bassinet, surrounding his head. - -It was a fairyland scene and it lasted only a second. For Harse cried -out and leaped to his feet. Quick as an adder, he scooped up something -from the table beside his bed and gestured with it at the door. It -was, Mooney half perceived, the silvery, jointed thing he had used in -the truck; and he used it again. - -Pale blue light streamed out. - -It faded and the chambermaid, popping eyes and all, was gone. - - * * * * * - -It didn't hurt as much the second time. - -Mooney finally attracted Harse's attention, and Harse, with a Masonic -pass over one of the little silvery things, set it to loosening and -removing the silver bonds. The things were like toy tanks with jointed -legs; as they spun the silver webs, they could also suck them in. In -moments, the webs that held Mooney down were gone. - -He got up, aching in his tired muscles and his head, but this time the -panic that had filled him in the truck was gone. Well, one victim more -or less--what did it matter? And besides, he clung to the fact that -Harse had not exactly said the victims were dead. - -So it didn't hurt as much the second time. - -Mooney planned. He shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed. "Shut -up--you put us in a lousy fix and I have to think a way out of it," -he rasped at Harse when Harse started to speak; and the man from the -future looked at him with opaque pale eyes, and silently opened one of -the flat canisters and began to eat. - -"All right," said Mooney at last. "Harse, get rid of all this stuff." - -"This. Stuff?" - -"The stuff on the walls. What your little spiders have been spinning, -understand? Can't you get it off the walls?" - -Harse leaned forward and touched the kit. The little spider-things that -had been aimlessly roving now began to digest what they had created, as -the ones that had held Mooney had already done. It was quick--Mooney -hoped it would be quick enough. There were over a dozen of the things, -more than Mooney would have believed the little kit could hold; and he -had seen no sign of them before. - -The silvery silk on the walls, in aimless tracing, disappeared. The -thick silvery coat over the window disappeared. Harse's bassinet-hood -disappeared. A construction that haloed the door disappeared--and as -it dwindled, the noises from the corridor grew louder; some sort of -sound-absorbing contrivance, Mooney thought, wondering. - -There was an elaborate silvery erector-set affair on the floor between -the beds; it whirled and spun silently and the little machines took it -apart again and swallowed it. Mooney had no notion of its purpose. When -it was gone, he could see no change, but Harse shuddered and shifted -his position uncomfortably. - -"All right," said Mooney when everything was back in the kit. "Now you -just keep your mouth shut. I won't ask you to lie--they'll have enough -trouble understanding you if you tell the truth. Hear me?" - -Harse merely stared, but that was good enough. Mooney put his hand on -the phone. He took a deep breath and held it until his head began to -tingle and his face turned red. Then he picked up the phone and, when -he spoke, there was authentic rage and distress in his voice. - -"Operator," he snarled, "give me the manager. And hurry up--I want to -report a thief!" - - * * * * * - -When the manager had gone--along with the assistant manager, the -house detective and the ancient shrew-faced head housekeeper--Mooney -extracted a promise from Harse and left him. He carefully hung a "Do -Not Disturb" card from the doorknob, crossed his fingers and took the -elevator downstairs. - -The fact seemed to be that Harse didn't care about _aboriginals_. -Mooney had arranged a system of taps on the door which, he thought, -Harse would abide by, so that Mooney could get back in. Just the same, -Mooney vowed to be extremely careful about how he opened that door. -Whatever the pale blue light was, Mooney wanted no part of it directed -at him. - -The elevator operator greeted him respectfully--a part of the -management's policy of making amends, no doubt. Mooney returned the -greeting with a barely civil nod. Sure, it had worked; he'd told the -manager that he'd caught the chambermaid trying to steal something -valuable that belonged to that celebrated proprietor of valuable -secrets, Mr. Harse; the chambermaid had fled; how dared they employ a -person like that? - -And he had made very sure that the manager and the house dick and all -the rest had plenty of opportunity to snoop apologetically in every -closet and under the beds, just so there would be no suspicion in -their minds that a dismembered chambermaid-torso was littering some -dark corner of the room. What could they do but accept the story? The -chambermaid wasn't there to defend herself, and though they might -wonder how she had got out of the hotel without being noticed, it was -their problem to figure it out, not Mooney's to explain it. - -They had even been grateful when Mooney offered handsomely to refrain -from notifying the police. - -"Lobby, sir," sang out the elevator operator, and Mooney stepped out, -nodded to the manager, stared down the house detective and walked out -into the street. - -So far, so good. - -Now that the animal necessities of clothes and food and a place to live -were taken care of, Mooney had a chance to operate. It was a field in -which he had always had a good deal of talent--the making of deals, the -locating of contacts, the arranging of transactions that were better -conducted in private. - -And he had a good deal of business to transact. Harse had accepted -without question his statement that they would have to raise more money. - -"Try heroin or Platinum?" he had suggested, and gone back to his -viewer. - -"I will," Mooney assured him, and he did; he tried them both, and more -besides. - - * * * * * - -Not only was it good that he had such valuable commodities to vend, but -it was a useful item in his total of knowledge concerning Harse that -the man from the future seemed to have no idea of the value of money in -the 20th Century, _chez_ U.S.A. - -Mooney found a buyer for the drugs; and there was a few thousand -dollars there, which helped, for although the quantity was not large, -the drugs were chemically pure. He found a fence to handle the -jewels and precious metals; and he unloaded all the ones of moderate -value--not the other diamond, not the rubies, not the star sapphire. - -He arranged to keep those without mentioning it to Harse. No point in -selling them now, not when they had several thousand dollars above any -conceivable expenses, not when some future date would do as well, just -in case Harse should get away with the balance of the kit. - -Having concluded his business, Mooney undertook a brief but expensive -shopping tour of his own and found a reasonably satisfactory place to -eat. After a pleasantly stimulating cocktail and the best meal he had -had in some years--doubly good, for there was no reek from Harse's -nauseating concoctions to spoil it--he called for coffee, for brandy, -for the day's papers. - -The disappearance of the truck driver made hardly a ripple. There were -a couple of stories, but small and far in the back--amnesia, said one; -an underworld kidnaping, suggested another; but the story had nothing -to feed on and it would die. - -Good enough, thought Mooney, waving for another glass of that enjoyable -brandy; and then he turned back to the front page and saw his own face. - -There was the hotel lobby of the previous day, and a pillar of churning -black smoke that Mooney knew was Harse, and there in the background, -mouth agape, expression worried, was Howard Mooney himself. - -He read it all very, very carefully. - -Well, he thought, at least they didn't get our names. The story was all -about the Loyal and Beneficent Order of Exalted Eagles, and the only -reference to the picture was a brief line about a disturbance outside -the meeting hall. Nonetheless, the second glass of brandy tasted -nowhere near as good as the first. - - * * * * * - -Time passed. Mooney found a man who explained what was meant by the -Vale of Cashmere. In Brooklyn, there is a very large park--the name is -Prospect Park--and in it is a little planted valley, with a brook and -a pool; and the name of it on the maps of Prospect Park is the Vale of -Cashmere. Mooney sent out for a map, memorized it; and that was that. - -However, Mooney didn't really want to go to the Vale of Cashmere with -Harse. What he wanted was that survival kit. Wonders kept popping out -of it, and each day's supply made Mooney covet the huger store that -was still inside. There had been, he guessed, something like a hundred -separate items that had somehow come out of that tiny box. There -simply was no room for them all; but that was not a matter that Mooney -concerned himself with. They were there, possible or not, because he -had seen them. - -Mooney laid traps. - -The trouble was that Harse did not care for conversation. He spent -endless hours with his film viewer, and when he said anything at all -to Mooney, it was to complain. All he wanted was to exist for four -days--nothing else. - -Mooney laid conversational traps, tried to draw him out, and there was -no luck. Harse would turn his blank, pale stare on him, and refuse to -be drawn. - -At night, however hard Mooney tried, Harse was always awake past him; -and in his sleep, always and always, the little metal guardians -strapped Mooney tight. Survival kit? But how did the little metal -things know that Mooney was a threat? - -It was maddening and time was passing. There were four days, then only -three, then only two. Mooney made arrangements of his own. - -He found two girls--lovely girls, the best that money could buy, and -he brought them to the suite with a wink and a snigger. "A little -relaxation, eh, Harse? The red-haired one is named Ginger and she's -partial to men with light-colored eyes." - -Ginger smiled a rehearsed and lovely smile. "I certainly _am_, Mr. -Harse. Say, want to dance?" - -But it came to nothing, though the house detective knocked -deferentially on the door to ask if they could be a little more quiet, -please. It wasn't the sound of celebration that the neighbors were -objecting to. It was the shrill, violent noise of Harse's laughter. -First he had seemed not to understand, and then he looked as astonished -as Mooney had ever seen him. And then the laughter. - -Girls didn't work. Mooney got rid of the girls. - -All right, Mooney was a man of infinite resource and sagacity--hadn't -he proved that many a time? He excused himself to Harse, made sure his -fat new pigskin wallet was in his pocket, and took a cab to a place on -Brooklyn's waterfront where cabs seldom go. The bartender had arms like -beer kegs and a blue chin. - -"Beer," said Mooney, and made sure he paid for it with a twenty-dollar -bill--thumbing through a thick wad of fifties and hundreds to find the -smallest. He retired to a booth and nursed his beer. - -After about ten minutes, a man stood beside him, blue-chinned and -muscular enough to be the bartender's brother--which, Mooney found, he -was. - -"Well," said Mooney, "it took you long enough. Sit down. You don't have -to roll me; you can earn this." - -Girls didn't work? Okay, if not girls, then try boys ... well, not boys -exactly. Hoodlums. Try hoodlums and see what Harse might do against the -toughest inhabitants of the area around the Gowanus Canal. - - * * * * * - -Harse, sloshing heedlessly through melted snow, spattering Mooney, -grumbled: "I do not see why we. Must? Wander endlessly across the face -of this wretched slum." - -Mooney said soothingly: "We have to make _sure_, Harse. We have to be -sure it's the right place." - -"Huff," said Harse, but he went along. They were in Prospect Park and -it was nearly dark. - -"Hey, look," said Mooney desperately, "look at those kids on sleds!" - -Harse glanced angrily at the kids on sleds and even more angrily at -Mooney. Still, he wasn't refusing to come and that was something. It -had been possible that Harse would sit tight in the hotel room and it -had taken all of the persuasive powers Mooney prided himself on to get -him out. But Mooney was able to paint a horrible picture of getting -to the wrong place, missing the Nexus Point, seventeen long years of -waiting for the next one. - -They crossed the Sheep Meadow, crossed the walk, crossed an old covered -bridge; and they were at the head of a flight of shallow steps. - -"The Vale of Cashmere!" cried Mooney, as though he were announcing a -miracle. - -Harse said nothing. - -Mooney licked his lips, glancing at the kit Harse carried under an arm, -glancing around. No one was in sight. - -Mooney coughed. "Uh. You're sure this is the place you mean?" - -"If it is the Vale of Cashmere." Harse looked once more down the steps, -then turned. - -"No, wait!" said Mooney frantically. "I mean--well, _where_ in the -Vale of Cashmere is the Nexus Point? This is a big place!" - -Harse's pale eyes stared at him for a moment. "No. Not big." - -"Oh, _fairly_ big. After all--" - -Harse said positively: "Come." - -Mooney swore under his breath and vowed never to trust anyone again, -especially a bartender's brother; but just then it happened. Out of the -snowy bushes stepped a man in a red bandanna, holding a gun. "This is a -stickup! Gimme that bag!" - -Mooney exulted. - -There was no chance for Harse now. The man was leaping toward him; -there would be no time for him to open the bag, take out the weapon.... - -But he didn't have to. There was a thin, singing, whining sound from -the bag. It leaped out of Harse's hand, leaped free as though it had -invisible wings, and flew at the man in the red bandanna. The man -stumbled and jumped aside, the eyes incredulous over the mask. The -silvery flat metal kit spun round him, whining. It circled him once, -spiraled up. Behind it, like a smoke trail from a destroyer, a pale -blue mist streamed backward. It surrounded the man and hid him. - -The bag flew back into Harse's hand. - -The violet mist thinned and disappeared. - -And the man was gone, as utterly and as finally as any chambermaid or -driver of a truck. - -There was a moment of silence. Mooney stared without belief at the snow -sifting down from the bushes that the man had hid in. - -Harse looked opaquely at Mooney. "It seems," he said, "that in these -slums are many. Dangers?" - - * * * * * - -Mooney was very quiet on the way back to the hotel. Harse, for once, -was not gazing into his viewer. He sat erect and silent beside Mooney, -glancing at him from time to time. Mooney did not relish the attention. - -The situation had deteriorated. - -It deteriorated even more when they entered the lobby of the hotel. The -desk clerk called to Mooney. - -Mooney hesitated, then said to Harse: "You go ahead. I'll be up in a -minute. And listen--don't forget about my knock." - -Harse inclined his head and strode into the elevator. Mooney sighed. - -"There's a gentleman to see you, Mr. Mooney," the desk clerk said -civilly. - -Mooney swallowed. "A--a gentleman? To see me?" - -The clerk nodded toward the writing room. "In there, sir. A gentleman -who says he knows you." - -Mooney pursed his lips. - -In the writing room? Well, that was an advantage. The writing room was -off the main lobby; it would give Mooney a chance to peek in before -whoever it was could see him. He approached the entrance cautiously.... - -"Howard!" cried an accusing familiar voice behind him. - -Mooney turned. A small man with curly red hair was coming out of a -door, marked "Men." - -"Why--why, Uncle Lester!" said Mooney. "What a p-pleasant surprise!" - -Lester, all of five feet tall, wispy red hair surrounding his red plump -face, looked up at him belligerently. - -"No doubt!" he snapped. "I've been waiting all day, Howard. Took the -afternoon off from work to come here. And I wouldn't have been here at -all if I hadn't seen _this_." - -He was holding a copy of the paper with Mooney's picture, behind -the pillar of black fog. "Your aunt wrapped my lunch in it, Howard. -Otherwise I might have missed it. Went right to the hotel. You weren't -there. The doorman helped, though. Found a cab driver. Told me where -he'd taken you. Here I am." - -"That's nice," lied Mooney. - -"No, it isn't. Howard, what in the world are you up to? Do you know the -Monmouth County police are looking for you? Said there was somebody -missing. Want to talk to you." The little man shook his head angrily. -"Knew I shouldn't let you stay at my place. Your aunt warned me, too. -Why do you make trouble for me?" - -"Police?" Mooney asked faintly. - -"At my age! Police coming to the house. Who was that fella who's -missing, Howard? Where did he go? Why doesn't he go home? His wife's -half crazy. He shouldn't worry her like that." - - * * * * * - -Mooney clutched his uncle's shoulder. "Do the police know where I am? -You didn't tell them?" - -"Tell them? How could I tell them? Only I saw your picture while I was -eating my sandwich, so I went to the hotel and--" - -"Uncle Lester, listen. What did they come to see you for?" - -"Because I was stupid enough to let you stay in my house, that's what -for," Lester said bitterly. "Two days ago. Knocking on my door, hardly -eight o'clock in the morning. They said there's a man missing, driving -a truck, found the truck empty. Man from the Coast Guard station knows -him, saw him picking up a couple of hitchhikers at a bridge someplace, -recognized one of the hitchhikers. Said the hitchhiker'd been staying -at my house. That's you, Howard. Don't lie; he described you. Pudgy, -kind of a squinty look in the eyes, dressed like a bum--oh, it was you, -all right." - -"Wait a minute. Nobody knows you've come here, right? Not even Auntie?" - -"No, course not. She didn't see the picture, so how would she know? -Would've said something if she had. Now come on, Howard, we've got to -go to the police and--" - -"Uncle Lester!" - -The little man paused and looked at him suspiciously. But that was all -right; Mooney began to feel confidence flow back into him. It wasn't -all over yet, not by a long shot. - -"Uncle Lester," he said, his voice low-pitched and persuasive, "I -have to ask you a very important question. Think before you answer, -please. This is the question: Have you ever belonged to any Communist -organization?" - -The old man blinked. After a moment, he exploded. "Now what are you up -to, Howard? _You_ know I never--" - -"Think, Uncle Lester! Please. Way back when you were a boy--anything -like that?" - -"Of course not!" - -"You're sure? Because I'm warning you, Uncle Lester, you're going to -have to take the strictest security check anybody ever took. You've -stumbled onto something important. You'll have to prove you can be -trusted or--well, I can't answer for the consequences. You see, this -involves--" he looked around him furtively--"Schenectady Project." - -"Schenec--" - -"Schenectady Project." Mooney nodded. "You've heard of the atom bomb? -Uncle Lester, this is bigger!" - -"Bigger than the at--" - -"Bigger. It's the _molecule_ bomb. There aren't seventy-five men in the -country that know what that so-called driver in the truck was up to, -and now you're one of them." - -Mooney nodded soberly, feeling his power. The old man was hooked, tied -and delivered. He could tell by the look in the eyes, by the quivering -of the lips. Now was the time to slip the contract in his hand; or, in -the present instance, to-- - -"I'll tell you what to do," whispered Mooney. "Here's my key. You go up -to my room. Don't knock--we don't want to attract attention. Walk right -in. You'll see a man there and he'll explain everything. Understand?" - -"Why--why, sure, Howard. But why don't you come with me?" - -Mooney raised a hand warningly. "You might be followed. I'll have to -keep a lookout." - -Five minutes later, when Mooney tapped on the door of the room--three -taps, pause, three taps--and cautiously pushed it open, the pale blue -mist was just disappearing. Harse was standing angrily in the center of -the room with the jointed metal thing thrust out ominously before him. - -And of Uncle Lester, there was no trace at all. - - -V - -Time passed; and then time was all gone, and it was midnight, nearly -the Nexus Point. - -In front of the hotel, a drowsy cab-driver gave them an argument. "The -Public Liberry? Listen, the Liberry ain't open this time of night. I -ought to--Oh, thanks. Hop in." He folded the five-dollar bill and put -the cab in gear. - -Harse said ominously: "Liberry, Mooney? Why do you instruct him to take -us to the Liberry?" - -Mooney whispered: "There's a law against being in the Park at night. -We'll have to sneak in. The Library's right across the street." - -Harse stared, with his luminous pale eyes. But it was true; there was -such a law, for the parks of the city lately had become fields of honor -where rival gangs contended with bottle shards and zip guns, where a -passerby was odds-on to be mugged. - -"High Command must know this," Harse grumbled. "Must proceed, they -say, to Nexus Point. But then one finds the aboriginals have made laws! -Oh, I shall make a report!" - -"_Sure_ you will," Mooney soothed; but in his heart, he was prepared to -bet heavily against it. - -Because he had a new strategy. Clearly he couldn't get the survival -kit from Harse. He had tried that and there was no luck; his arm still -tingled as the bellboy's had, from having seemingly absent-mindedly -taken the handle to help Harse. But there was a way. - -Get rid of this clown from the future, he thought contentedly; meet -the Nexus Point instead of Harse and there was the future, ripe for -the taking! He knew where the rescuers would be--and, above all, -he knew how to talk. Every man has one talent and Mooney's was -salesmanship. - -All the years wasted on peddling dime-store schemes like frozen-food -plans! But this was the big time at last, so maybe the years of -seasoning were not wasted, after all. - -"That for you, Uncle Lester," he muttered. Harse looked up from his -viewer angrily and Mooney cleared his throat. "I said," he explained -hastily, "we're almost at the--the Nexus Point." - - * * * * * - -Snow was drifting down. The cab-driver glanced at the black, quiet -library, shook his head and pulled away, leaving black, wet tracks in -the thin snow. - -The pale-eyed man looked about him irritably. "You!" he cried, waking -Mooney from a dream of possessing the next ten years of stock-market -reports. "You! Where is this Vale of Cashmere?" - -"Right this way, Harse, right this way," said Mooney placatingly. - -There was a wide sort of traffic circle--Grand Army Plaza was the name -of it--and there were a few cars going around it. But not many, and -none of them looked like police cars. Mooney looked up and down the -broad, quiet streets. - -"Across here," he ordered, and led the time traveler toward the edge of -the park. "We can't go in the main entrance. There might be cops." - -"Cops?" - -"Policemen. Law-enforcement officers. We'll just walk down here a way -and then hop over the wall. Trust me," said Mooney, in the voice that -had put frozen-food lockers into so many suburban homes. - -The look from those pale eyes was anything but a look of trust, but -Harse didn't say anything. He stared about with an expression of -detached horror, like an Alabama gentlewoman condemned to walk through -Harlem. - -"Now!" whispered Mooney urgently. - -And over the wall they went. - -They were in a thicket of shrubs and brush, snow-laden, the snow -sifting down into Mooney's neck every time he touched a branch, which -was always; he couldn't avoid it. They crossed a path and then a -road--long, curving, broad, white, empty. Down a hill, onto another -path. Mooney paused, glancing around. - -"You know where you are. Going?" - -"I think so. I'm looking for cops." None in sight. Mooney frowned. What -the devil did the police think they were up to? They passed laws; why -weren't they around to enforce them? - -Mooney had his landmarks well in mind. There was the Drive, and there -was the fork he was supposed to be looking for. It wouldn't be hard to -find the path to the Vale. The only thing was, it was kind of important -to Mooney's hope of future prosperity that he find a policeman first. -And time was running out. - -He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch--self-winding, shockproof, -non-magnetic; the man in the hotel's jewelry shop had assured him only -yesterday that he could depend on its time-keeping as on the beating -of his heart. It was nearly a quarter of one. - -"Come along, come along!" grumbled Harse. - -Mooney stalled: "I--I think we'd better go along this way. It _ought_ -to be down there--" - -He cursed himself. Why hadn't he gone in the main entrance, where there -was sure to be a cop? Harse would never have known the difference. But -there was the artist in him that wanted the thing done perfectly, and -so he had held to the pretense of avoiding police, had skulked and -hidden. And now-- - -"Look!" he whispered, pointing. - -Harse spat soundlessly and turned his eyes where Mooney was pointing. - -Yes. Under a distant light, a moving figure, swinging a nightstick. - -Mooney took a deep breath and planted a hand between Harse's shoulder -blades. - -"Run!" he yelled at the top of his voice, and shoved. He sounded so -real, he almost convinced himself. "We'll have to split up--I'll meet -you there. Now _run_!" - - -VI - -Oh, clever Mooney! He crouched under a snowy tree, watching the man -from the future speed effortlessly away ... in the wrong direction. - -The cop was hailing him; clever cop! All it had taken was a couple of -full-throated yells and at once the cop had perceived that someone was -in the park. But cleverer than any cop was Mooney. - -Men from the future. Why, thought Mooney contentedly, no Mrs. -Meyerhauser of the suburbs would have let me get away with a trick like -that to sell her a freezer. There's going to be no problem at all. I -don't have to worry about a thing. Mooney can take care of himself! - -By then, he had caught his breath--and time was passing, passing. - -He heard a distant confused yelling. Harse and the cop? But it didn't -matter. The only thing that mattered was getting to the Nexus Point at -one minute past one. - -He took a deep breath and began to trot. Slipping in the snow, panting -heavily, he went down the path, around the little glade, across the -covered bridge. - -He found the shallow steps that led down to the Vale. - -And there it was below him: a broad space where walks joined, and in -the space a thing shaped like a dinosaur egg, rounded and huge. It -glowed with a silvery sheen. - -Confidently, Mooney started down the steps toward the egg and the -moving figures that flitted soundlessly around it. Harse was not the -only time traveler, Mooney saw. Good, that might make it all the -simpler. Should he change his plan and feign amnesia, pass himself off -as one of their own men? - -Or-- - -A movement made him look over his shoulder. - -Somebody was standing at the top of the steps. "Hell's fire," whispered -Mooney. He'd forgotten all about that aboriginal law; and here above -him stood a man in a policeman's uniform, staring down with pale eyes. - -No, not a policeman. The face was--Harse's. - -Mooney swallowed and stood rooted. - -"You!" Harse's savage voice came growling. "You are to stand. Still?" - -Mooney didn't need the order; he couldn't move. No twentieth-century -cop was a match for Harse, that was clear; Harse had bested him, taken -his uniform away from him for camouflage--and here he was. - -Unfortunately, so was Howard Mooney. - -The figures below were looking up, pointing and talking; Harse from -above was coming down. Mooney could only stand, and wish--wish that he -were back in Sea Bright, living on cookies and stale tea, wish he had -planned things with more intelligence, more skill--perhaps even with -more honesty. But it was too late for wishing. - -Harse came down the steps, paused a yard from Mooney, scowled a -withering scowl--and passed on. - -He reached the bottom of the steps and joined the others waiting about -the egg. They all went inside. - -The glowing silvery colors winked and went out. The egg flamed purple, -faded, turned transparent and disappeared. - -Mooney stared and, yelling a demand for payment, ran stumbling down the -steps to where it had been. There was a round thawed spot, a trampled -patch--nothing else. - -They were gone.... - -Almost gone. Because there was a sudden bright wash of flame from -overhead--cold silvery flame. He looked up, dazzled. Over him, the egg -was visible as thin smoke, hovering. A smoky, half-transparent hand -reached out of a port. A thin, reedy voice cried: "I promised you. Pay?" - -And the silvery dispatch-case sort of thing, the survival kit, dropped -soundlessly to the snow beside Mooney. - -When he looked up again, the egg was gone for good. - - * * * * * - -He was clear back to the hotel before he got a grip on himself--and -then he was drunk with delight. Honest Harse! Splendidly trustable -Harse! Why, all this time, Mooney had been so worried, had worked so -hard--and the whole survival kit was his, after all! - -He had touched it gingerly before picking it up but it didn't shock -him; clearly the protective devices, whatever they were, were off. - -He sweated over it for an hour and a half, looking for levers, buttons, -a slit that he might pry wider with the blade of a knife. At last he -kicked it and yelled, past endurance: "Open up, damn you!" - -It opened wide on the floor before him. - -"Oh, bless your heart!" cried Mooney, falling to his knees to drag out -the string of wampum, the little mechanical mice, the viewing-machine -sort of thing. Treasures like those were beyond price; each one might -fetch a fortune, if only in the wondrous new inventions he could patent -if he could discover just how they worked. - -But where were they? - -Gone! The wampum was gone. The goggles were gone. Everything was -gone--the little flat canisters, the map instruments, everything but -one thing. - -There was, in a corner of the case, a squarish, sharp-edged thing that -Mooney stared at blindly for a long moment before he recognized it. It -was a part--only a part--of the jointed construction that Harse had -used to rid himself of undesirables by bathing them in blue light. - -What a filthy trick! Mooney all but sobbed to himself. - -He picked up the squarish thing bitterly. Probably it wouldn't even -work, he thought, the world a ruin around him. It wasn't even the whole -complete weapon. - -Still-- - -There was a grooved, saddle-shaped affair that was clearly a sort of -trigger; it could move forward or it could move back. Mooney thought -deeply for a while. - -Then he sat up, held the thing carefully away from him with the pointed -part toward the wall and pressed, ever so gently pressed forward on the -saddle-shaped thumb-trigger. - -The pale blue haze leaped out, swirled around and, not finding anything -alive in its range, dwindled and died. - - * * * * * - -Aha, thought Mooney, not everything is lost yet! Surely a bright young -man could find some use for a weapon like this which removed, if it did -not kill, which prevented any nastiness about a corpse turning up, or -a messy job of disposal. - -Why not see what happened if the thumb-piece was moved backward? - -Well, why not? Mooney held the thing away from him, hesitated, and slid -it back. - -There was a sudden shivering tingle in his thumb, in the gadget he was -holding, running all up and down his arm. A violet haze, very unlike -the blue one, licked soundlessly forth--not burning, but destroying -as surely as flame ever destroyed; for where the haze touched the -gadget itself, the kit, everything that had to do with the man from the -future, it seared and shattered. The gadget fell into white crystalline -powder in Mooney's hand and the case itself became a rectangular shape -traced in white powder ridges on the rug. - -Oh, no! thought Mooney, even before the haze had gone. It can't be! - -The flame danced away like a cloud, spreading and rising. While Mooney -stared, it faded away, but not without leaving something behind. - -Mooney threw his taut body backward, almost under the bed. What he saw, -he didn't believe; what he believed filled him with panic. - -No wonder Harse had laughed so when Mooney asked if its victims were -dead. For there they were, all of them. Like djinn out of a jar, human -figures jelled and solidified where the cloud of violet flame had not -at all diffidently rolled. - -They were alive, as big as life, and beginning to move--and so many of -them! Three--five--six: - -The truck-driver, yes, and a man in long red flannel underwear who must -have been the policeman, and Uncle Lester, and the bartender's brother, -and the chambermaid, and a man Mooney didn't know. - -They were there, all of them; and they came toward him, and oh! but -they were angry! - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Survival Kit, by Frederik Pohl - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SURVIVAL KIT *** - -***** This file should be named 51809.txt or 51809.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/8/0/51809/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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