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diff --git a/58798-0.txt b/58798-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98e7f88 --- /dev/null +++ b/58798-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1447 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58798 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + The Gun Runners + + BY RALPH WILLIAMS + + _George Dolan had four immediate problems: + the time-translator, a beautiful, out-of-this-world + girl named Moirta, the gun runners and his life. + A situation in which he finally triumphed.... But + what can you do with a victory that lies at the + other end of a bridge 10,000 years long?_ + + [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from + Worlds of If Science Fiction, December 1954. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +The gun runners were professionals, and except for one minor detail the +operation had been very well planned. + +The middle twentieth century was chosen as a source of supply after +a careful survey of all factors pro and con. The gun runners did not +want the mass weapons of their own day, they wanted selective weapons +which could be used for private murder. In the mid-twentieth century, +the level of technology was such that well-made and reliable weapons +were available; and at the same time, social control was still sketchy +enough to permit quiet procurement of such merchandise, if one knew +how to go about it and was suitably financed. + +The gun runners, two men and a woman, knew how to go about it, and they +were suitably financed. The profits in their business were commensurate +with the risks--which were not small. + +In their world unauthorized time travel was highly illegal, because of +certain possible undesirable effects on the total space-time continuum, +and was severely punished. Moreover, it was personally uncomfortable +and dangerous. + +They came from an old ingrowing world which had never reached the +stars, where there were only men and their works, no blade of grass or +micro-organism or sparrow which did not directly serve men. In their +time, hereditary traits which had meant untimely and certain death in +earlier times had persisted and multiplied. Immunities and instincts +which had fitted men to live with tigers and streptococci, and seek +their food in the wilderness, had atrophied. + +The twentieth century was a dangerous environment for these people, +more so perhaps than the Eocene would have been for _homo sapiens_. +In preparation for their venture, it had been necessary for them +to undergo a drastic and painful series of tests, inoculations, +conditionings and plastic surgery. + +Unfortunately, it had not occurred to them that their time machine +might need similar protection. The equipment was basically electronic, +and the power leads were encased in a new insulation, a synthetic +protein which in very thin films afforded a near perfect dielectric. It +was also, as it happened, an almost perfect culture medium for certain +bacilli, non-existent in the sterile future, but healthy and thriving +and full of appetite in the twentieth century. + +When the gun runners prepared to return to their own time with their +cargo of contraband there were small flashes of fire, and smoke curled +briefly from various parts of the equipment. Their temporal environment +remained unchanged. + +The gun runners were not technicians, they were specialists in other +fields. They pulled and prodded uncertainly here and there, pushed the +buttons again. + +Nothing happened. + +The senior gun runner, a man who wore in this century the appearance of +a quiet, gray-haired professional man, and who wore in any century the +habit of command, came to a decision. He spoke in their own language, a +language time had pruned to telegraphic brevity: + +"If tamper, make worse. Electronics technicians this era. Use." + +The second man raised an eyebrow. "Knowledge adequate? Time travel not +simple." + +The older man shrugged. "Theory not simple, machine simple. Savages +clever fingers. Adequate stimulus, can solve." + +"And after? Disposition?" + +"Displacement effect. Or--" the senior gun runner sketched a quick +gesture of pulling a trigger. + +The younger man nodded slowly, still dubious--which was proper, it was +his function to be suspicious and questioning, as it was the other's to +command. "Stimulus?" + +"Profit. Curiosity. And ... Moirta." + +Both men turned and looked appraisingly at the woman, who had not yet +entered the discussion. She was a very narrow specialist, within the +wider specialty of gun running and murder. Now she moved her shoulders +uneasily. "Displacement effect," she suggested, "near limit. If +caught--" she made an unpleasantly suggestive spastic gesture. + +The chief gun runner shrugged again. "If caught," he repeated the +gesture she had made, "in any case. No choice. Find technician now." + + * * * * * + +George Dolan studied his visitors thoughtfully. + +"Well, actually," he said, "our work is design, not repair. I suppose +I could send a man out to look over your job and recommend a firm to +handle it. Is that what you want?" + +"Mr. Dolan," the gray-haired man said earnestly, "I am afraid you still +misunderstand me. The work we wish done is small in scale, but very +intricate and delicate, and highly confidential. We have investigated +your qualifications, and you are the man we want to handle it, you +personally. We do not want you to mention this work to any other +person--not even your wife." + +"I don't have a wife," Dolan said. "That's no problem." He hesitated. +"Do I need security clearance? That'll take time." + +"No security clearance. This is private work." + +Dolan frowned. Private work, money no object, very secret--there were +implications to this offer which he did not like. + +On the other hand-- + +His eye strayed to the young woman who sat quietly beside the man, +silently exercising her specialty. The plastic surgeons of her era had +done a beautiful and nearly perfect job on her body; but bone-deep, +in ways an observant man could sense, she was still not a twentieth +century woman. In a city full of women who made a profession of being +young and handsome, she too was young and handsome, but different. + +Dolan was an observant man, and a curious one. + +He looked back at Brown. "If you could just give me some idea--" he +said tentatively. + +"The equipment, as I have said, is very intricate, and we are not +technicians. We prefer that you make your own diagnosis." + +Dolan pursed his lips uncertainly. He glanced again at the girl. + +"OK," he said at last, "I'll look at it. I can't promise anything." + +He punched a button on the desk intercom. "Betty, I'm going out to look +at a job with Mr. Brown and Miss--uh--" he glanced at the girl. + +"Jones," the gray-haired man said. "Miss Jones." + +"Oh, yes, excuse me." Dolan smiled at the girl and drew a brief +quirk of the lips in response. "--with Mr. Brown and Miss Jones," he +continued. "Be back some time this afternoon." + +"OK," he said to his clients. "Let's go see this intricate and delicate +problem." + + * * * * * + +For reasons compatible with the profession of gun running and the +nature of time travel, the time translator had been located outside of +urban limits--the city was to be rather systematically bombed in the +near future--on a secluded and stable granite dike, within the shell of +a frame cottage. Dolan observed all this without comment. + +They were met outside the cottage by a man about Dolan's age. + +"This is my colleague, Mr. Smith," Brown introduced him. + +Mr. Smith offered his hand. As he turned to lead them inside, Dolan +noticed that the light summer jacket Smith wore did not drape well +over the right hip pocket. He filed this fact also for future reference. + +"And here," Brown said, "is the machine we wish repaired." + +In the center of the room was an orderly jumble of shiny black +geometric solids, laced together with wires and bars of silver, the +whole mounted on a polished ebony platform. It was handsome, in a +bizarre sort of way; but certainly it did not look like any electronic +gear Dolan had ever seen, and he had seen almost all there was, at one +time or another. + +He studied it carefully, turning it this way and that in his mind, +trying to find some familiar feature to grasp it by. There was none. + +"Well," he asked skeptically, "what is it? What does it do?" + +Brown shook his head. "The purpose of the machine must remain secret," +he said firmly. "We think the trouble may be superficial, some minor +thing an expert could quickly repair; and we wish you to work on it +from that viewpoint, without inquiring into its purpose." + +"I see," Dolan said noncommittally. The whole business was screwy. For +two cents, he thought-- + +He glanced at the girl. She sat quietly on a chair, hands folded +demurely in her lap, watching him, practising her specialty. Well, +maybe, he thought, it wouldn't hurt to look, as long as he was here +anyway. + +He walked over to the equipment and bent to examine it. The silver +conductors seemed to be uninsulated, although in places they were +closely paired. He frowned and scratched tentatively at one with his +fingernail. The metal showed bright. There was a slight tarnish, that +was all, no insulation. + +He noticed something else. Back of the equipment, at an angle +unnoticeable from the side he had first approached, were several cut +and dangling wires, some of which had been partially replaced by quite +ordinary high tension cable. Spread about on the floor were lengths and +coils of wire. + +"You've been working on it yourselves?" he asked Brown. + +"No, no. As I told you, we are not technicians. Before we contacted +you, we had already tried another man. He proved unsatisfactory. We, +uh, paid him off and sought a better qualified person." + +"Unsatisfactory, eh? Umm, I see." Dolan's eyes moved thoughtfully to +Smith, who lounged carelessly just inside the door. The coat now hung +smoothly, it was only when Smith moved that the hint of a bulge showed. + +Dolan was a curious man, but also a prudent and thoughtful one. He +decided he did not want this job, it was time to get out. "I'll have to +go back for some equipment," he said casually. "Can you drive me in?" + +He knew immediately that it was not going over. Brown frowned and +sucked thoughtfully at his lower lip. + +"If you could make a list," Brown offered, "I could get it for you. You +could then be making a preliminary survey while I am gone. There is a +question of time involved, we wish these repairs made as quickly as +possible." + +"Well ... I'm not sure ..." + +"Miss Jones," Brown said persuasively, "is as well-versed as any of us +in the operation of the equipment. She could answer any questions you +might have." + +The girl smiled and nodded. Smith, lounging by the door, casually moved +his hand to his belt, sweeping back his unbuttoned jacket slightly. +Brown stood waiting. + +Dolan studied them silently for a moment. They couldn't force him to +take the job, he could simply turn them down and walk out. Or could +he? For some reason he did not quite understand, he was just a little +reluctant to test the idea. + +"OK," he said shortly. He took his notebook and began to scribble a +list of equipment on a blank page. A message, he wondered, like they +do it in the movies? A request, maybe, for some outrageous piece of +equipment that would tip off the boys in the shop? No good, they +weren't that smart, and for that matter neither was he. Besides, what +did he really know? Nothing, except that he just didn't want this job +very much. + +He tore the page out of the notebook and handed it to Brown. Brown +slipped it in his pocket and went out. + +Dolan turned to the girl. "OK, Miss Jones," he said. "Now let's see +what we can figure out about this gear." He strolled completely around +it, eyeing it from all sides. + +"Well ..." he said dubiously. "First, I guess, control. How do you +start it up, make it go?" + +"We push these buttons, in this sequence," the girl told him. She moved +her fingers lightly over a series of studs set in a small cube. + +"OK, push 'em. Let's see what happens." + +"Nothing happens," the girl said. "The machine just doesn't work." + +"Well, then, what's supposed to happen?" + +The girl looked unhappy. "I'm sorry," she said finally, "didn't Mr. +Brown say you weren't to ask such questions?" + +"OK," Dolan said resignedly, "we'll let that go then. How about this: +What indications do you have when it _is_ operating normally? Anything +light up, move, buzz, hum, spin around?" + +The girl frowned thoughtfully and shook her head. "Nothing lights up, +moves, buzzes, hums, spins around. When the machine works, it ... well, +it just works, and that's all." She studied him with troubled eyes. +"You are an expert, it seems to me an expert should be able to look at +a machine and see what parts are faulty, isn't that true? Why must you +know what the machine does?" + +Dolan leaned back against the machine and lit a cigarette. He squinted +thoughtfully at her through the smoke. Well, what the hell, with looks +like that, why should she need brains? + +"Miss Jones," he said patiently, "I gather that you aren't a technical +person?" + +"Not with machines, no." + +It was an odd sort of answer. Did it imply that she had a technical +knowledge of something other than machines? Dolan considered it briefly +and decided to pass it up for now. + +"I _am_ a technically trained person," he said, "an expert as you say; +and I can tell you this: machinery, electronic gear, anything like +that, is built to do a specific job. Before you can design, build, or +repair such equipment, the very first thing you have to know is: what +do you want it to do? For all I know, this machine here may just be an +overgrown coffee percolator. Now, suppose I go ahead and fix it with +that in mind, and when I get done it makes beautiful coffee, but it +turn out you wanted all along for it to get television programs, you're +going to be terribly disappointed. You see now why I have to know what +it does?" + +The girl nodded seriously. "Yes," she admitted, "I can see that; but +I'm sorry, I still cannot tell you the purpose of the machine." She +glanced uncertainly at Smith. He shook his head minutely. "Perhaps," +she said, "when Mr. Brown returns--" + + * * * * * + +Brown, however, did not convince easy. + +Dolan puffed angrily at a cigarette, while Brown and the girl watched +him impassively. + +"Damn it," he said, "it just won't work like this, that's all there is +to it." He kicked savagely at the base of the machine. "All I'm doing +is chasing my tail in circles. I know what part of the trouble is now, +somehow you've lost the insulation on your conductors--burned up, +evaporated, blew away, God knows what. Anyway, it's gone. But I can't +just spray some gunk back on and have it work like new, we just haven't +got that kind of insulation. Where'd you get that stuff, anyway. Can't +you get some more?" + +"It was specially made for us," Brown told him. "We cannot get more +at ... present." + +"I see." There had been a very slight accent on the "present". Did +it mean anything? And if so, what? "Well, I can rewire it for you, +use standard stuff, it won't look pretty but it might work, only what +should I use? I don't know what it needs--high voltage cable, or bell +wire; shielded or open. I've got to know what you've got in these black +boxes here--" he pounded gently on one, "before I know what to feed +them." + +He snapped his cigarette into a corner, gloomily watched the smoke curl +up from it for a moment, then walked over and stepped heavily on it. +"So that's it," he said definitely. "I've been fooling with this thing +all day, and that's just exactly as far as I can go. It's up to you +people, you can give me the dope, I can't promise anything even then, +except just to try; or you might as well pay me off. I can hang around +here and put in more time, but you won't be getting anything out of it." + +Brown studied his fingernails absently. "Perhaps you are right," he +said slowly. "However, I cannot act without consulting with Mr. Smith, +and he has gone into town to get some food for you, I am sure you must +be hungry. When he returns, I will let you know our decision." + +"OK." Dolan mopped at his face with his handkerchief. "God, it's hot as +an oven in this shack," he said. Miss Jones smiled in sympathy, though +she looked cool enough. + +"Come on, Miss Jones, let's get outside and cool off a bit." + +"I think that would be nice," she agreed. + +It was just turning dusk outside, and there was an agreeable breeze +coming up the valley. They walked over and sat down on a rocky ledge. + +"Tell me, Miss Jones," he said suddenly, "do you like it here?" + +"It's very pretty," she said. She looked out toward the ridge with the +sunset colors fading behind it. "Much nicer than the city." + +"No, no," he said brusquely, "that's not what I mean. I mean, do you +like it _here_, in our world?" + +"I don't think I understand you." + +"I mean here, now, on this planet, in this time. Do you like it as well +as your own ... place?" + +She stared up at him with wide puzzled eyes. "My own place? What other +planet or time do you think I might know?" + +"I don't know, Miss Jones, I just...." He was not quite sure exactly +what he had been driving at, himself. "Forget it. Just a stupid idea." +He leaned back and let his eye follow the shadows up the valley. A +faint whiff of perfume reached him. + +"Miss Jones," he said. "That's rather an awkward thing to call you. Do +you have a first name?" + +"Jane Jones, naturally," she said, and smiled. "What else?" + +"No good," he said firmly. "I might call you Mary, that's a nice +anonymous tag, and sounds better too ... or you could tell me your real +name, just the first name, that wouldn't give much away." + +She considered silently. "Moirta," she said finally. "My name is +Moirta." She accented the syllables evenly. + +"Moirta," he repeated. "Moirta." He rolled the "r" slightly, as she had +done. "That's much better, it fits you now, Moirta, and it fits the +cool shades of evenin'." + +He looked down at her. + +"Moirta," he said soberly. "It's a lovely name, truly." + +He leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips met his, not coldly, and not +demandingly or fiercely, but gently and firmly, in the exact measure he +desired. He put his arms about her, and she came into them, supple but +not limp, as a beautifully trained dancer follows a lead. For a very +long moment they remained thus, lip to lip and breast to breast, the +yearning and response in each rising in swift even balance. + +And then Brown opened the door, casting a shaft of light past them in +the dusk. + +"Oh, Moirta," he called. "Are you there? Could you come here a moment, +please--" + + * * * * * + +The two male gun runners had stepped outside the cottage while Moirta +served Dolan his dinner. They found the smells and sounds of summer +night, the darkness itself--in their world there was no darkness except +in closed rooms--disturbing, but preferable to watching and hearing +Dolan eat. + +"For primitive, natural," the senior gun runner said, "but--" he +winced, "_teeth!_" + +"_Gnawing!_" the other agreed. He clicked his own non-functional +dentures experimentally, examined his fingers with fascinated +revulsion. Tender flesh, white teeth--ugh! + +"Moirta," he said thoughtfully, "seems not to mind." + +The senior gun runner cringed as a bat fluttered by. "Her specialty," +he said absently, "not to mind." He strained his eyes to see into the +darkness. Was that a mouse rustling in the grass? Or worse yet, a +_snake_? + +"Progress?" the younger man asked. + +"Motivation set. Next, focus on problem. Pressure." It was _something_, +something small and alive, coming toward him. "Move nearer door," he +said abruptly. "Light." + + * * * * * + +"Mr. Smith and I have discussed the matter," Brown said, "and we have +decided to be completely frank with you." He paused, watching Dolan. +"The machine is a time translator," he said. + +Dolan looked back at him, poker-faced. "So?" + +Brown frowned slightly. Perhaps he had expected more of a reaction. +"We are from a time very far in your future," he continued. "The +machine has the apparent effect of transferring our physical bodies +to this age. I say 'apparent' effect, because the mechanism of this +time translation is not fully understood. There are certain anomalies, +the displacement effect for example--but that is immaterial, for all +practical purposes we can move at will to and from any time in our +past, though not into our future--when the machine is working. + +"Naturally, such time travel must be kept secret, if it were not, +several undesirable consequences might arise. It is very closely +regulated, and may be used only for bona fide historical research by +responsible persons." + +He looked inquiringly at Dolan. "I am not really sure I can tell you +much more about the machine, I am not a technician, as you know. Does +what I have told you help any?" + +"I don't know," Dolan said. "Let me think about it a minute." He was +not really much surprised at the disclosure. In terms of the technology +he knew, the machine was almost completely meaningless. From the +beginning, there had only been two possibilities--either it was the +product of an alien culture, or it was an elaborate hoax. He had +already decided it was not a hoax. He had not, he realized, allowed +himself to explore fully the implications of the other possibility. He +did so now, and some of the implications were--intriguing. + +Historical research, eh? Well, maybe. He would reserve judgment on that. + +But a time machine? There was no such thing. And yet, if there were-- + +He looked at the jumble of equipment speculatively. + +"I still don't know how a time machine might work," he said finally. +"Do you have any sort of handbook, operating manual, anything like +that? Or do they have such things in your time?" + +"Operating manual? I don't think so. There are some pictures--" Brown +stepped over to the machine and touched a large flattened sphere +which grew out of the base. "This is the power unit. If you press +these studs, various pictures--'schematics', I believe you would call +them--are projected on the surface. Is that what you want?" + +"That sounds like it," Dolan said. "But I did press those studs. +Nothing happened." + +"That is because the power unit is not operating. It does not come +on, as it should, when we press this button." He indicated a stud on +the cubicle control unit. "That, I suppose, is one of the major things +wrong with the machine." + +"Ummm, yeah, I see," Dolan said. He squatted and examined the power +unit more closely. "One of these pairs now--" he traced them with his +finger up to the control unit, "must be the control pair." He took a +piece of chalk and began numbering the terminals rapidly. + +"Now," he said, "if the control pair is shorted, the power should be +on, but there must be overload protection of some kind, that's probably +kicked out, so let's just cut all this junk loose and then short the +possible control pairs one at a time, see what happens then." + +He reached for a pair of side-cutters. The three gun runners looked +at each other. Brown nodded slightly. They moved quickly back out of +Dolan's way. + + * * * * * + +"OK," Dolan said half an hour later. "We've got the power unit +perking, and we've got the pictures. Now what do they mean? This block +interwiring diagram now, it seems to be what I'm looking for, but I +can't read the tags they've got on it. You know which block in the +diagram corresponds to which piece of equipment?" + +Brown studied the luminous white lines against the black polished +background. He put a well-manicured finger on one square. "According to +the lettering," he said, "this is the control unity, the small cube at +the top with the buttons. This other, I do not know, it says: 'temporal +re-integrator.' I do not know what that might be." + +Dolan frowned doubtfully. "'Temporal re-integrator'," he repeated. +"Could be anything. What do the others say?" Among the litter the +first electrician had left, there was a short length of lead-shielded +two-conductor number 14 wire. He picked it up and began to run it +absently through his fingers, straightening it. Someone had apparently +amused themselves by clipping idly at it with a pair of side-cutters, +it was irregularly nicked along its length. + +"This," Brown continued, "is something called a 'selective resonator', +and this, well, the term does not translate, it is a--" he pronounced +carefully, as if unfamiliar with the word, "'bractor-quatic'--" + +There was something peculiar about the indentations in the wire, +Dolan realized, a pattern--He pulled it unobtrusively through his +fingers again, letting his thumbnail run over the nicks. It was +Morse: K-I-T-T-E ... _kitten?_ ... no, it must be American Morse ... +K-I-L-L-E-R ... _killers hs end rvr rd_ + +Killers in the house at the end of River Road. + +This was the house at the end of River Road. + +Brown had stopped speaking and was looking at him questioningly. + +"Uh, yeah," Dolan said hastily. "Well, that still doesn't tell me +too much." He carefully rolled the length of wire and hung it on +a projecting piece of the time translator. His hands were damp, +and he was sure he was moving awkwardly and unnaturally. Dolan was +not an easily flustered person, but things were coming a little +fast--mysterious aliens, time machines, and now--murder, or hint of it. + +He needed time to think. + +"It's getting pretty late," he said, hoping his voice sounded natural. +"Let's just knock off for now, I'll study it over, maybe I'll have +something figured by tomorrow." + +Historical research, huh? Some professors all right, this bunch-- + +The thing to do was to stall, not let them know he suspected anything. + +"I tell you," he said casually, "do you have some place I could bed +down here? Save me a trip into town and back." + +Was it his imagination, or did Brown relax slightly? + +"Why, yes, we do have a spare cot in Mr. Smith's room," Brown said. +"Would that be good enough?" + +"Sounds fine," Dolan said. He snapped the lid of his tool-box shut. +"Let's go see what it looks like." + + * * * * * + +The two male gun runners held a council of war while Dolan was eating +his breakfast. + +"Subject's attention diverted," the senior gun runner said. "Unknown +factor. Annoying." + +Smith clucked his tongue in sympathy. He thought for a moment. "Raise +threshold to override?" he suggested. + +"Must. Moirta." + +Smith nodded and went out. He returned in a moment with the female gun +runner. Brown explained the problem to her in the same few words he had +used to Smith. + +She shrugged. She did not bother to practise her specialty on her +colleagues--they were, for one thing, almost immune, they had grown up +in a civilization where her specialty was over-crowded. For another, in +the nature of her specialty, she found it hard to concentrate on more +than one subject at a time. "Doing best," she said indifferently. + +Brown studied her shrewdly. "Supplies short," he said mildly. "One-half +larger than one-third. Each must pay way." + +His voice was mild, but Moirta understood the threat quite clearly. +"Suggestions?" she asked coldly. + +Brown nodded equably--he was used to temperament in this member of his +team--and told her what he wanted her to do. She would obey, he knew. +She would also double-cross him, if the occasion offered; but he did +not intend that the occasion _should_ offer. + + * * * * * + +There was a foot-path leading up the ridge back of the cabin. Dolan did +not ordinarily feel the need of an after-breakfast stroll, but today he +was looking for something. He was not quite sure what it would be, but +he thought he would recognize it if he saw it. He walked slowly up the +foot-path, letting his eyes roam. Perhaps fifty yards from the cottage, +the grass was trampled and the brush bent where someone had left the +path. + +This might be it. + +He followed the trampled trail off the path, searching carefully +now. Three or four steps along it, he found what he had been looking +for--two empty .45 caliber cartridges lying in the grass. + +He picked them up and juggled them in his hand, looking speculatively +about. Angling off to the left was an opening in the undergrowth. + +He walked that way and found himself standing on the lip of a sharply +eroded gully. Someone or something had kicked the bank down recently, +there was a great pile of new earth in the bottom of the gully. He +kicked around in the leaves and mold at his feet. There was a dark +crusted substance on the leaves. + +The door of the cottage slammed. He slipped the empty cartridges in his +pocket and stepped hastily back to the path, listening. + +Were those footsteps hurrying toward him? + +He began to stroll slowly back toward the cottage. Around the first +turn he met Moirta. + +The girl now, he thought, where does she really fit? Possible ally? +Enemy? Or neutral? + +She came up to him a little breathless and took his hand. "Were you +going back to the house?" she asked. + +"Not specially. Just walking around." + +"Let's not go back just yet, then," she said. They turned and walked +slowly back up the path, hand-in-hand. After a while they came out on +an open shoulder from which they could look down, catching glimpses of +the path they had climbed here and there, and at its end the cottage. +They sat down close together, leaning back against a large tree, not +speaking at first. + +After a while the girl sighed. "I shall feel very sorry when we leave +this time," she said. + +"Me, too." He kissed her. + +After a moment she pulled away and looked at him searchingly. "There is +something bothering you?" she asked. She flushed a little. "That was +not very ... ardent." + +Dolan looked away, feeling foolish. "I guess not," he said. + +She took his hand and squeezed it. "Poor George. It must be very +confusing for you. Can I help?" + +Perhaps she could, he thought. + +"Look here," he said cautiously, "what happens when I get this thing +fixed, if I do? You folks go on back to your own time, I suppose, but +what happens to me?" + +She hesitated. "I don't think I understand," she said. "Mr. Brown pays +you for your work, I suppose, and you stay here, that's all. Should +there be more?" + +Dolan smiled grimly. "Like the first technician, huh?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean, Brown pays me, and I stay here, like the first technician." He +took his hand out of his pocket with the two empty cartridge cases in +it and rolled them gently back and forth in his open palm. + +Moirta stared at them fascinated. "Oh," she said faintly, "I didn't +know. I thought ... I didn't know...." + +"Well, you know now," he said. "And your job is to keep me cheered up +and plugging away at the job until payday comes. Right?" + +"No," she said. "Oh, no. Please, George. They wouldn't do that ... that +is, I don't think ... it's so unnecessary." + +"Unnecessary?" + +"Yes. You see--I shouldn't tell you this, but I can't have you +thinking ... you see, after we are gone, you will forget all this. Why +should they kill you when there's no reason?" + +She did not seem very strongly convinced herself, Dolan thought. + +"How do you mean, I'll forget it? You mean they'll hypnotize me, +something like that?" + +She shook her head. "No, they won't have to do anything. It's the +displacement effect. You see, we are not _really_ here, in a way, +it is a sort of illusion, but more real for us than for you. When +we return to our own time, we will remember all that happened, but +you will remember nothing, since the translator does not really +exist in your time. You will just forget, it will be as if none of +this had ever happened, as if you had never met me, never heard of a +'time-translator'." + +It sounded plausible, in a way, but there was a flaw in the logic. + +"If everybody in this time forgets, why so much to-do about secrecy? +Won't anyone else I tell forget too?" + +"There is a limit to the possible displacement. If the limit is +exceeded, according to the Alwyn hypothesis the continuum itself may +be altered, and one of the ways in which it might change would be to +eliminate the irritant--in other words, all of us concerned directly." + +"I see. So they figured two of us put too much of a strain on the +displacement, that's why they killed this other joker--what was his +name, anyway?" + +"Nelson. Perhaps," she said uncertainly, "that might be it." + +"And maybe they figure even one is too much strain, better to be safe +than sorry, huh?" + +"No, I don't think so. Killing requires even more displacement +than ... loss of memory. Really, I don't understand it, you see, I +am just a sort of employee, they don't confide in me. If they knew I +had been talking to you about these things like this--" she shuddered +and smiled wryly. "Perhaps I too know too much, perhaps I should be +worrying about the pros and cons of various types of displacement for +myself." + +Dolan looked at her thoughtfully. "This displacement thing," he said +gently, "I'll forget you too?" + +She nodded. "You will forget me. But I will remember you--for a long +time, I am afraid." + +He frowned and kicked at a tuft of sod. "I don't want to forget you. +Do you have to leave with the others? Couldn't you stay? For a little +while anyway? You haven't really had a good chance to see our world +yet." + +"No. They would never trust me out of their control. If I refused to +go ... well ..." she shrugged. + +"And I don't suppose I could go back with you to your world, spend some +time there, either?" + +"No, that would be to travel into your own future, which cannot be +done." + +"I see." Dolan leaned back against the tree, thinking. + +"Well, there's one thing sure," he said. "If the machine can't be +fixed, it can't be fixed, there isn't much they can do about it. You +may _all_ stay in this time yet." + +She shook her head gently. "Not all. At least, not all alive. There +would be no displacement, and the only hope they would have to avoid +the Alwyn action would be to preserve absolute secrecy. You have a +saying, I believe: 'dead men--'" She hesitated. "Even if you and I +could find a way to escape, even if they _told_ me I might leave, I +could not trust them. They are very dangerous men. As long as we and +they are both in this time, there would be no safety for me, nor for +you." + +"I suppose you're right," Dolan said reluctantly. He looked down at her +searchingly. "What do you _want_ to do?" he asked. "Do you want to stay +with me, or do you want me to forget you?" + +"I want to be with you," she said softly. "Always." + +"And I, with you," he said. He bent his head toward hers. + +Below, the door of the cottage opened. Smith's figure appeared. He +glanced around and then came plodding up the path. + +Moirta pulled away and got to her feet. "We might as well start back, I +suppose," she said unenthusiastically. + +"Let's go back in the woods, he won't find us there." + +She hesitated and then shook her head. "No. We have both been very +indiscreet today, and they are suspicious men. It is important in their +trade to be suspicious. It would not be wise to let them think we are +avoiding them." + +"OK, I suppose not," he acknowledged glumly. He rose and followed her +down the path. + + * * * * * + +Like all true artists, Moirta tended to submerge herself completely in +her role, a failing which the senior gun runner recognized and allowed +for in his calculations. + +In the following days, Dolan held her hand often, and kissed her +sometimes, and talked with her frequently, and took her in his arms for +short periods; but at the crucial moment Smith or Brown always casually +appeared upon the scene. Dolan suspected, accurately, that they were +deliberately permitting him just enough contact with her to keep him +constantly on edge, keep his mind off other matters. + +They made no overt threats, but he was constantly aware of the body +in the gully, the bulge in Smith's pocket, Brown's cold eyes studying +him. Dolan was not a submissive person, and under the pressure a cold +malevolence toward the two gun runners began to develop in him. He +concealed it, as well as he could, under a shell of impassivity. + +His time would come. The sketch of a plan was beginning to form in his +mind, it was not very solid yet, but if it worked out they would be +laughing on the other side of their faces. + +What was it Moirta had said? There would be danger "as long as we and +they are both in this time." The answer to that was simple. Eliminate +"they" and eliminate the danger. + +In his work, Dolan kept running into reminders of the first technician, +and the matter bothered him. The man seemed to have been making +progress, and surely he would not have been such a fool as simply to +refuse to work, the message he had left showed he understood quite +clearly his danger. He asked Moirta about this, and got another shock. + +"That was a mistake," she said. "We did not fully understand your +world then. In our time, medical science is very exact. There are no +incomplete men or incomplete women. We assumed that because this +man ... person ... looked like a man, and seemed to be a man, he was +one. However, we have since discovered that this is not always true, +and it was not in this case. We could not allow him to work on the +machine, since we could not predict his reactions adequately." + +Not predict his reactions? There was an obvious corollary-- + +Dolan's lips tightened. "But you _can_ predict mine, is that it?" + +Moirta ran her fingers lightly along the back of his hand, studying his +knuckles with the tips of them. "Of course," she said idly, "Why not? +There is nothing wrong with _your_ reactions, George dear." + +He flung her hand away violently. "Why not? So you push the buttons, +and I react as predicted, and you sit back and laugh at me while +I fix your machine, and then you all go tootling off to find more +suckers, while I hold the bag. That's it, isn't it? Boy, I bet you've +been getting a _big_ charge out of this. I thought it was mighty +coincidental the way one of your boyfriends always pops up as soon as +we're alone for five minutes. Not taking any chances on the reaction +getting out of hand, are you?" + +She stared up at him in shocked surprise. "No," she said, "no. Oh, poor +George. How stupid of me. You see, I am not really very wise, I know +only one thing, how to be a woman. I keep forgetting that you do not +think as we do. Because we can predict a reaction, does that make it +less real?" + +"But you _used_ me, you knew this would happen." + +There were tears in her eyes. "I used you," she admitted, "and I used +myself, and Brown used both you _and_ me. + +"And you used me, also. Do you wish me to think that when you hold +a woman's hand, and say certain things to her, and look at her in a +certain way; you are entirely innocent, you do not guess what may +happen?" + +"I didn't force you," he said stubbornly, "the choice was yours to +make." + +"Nor did I force you. But I knew what your choice would be, and +further, I knew what _my_ choice would be. Emotion is my trade, as +electronics is yours. Electrons, I have been told, have a certain +freedom of choice, or appear to have. Yet you know with quite high +probability which choice they will make under the influence of certain +physical fields. In the same way, I know what choice to expect of a man +or a woman, under the influence of certain emotional fields." + +"You didn't want _me_, though, you just wanted a technician. The first +man would have done just as well for you, if he had 'reacted.'" + +"That is true. And I am the first woman you have ever made love to?" + +"No, of course not. But I've never felt the same about them as I do +about you." + +"I, the same. George, I think you still do not understand me. In your +time there are women who get things from men by seeming to promise +more than they intend to give, for simulating emotions they do not +feel. You think I am one of those ... no, please don't interrupt ... +I am not. In my time there are no such women, people understand each +other too well, they are too hard to fool. + +"Instead, there are women like me, women who are peculiarly attractive +to men, and peculiarly susceptible to men--honestly so. Believe me, +it is not an easy way to make a living. A woman has only so much +honest emotion to give. Do you understand now?" She looked up at him +appealingly. + +He did not understand, but he believed. + +He could not doubt that this was as important to her as to him, that +regardless of the motives behind it, her feeling was deep and honest. +And yet, it was impossible to understand, impossible for him to +visualize a world in which people knew accurately the feeling others +held for them; and yet still loved, disliked, or were indifferent. +It was, he thought, a little like a caveman trying to understand the +complexities and compulsions of polite urban society. + +He slumped back down beside her. "I don't know," he said glumly. +"You're right, I suppose, it all sounds logical; but I still don't +understand." + +She drew him to her. "Poor George," she said with her mouth against his +ear. "Poor George, I know only one way to console you, and only one +way to console myself." She sighed. "And it seems they will not permit +that, I suppose the 'reaction,'" she smiled wryly, "would not fit with +their plans." + +Dolan straightened and looked at her sharply. Her remark had reminded +him of something else he needed to know. "How do they _know_ just when +to break us up," he asked, "just when to drop in 'accidentally' on us? +Can they read my mind?" + +She shook her head. "No, they are not mind-readers. It is just that +they know so much about what to expect of people--remember that for +thousands of years there has been nothing so important to us as what +other people do, in my time men of science no longer study physical +things, all that is known, they study people. In any given situation, +they can predict quite accurately what action a given individual will +take." + +"You think they know what we're talking about now?" + +"Not in detail. But in general, yes--and I suppose it must serve their +purpose in some way for us to worry about these things, what will +become of you and me, or they would not permit it. In a matter such as +this, they do nothing without a purpose." + +"Well, that's fair enough," Dolan said grimly. "As long as they aren't +actually mind-readers, they can guess all they want to." + +Moirta shook her head. "It is not guessing, that is what I have been +trying to tell you. Whatever you plan, they will have foreseen it, +perhaps not the exact thing you wish to do; but all the possible things +you can do, and the most likely thing you will do. + +"Really, it will not be so bad, you will finish the translator, and we +will go, and you will forget us, and ... well, in time I suppose I will +forget you also." + +"No." He squeezed her hard against him. "I don't intend to forget you, +and I don't intend you to forget me." He grinned down at her. "In this +time, the boy always gets the girl, and they live happily ever after. +It's a natural law, like gravitation. + +"Brown and Smith aren't infallible. They may know people, but I know +machines. Don't forget, the time translator is the key, the big item in +this mess. And that's in my bailiwick." + + * * * * * + +Dolan went back to work. + +He left it to Brown to satisfy the people at the shop, and apparently +Brown satisfied them, they sent along the equipment and supplies he +requested without comment. + +He still had no idea _why_ the time translator worked, but he was +beginning to know quite a bit about _how_ it worked, in the sense of +functional operation, the input/output relations of the black boxes. +A time came when he could have activated the machine by making a few +minor connections. + +He did not do so. + +With the knowledge that he had the technical problem whipped, some +of his urgency faded. He could take time to amplify and clarify his +knowledge. Quite probably the time translator could never be duplicated +by twentieth century technology. At the same time, only a fool would +pass up a chance to learn what he could, it was too big a thing, +even with the limitations under which it seemed to operate. Also, +familiarity with the translator was a weapon, knowledge Brown did not +have--a weapon he was grimly intent on using. + +He kept testing and checking, varying inputs and measuring outputs. + +Remembering what Moirta had said about losing his memory--he did not +think he would, if his plans worked out, but there was always the +chance of something going wrong--he kept careful notes. Brown watched +this activity blandly. Thinking it over, Dolan saw that this was only +logical. There were always fires for notes. + +So, as an extra precaution, he made copies of the most important data +in secrecy and stored them in a glass jar under a rock back of the +cottage. Then it occurred to him that he might forget about the jar--or +he might not be around to remember it, there was still the gully to +keep in mind. Well, what had worked once should work again. He nicked a +code message in a piece of wire, showing the location of the notes, and +left it in his tool-box. + +Also, he made certain changes in the time-machine. + +Finally, he told Brown the machine was ready. + +"You want to test-hop it?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure it'll work now, +but it's still a haywire job, I could be wrong." + +Brown shook his head. "Not necessary. If the machine works, we +will be ... home. If not, well, you will just have to tinker with +it some more." It was not sound reasoning, from Dolan's viewpoint, +but consistent with what he had come to expect from these people in +technical matters. He had counted heavily on such a reaction. + +"OK," he said. "Then she's ready to go." + +Brown nodded and tossed a key to Smith, speaking curtly in a language +strange to Dolan. Dolan had noticed long before that the back bedroom +door was always locked, and the windows securely boarded up. Artifacts +of historical interest, Brown had told him. It seemed like rather +extreme precaution to take for security of such material. + +Brown turned back to Dolan. "You had better move your equipment out of +range of the machine now, if you wish to keep it," he said. + +Dolan carried his equipment outside. When he returned the three aliens +were carrying small heavy boxes out of the back room, stowing them in +a tight circle about the machine. Moirta was straining at a heavy case +with neatly dove-tailed corners, marked "Remington". + +So that was what it was all about. + +It suddenly occurred to him to wonder how, if the machine could not +move a person into the future, if it had no real existence in this +time, they expected to move guns and ammunition. Did the laws of time +operate differently for living organisms and inanimate things? What was +it someone had once said about life--'islands of reverse entropy'? But +that was only a figure of speech, men were still made up of the same +elements as steel and brass-- + +Well, it could wait, there were more important things right now. "You +need a hand?" he asked Moirta. + +She smiled and nodded breathlessly. + +As he stooped to help lift the box, their heads almost touched. +"Listen!" he whispered, "be on your toes, now. I'm going to try +something. Stay on this side of the machine, no matter what happens, +and do just as I say." + +She looked startled, but nodded. + +With four of them working, it did not take long to pile the cargo in +place. Brown checked it over with his eye and then turned to study +Dolan. + +"Well," he said slowly, "I suppose we are ready to go. No doubt you +wish your payment now, eh, Mr. Dolan?" + +This was the critical point. Dolan tensed as Smith stepped clear and +lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Brown, his hand in his hip-pocket; +but the senior gun runner shook his head. "Don't be stupid," he said +quietly. "I think we have a few negotiations to make now." He looked at +Dolan inquiringly. + +Dolan hoped his relief did not show too clearly. He had been reasonably +sure Brown would be too acute to kill him off-hand, but it had been a +tricky moment, just the same. Now, he thought, play it cagey, make them +lay it out on the table, get it moving-- + +"I'm no good at guessing games," he said. "You'll have to come down to +my level on this." + +Brown nodded. "Of course. Excuse me. I will be more explicit. Mr. +Smith wants to kill you and get you out of the way immediately; he +does not trust you. I do not trust you completely myself, I do not +trust _anyone_ completely; and for that exact reason I feel it would +be stupid and dangerous to kill you. I am quite sure you will have +booby-trapped the machine against just such a contingency." + +"Booby-trapped?" Dolan asked blankly. + +"Yes," Brown said patiently. "I mean the machine will not work +satisfactorily if you are killed. It will blow up, burn out, or some +such thing. Is that not true?" + +Dolan considered the question for a moment. He was acutely aware that +the most devious plot would probably seem simple and childish to a man +like Brown. "Suppose it were?" he said cautiously. "Then what?" + +"Then we shall negotiate, like reasonable people. What do you need +to convince you of our good faith. Your money?" Brown reached in his +jacket pocket and brought out a slip of paper. "Here," he said, "I +think you will find this satisfactory." He handed it to Dolan. + +Dolan looked absently at the check. It was more than satisfactory--for +a purely business transaction. But this was no longer just a business +transaction. + +"It's not enough," he said flatly. + +Brown raised an eyebrow. "The girl? No." He shook his head firmly. +"We must have Moirta for a hostage, a guarantee of your good faith. +She goes with us. Afterward, perhaps, if she wishes to return--" he +shrugged. + +Dolan studied him, trying to decide just how much Brown's word was +worth. Just as much as it suited him to make it worth, probably. He +glanced at Moirta. She shook her head, a tiny almost imperceptible +jerk, confirming his own thought. There was no particular reason to +expect that Brown would really let her return--Moirta probably was not +important to him, but the whereabouts of the time-translator was. + +He turned back to Brown. "You'll promise not to stop her?" + +Brown smiled indulgently. "I promise." Dolan felt an almost +uncontrollable urge to smash the smug smile with his fist. He bottled +it up. This was no time to get excited. + +"OK," he said shortly. He stepped to the machine and carefully bent a +wire just so, while Brown watched alertly. + +"Also," Brown said, "the notes." + +"Notes?" + +"Exactly. The notes you kept on the operation of the machine. Give them +to me, please." + +Dolan shrugged. He had not really expected to keep the notes. "They're +out in my briefcase," he said. Brown looked at Smith, who went out and +returned in a moment with the briefcase. Dolan took out a folder and +handed it to Brown. Brown riffled through the pages, nodded and tossed +the folder on the pile of boxes. + +He studied Dolan speculatively. "The other notes, too, please," he +said. "The secret notes." + +The man was guessing, of course. Dolan had not even mentioned the other +notes to Moirta. "You've got all the notes I made," he said. + +Brown stepped forward and grasped his arm. "Walk!" he commanded. + +Dolan twisted to look at him, startled. "What--?" + +"The notes," Brown said coldly. "Walk." He gave a little shove, and +Dolan found himself walking, with Brown holding his arm in a firm even +grasp, a look of preoccupation on his face. + +"This way," Brown said. They went out the door. + +"The notes," Brown repeated insistently. "Keep walking, keep walking." +They zigzagged rapidly across the yard, Brown still guiding Dolan by +the arm, Smith coming behind with his hand in his pocket. Brown paused. +"Here, I think," he said to Smith. "Look under that rock." + +Dolan watched in helpless rage as Smith dug the jar out and handed it +to Brown. _Was_ Brown a mind-reader, after all? How else--? + +Well, of course, he thought, muscular tension, the old 'mind-reading' +trick. He should have caught on sooner; but Brown was good at it, no +doubt about that. + +Brown smashed the jar against the rock and stuffed the notes in his +pocket. They went back in to the time machine. + +Brown bent over the control box and studied it carefully. He examined +the wire Dolan had adjusted. For the first time, there was a flicker of +uncertainty in his eyes. + +"Well," he said absently. "I suppose--" he looked comprehensively +around, checking the position of the cargo. "There is something--" He +punched the power button, moved his hand to start the machine. + +Dolan glanced at Moirta. She sat on one of the boxes on the far side of +the machine, watching him. + +This was the time, _now_-- + +He stepped forward and opened his mouth to shout. + +He never did. Something went suddenly wrong. Brown flicked a thumb, +Smith moved like lightning, and before Dolan realized what was +happening, he found himself flat on his back, wondering numbly what +had happened. + +Brown snapped a syllable at Moirta. She answered with a shrug and a +word. He frowned momentarily and then his face lightened. + +"Ah," he said softly. "I think I see, now. You were going to shout to +Moirta to run out of range of the machine, while you jumped in and +activated it, isn't that so? Really, it would have done no good, we +could still have returned, and besides Moirta--" he frowned suddenly. +"Oh _could_ we have returned?" + +He bit delicately at his lower lip. "Moirta," he said. "Step a little +closer to the machine, please." + +"Now," he turned back to Dolan, "I am going to push the buttons, with +Moirta quite close to the machine. Are there any last-minute changes +you wish to make?" + +Dolan hesitated, studying both Moirta's and the men's positions, and +then nodded sullenly. + +"I thought there might be," Brown said with satisfaction. "Mr. Smith, +help Mr. Dolan up to the machine." + +Dolan reached out unsteadily, leaning on Smith, and reversed two +connections. "That's it," he mumbled. + +"Thank you, Mr. Dolan. Now, Mr. Smith, if you will just carry Mr. Dolan +over there into the corner, well away from the machine, and immobilize +him--no, no, just temporarily. We may still need him again, Mr. Dolan +is a very tricky sort of person." + +Dolan felt Smith's fingers touch his neck lightly, there was a sudden +blazing pain, and that was all. He blanked out. + + * * * * * + +The first thing he knew after that was that fingers were working gently +at his neck, massaging it. His head was resting on something soft. He +opened his eyes and saw that he was lying with his head pillowed on +Moirta's lap. + +"George?" she said sharply. "Are you all right, George?" + +"I'm all right," he said. He raised his head and looked around. The +machine was gone, and Smith and Brown were gone, and half the boxes +were gone. The end ones in the little semicircle were broken, and from +them a pile of brass cartridges had spilled through the hole in the +floor where the others had been. + +"Wise jerks," he mumbled with grim satisfaction. "See how they like it +now." + +Moirta stared at him. "What happened, George? I don't understand what +happened." + +"I gimmicked the machine. That's what happened. Surprise, huh? I'll bet +they were plenty surprised too." + +"But I thought--" + +Dolan sat up and felt tenderly of his throat. He nodded. "I know," +he said. "You thought they had me licked. So did they. That was just +smoke-screen, a little diversion. I knew they could out-smart me if +I tried to pull anything foxy, that's their trade. But they weren't +really mind-readers, you told me that, and the business with the notes +cinched it. + +"And they didn't think like technicians. They could see I might disable +the machine, or booby-trap it; but they couldn't see I could fix it so +it would work, only just a little different. + +"All I had to do was to keep their minds on their own specialty, let +them wear out their suspicion on the little foxy tricks they expected, +so they wouldn't notice what I was really doing. See?" + +She shook her head. "No," she said. "I do not see. I suppose I'm +stupid, too--" + +"Not stupid. Just not technically minded. You understand, this machine +works by setting up a field around itself, ordinarily that field's +circular, it takes in everything in a certain radius. But it doesn't +have to be, that's just because it's the easiest way, more convenient. +So I just distorted the field a little, made it lopsided. Then I went +through all that other business to keep their minds on me, keep them +off your position, and make sure they both stayed over on my side." He +smiled at her. "I told you, remember, in this time the villains always +get it in the neck, the boy gets the girl, and they live happily ever +after." + +She shook her head. "No," she said gently. "I'm sorry, for you and me +there will not be any ever after. You forget the displacement effect." + +"Displacement effect?" + +"Yes," she said. "I am afraid I did not explain that fully to you, +I thought it would only hurt you to do so. You understand, the past +is really immutable, we only seem to change it. For the time that +the time-translator exists at any given time in the past, a sort +of enclave, a self-supporting bubble, is established which permits +apparent changes. When the time translator returns to its normal +existence in my era, that bubble dissolves. I do not know, in terms of +our present subjective time, just how long the displacement will hold, +but when it vanishes we, you and I, will no longer exist." + +"But that would be a change in the past, in itself." + +"Not exactly. What I told you about forgetting was true, it was just +not the whole truth. There will be, in my time, a Moirta who exists +normally up to the time she is translated to the past. And there will +be, in your time, a George Dolan who never met Mr. Brown or Miss Jones. +But you and I, as we exist at this moment, will not have been." + +"I see," Dolan said. "It's too bad I didn't know about this sooner. I +think we still may have a chance, though. You see, I had to worry about +the possibility that Smith and Brown might think it worth while to come +back after you. So I changed the switches, too. The time translator +isn't going into the future, it's gone into the past, and then it's +fixed to burn out again, a long way in the past, where there aren't any +electronics technicians, no people at all. How about that?" + +"The past? I don't know," she said doubtfully. "I am not a temporal +technician, I know only about the displacement effect as it operates +in our usual translations. Perhaps, in that case, the bubble might +continue to exist, as a sort of permanent side-track. I really don't +know." + +She laughed suddenly, as the full implications of what he had said +struck her. "The past? Oh, poor Smith. And poor Brown. A long way +in the past, where there are no people at all, just dinosaurs and +snakes--and they hate such things so." She laughed helplessly, tears +rolling down her cheeks. "And poor George, and poor Moirta. All with +their clever little plans, their tricks to out-smart each other. +Everyone has outsmarted everyone else, and we all lose now, don't we?" + +Dolan stared at her narrowly. "We _all_ lose?" + +She nodded-- + + * * * * * + +The senior gun runner had been quite confident of victory. + +It took him a rather long moment to assimilate the fact of defeat; but +in that moment he did assimilate it, as fully and completely as he took +in the implications of any other situation. + +He examined the wreckage of the time translator curiously, tried and +failed to make sense of the erratic pattern in which their cargo had +accompanied them, the absence of Moirta. He straightened and looked +about. There were no dinosaurs, the range of the time machine did +not extend that far; but over on a ledge of rock a large cat with +hyper-trophied eyeteeth squatted, switching its stub of a tail, +startled by their sudden appearance. + +He sighed and turned toward the other gun runner. "Old, old, time," he +said. He nodded toward the cat. "Bad for us. No chance rescue. Supplies +short." + +The other said nothing, watching him narrowly, hand in back pocket. +Down in the valley below, something trumpeted, a hoarse grunting roar. +The senior gun runner started nervously. It was getting dark. + +He held out his hand. "Older first," he said simply. The younger man +laid the gun in his hand; and the senior gun runner, without hesitation +or farewell, raised it to his head and pulled the trigger. + + * * * * * + +"--yes, everyone," Moirta said. She wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry, +George. I will die very quickly in this time, whether the displacement +operates or not." + +"But you said--!" + +"I know. I was so sure there was nothing you could do, and I said what +I thought would make you happy. And I did want to stay with you, in +a way, even though I knew it would kill me ... and in another way, I +wanted to go back, to return to my own time, and you were my means to +that ... oh, it's so mixed up, really, it is funny, everyone so sure of +themselves, and now ... this...." + +Dolan shook his head helplessly. "I never thought. You seemed so ... +so...." + +"So human?" her lips curled wryly. "I was _made_ to seem human, +twentieth-century human, it was part of my job. I'm not. And soon, +I shall not even seem human, without the things I need--things that +won't even be invented for ten thousand years--cancer inhibitors, blood +clotting agents, insulin surrogate, vaccines, serums, antibiotics--why, +I can't even eat your food!" She shook her head sadly. "You had better +just leave me, it will not be nice, you will not like me at all." + +And yet, even with the game played out, she could not forget her trade, +her specialty, for it was bred into her as deeply as the tendency to +leukemia, the hemophilia, the diabetes, the congenital digestive +deformity he had inherited from a hundred ancestors kept alive by a +superb medical science to breed her. She laid her cheek against his, +the smooth velvet human-seeming cheek, with no hint as yet of the lumps +of wild tissue waiting to proliferate within. + +"Please don't worry, George," she said softly. "It's not your fault, +really." She smiled up at him. "I've lived a rough life, most of us do, +in my time. Remember, I've earned what I received, I came here knowing +what I was doing. It's just caught up with me. It had to, some day." + +He caught her in his arms and pulled her tightly to him. "Oh, God, +honey," he said. "I didn't know, I didn't even think.... I'd give +anything...." he turned his face up blindly. "Please, Lord, let the +bubble break," he prayed. "Let us not be, both together, now...." + +But the bubble did not break. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gun Runners, by Ralph Williams + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58798 *** |