by H. L. Gold
knewwhat I was after.
And they wanted to help!
"Let's not go into explanations now," he said, "although I'd like tosmooth away the bewilderment and fear on your face. But you need to befed first. Then we'll call in the others and--"
I pulled back. "What others? How do I know you're not setting upsomething for me that I'll wish I hadn't gotten into?"
"Before you approached me, Mr. Weldon, you first had to decide that werepresented no greater menace than May Roberts. Please believe me, wedon't."
So he knew about that, too!
"All right, I'll take my chances," I gave in resignedly. "Where does aguy find a place to eat in this city?"
* * * * *
It was a handsome restaurant with soft light coming fromthree-dimensional, full-color nature murals that I might mistakenlyhave walked into if I'd been alone, they looked so much like gardensand forests and plains. It was no wonder I couldn't find a restaurantor food store or truck garden anywhere--food came up through pneumaticchutes in each building, I'd been told on the way over, grown inhydroponic tanks in cities that specialized in agriculture, and thosewho wanted to eat "out" could drop into the restaurant each buildinghad. Every city had its own function. This one was for people in thearts. I liked that.
There was a glowing menu on the table with buttons alongside thevarious selections. I looked starvingly at the items, trying to decidewhich I wanted most. I picked oysters, onion soup, breast of guineahen under Plexiglas and was hunting for the tastiest and mostrecognizable dessert when the pleasant little guy shook his headregretfully and emphatically.
"I'm afraid you can't eat any of those foods, Mr. Weldon," he said ina sad voice. "We'll explain why in a moment."
A waiter and the manager came over. They obviously didn't want tostare at me, but they couldn't help it. I couldn't blame them, I'dhave stared at somebody from George Washington's time, which is aboutwhat I must have represented to them.
"Will you please arrange to have the special food for Mr. Weldondelivered here immediately?" the little guy asked.
"Every restaurant has been standing by for this, Mr. Carr," said themanager. "It's on its way. Prepared, of course--it's been ready sincehe first arrived."
"Fine," said the little guy, Carr. "It can't be too soon. He's veryhungry."
I glanced around and noticed for the first time that there was nobodyelse in the restaurant. It was past the dinner hour, but, even so,there are always late diners. We had the place all to ourselves and itbothered me. They could have ganged up on me....
But they didn't. A light gong sounded, and the waiter and managerhurried over to a slot of a door and brought out a couple of traysloaded with covered dishes.
"Your dinner, Mr. Weldon," the manager said, putting the plates infront of me and removing the lids.
I stared down at the food.
"This," I told them angrily, "is a hell of a trick to play on astarving man!"
* * * * *
They all looked unhappy.
"Mashed dehydrated potatoes, canned meat and canned vegetables," Carrreplied. "Not very appetizing. I know, but I'm afraid it's all we canallow you to eat."
I took the cover off the dessert dish.
"Dried fruits!" I said in disgust.
"Rather excessively dried, I'm sorry to say," the manager agreedmournfully.
I sipped the blue stuff in a glass and almost spat it out. "Powderedmilk! Are these things what you people have to live on?"
"No, our diet is quite varied," Carr said in embarrassment. "But weunfortunately can't give you any of the foods we normally eatourselves."
"And why in blazes not?"
"Please eat, Mr. Weldon," Carr begged with frantic earnestness."There's so much to explain--this is part of it, of course--and itwould be best if you heard it on a full stomach."
I was famished enough to get the stuff down, which wasn't easy;uninviting as it looked, it tasted still worse.
When I was through, Carr pushed several buttons on the glowing menu.Dishes came up from an opening in the center of the table and heshowed me the luscious foods they contained.
"Given your choice," he said, "you'd have preferred them to what youhave eaten. Isn't that so, Mr. Weldon?"
"You bet I would!" I answered, sore because I hadn't been given thatchoice.
"And you would have died like the pathetic old people you wereinvestigating," said a voice behind me.
I turned around, startled. Several men and women had come in while I'dbeen eating, their footsteps as silent as cats on a rug. I lookedblankly from them to Carr and back again.
"These are the clothes we ordinarily wear," Carr said. "An 18thCentury motif, as you can see--updated knee breeches and shirtwaists, a modified stock for the men, the daring low bodices of thatera, the full skirts treated in a modern way by using sheer materialsfor the women, bright colors and sheens, buckled shoes of spunsynthetics. Very gay, very ornamental, very comfortable, andthoroughly suitable to our time."
"But everybody I saw was dressed like me!" I protested.
"Only to keep you from feeling more conspicuous and anxious than youalready were. It was quite a project, I can tell you--your stylesvaried so greatly from decade to decade, especially those forwomen--and the materials were a genuine problem; they'd gone out ofexistence long ago. We had the textile and tailoring cities working afull six months to clothe the inhabitants of this city, including, ofcourse, the children. Everybody had to be clad as your contemporarieswere, because we knew only that you would arrive in this vicinity, notwhere you might wander through the city."
"There was one small difference you didn't notice," added a handsomemature woman. "You were the only man in a gray suit. We had a fulldescription of what you were wearing, you see, and we made sure nobodyelse was dressed that way. Naturally, everyone knew who you were,and so we were kept informed of your movements."
"What for?" I demanded in alarm. "What's this all about?"
* * * * *
Pulling up chairs, they sat down, looking to me like a witchcraft juryfrom some old painting.
"I'm Leo Blundell," said a tall man in plum-and-gold clothes. "Aschairman of--of the Mark Weldon Committee, it's my responsibility tohandle this project correctly."
"Project?"
"To make certain that history is fulfilled, I have to tell you as muchas you must know."
"I wish _somebody_ would!"
"Very well, let me begin by telling you much of what you undoubtedly knowalready. In a sense, you are more a victim of Dr. Anthony Roberts than hisdaughter. Roberts was a brilliant physicist, but because of his eccentricbehavior, he was ridiculed for his theories and hated for his arrogance.He was an almost perfect example of self-defeat, the way in which a manwill hamper his career and wreck his happiness, and then blame the worldfor his failure and misery. To get back to his connection with you,however, he invented a time machine--unfortunately, its secret has sincebeen lost and never re-discovered--and used it for anti-social purposes.When he died, his daughter May carried on his work. It was she who sentyou to this time to learn the principle by which the Dynapack operates.She was a thoroughly ruthless woman."
"Are you sure?" I asked uneasily.
"Quite sure."
"I know a number of old people died after she sent them on errandsthrough time, but she said they'd lied about their age and health."
"One would expect her to say that," a woman put in cuttingly.
Blundell turned to her and shook his head. "Let Mr. Weldon clarify hisfeelings about her, Rhoda. They are obviously very mixed."
"They are," I admitted. "She seemed hard, the first time I saw her,when I answered her ad, but she could have been just actingbusinesslike. I mean she had a lot of people to pick from and she hadto be impersonal and make certain she had the right one. The nexttime--I hope you don't know about that--it was really my fault forbreaking into her room. I really had a lot of a
dmiration for the wayshe handled the situation."
"Go on," Carr encouraged me.
"And I can't complain about the deal she gave me. Sure, she came outahead on the money I bet and invested for her. But I did all rightmyself--I was richer than I'd ever been in my life--and she gave thatmoney to me before I even did anything to earn it!"
"Besides which," somebody else said, "she offered you half of theprofits on the Dynapack."
* * * * *
I looked around at the faces for signs of hostility. I saw none. Thatwas surprising. I'd come from the past to steal something from themand they weren't at all angry. Well, no, it wasn't really stealing. Iwouldn't be depriving them of the Dynapack. It just would have beeninvented before it was supposed to be.
"She did," I said. "Though I wouldn't call that part of itphilanthropy. She needed me for the data and I needed her tomanufacture the things."
"And she was a very beautiful woman," Blundell added.
I squirmed a bit. "Yes."
"Mr. Weldon, we know a good deal about her from notes that have comedown to us among her private papers. She had a safety deposit boxunder a false name. I won't tell you the name; it was not discovereduntil many years later, and we will not voluntarily meddle with thepast."
I sat up and listened sharply. "So that's how you knew who I was andwhat I'd be wearing and what I came for! You even knew when and whereI'd arrive!"
"Correct," Blundell said.
"What else do you know?"
"That you suspected her of being responsible for the deaths of manyold people by starvation. Your suspicion was justified, except thather father had caused all those that occurred before 1947, when shetook over after his own death. All but two people were sent into thepast. Roberts was curious about the future, of course, but he did notwant to waste a victim on a trip that would probably be fruitless. Inthe past, you understand, he knew precisely what he was after. Thefuture was completely unknown territory."
"But she took the chance," I said.
"If you can call deliberate murder taking a chance, yes. One manarrived in 2094, over fifty years ago. The other was yourself. Thefirst one, as you know, died of malnutrition when he was brought backto your era."
"And what happened to me?" I asked, jittering.
"You will not die. We intend to make sure of that. All the othervictims--I presume you're interested in their errands?"
"I think I know, but I'd like to find out just the same."
"They were sent to the past to buy or steal treasures of varioussorts--art, sculpture, jewelry, fabulously valuable manuscripts andbooks, anything that had great scarcity value."
"That's not possible," I objected. "She had all the money she wanted.Any time she needed more, all she had to do was send somebody back toput down bets and buy stocks that she knew were winners. She had therecords, didn't she? There was no way she or her father could lose!"
* * * * *
He moved his shoulders in a plum-and-gold shrug. "Most of thetreasures they accumulated were for acquisition's sake--and for thesake of vengeance for the way they believed Dr. Roberts had beentreated. When there were unusual expenses, such as replacing the verycostly parts of the time machine, that required more than they couldproduce in ready cash, both Roberts and his daughter 'discovered'these treasures."
He waited while I digested the miserable meal and the disturbinginformation he had given me. I thought I'd found a loophole in hisexplanation: "You said people were sent back to the past to _buy_treasures, besides stealing them."
"I did," he agreed. "They were provided with currency of whatever erathey were to visit."
I felt my forehead wrinkle up as my theory fell apart. "Then theycould buy food. Why should they have died of malnutrition?"
"Because, as May Roberts herself told you, nothing can exist before itexists. Neither can anything exist after it is out of existence. Ifyou returned with a Dynapack, for example, it would revert to a lumpof various metals, because that was what it was in your period. Butlet me give you a more personal instance. Do you remember coming backfrom your first trip with dust on your hand?"
"Yes. I must have fallen."
"On one hand? No, Mr. Weldon. May Roberts was greatly upset by theincident; she was afraid you would realize why the hamburger hadturned to dust--and why the old people died of starvation. _All_ ofthem, not just a few."
He paused, giving me a chance to understand what he had just said. Idid, with a sick shock.
"If I ate your food," I said shakily, "I'd feel satisfied until I wasreturned to my own time. _But the food wouldn't go along with me!_"
* * * * *
Blundell nodded gravely. "And so you, too, would die of malnutrition.The foods we have given you existed in your era. We were very carefulof that, so careful that many of them probably were stored yearsbefore you left your time. We regret that they are not very palatable,but at least we are positive they will go back with you. You will beas healthy when you arrive in the past as when you left.
"Incidentally, she made you change your clothes for the samereason--they had been made in 1930. She had clothing from every erashe wanted visited and chose old people who would fit them best.Otherwise, you see, they'd have arrived naked."
I began to shake as if I were as old as I'd pretended to be on thestage. "She's going to pull me back! If I don't bring her theinformation about the Dynapack, she'll shoot me!"
"That, Mr. Weldon, is our problem," Blundell said, putting his handcomfortingly on my arm to calm me.
"Your problem? I'm the one who'll get shot, not you!"
"But we know in complete detail what will happen when you are returnedto the 20th Century."
I pulled my arm away and grabbed his. "You know that? Tell me!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Weldon. If we tell you what you did, you might thinkof some alternate action, and there is no knowing what the resultwould be."
"But I didn't get shot or die of malnutrition?"
"That much we can tell you. Neither."
They all stood up, so bright and attractive in their colorful clothesthat I felt like a shirt-sleeved stage hand who'd wandered in on acostume play.
"You will be returned in a month, according to the notes May Robertsleft. She gave you plenty of time to get the data, you see. We proposeto make that month an enjoyable one for you. The resources of ourcity--and any others you care to visit--are at your disposal. We wishyou to take full advantage of them."
"And the Dynapack?"
"Let us worry about that. We want you to have a good time while youare our guest."
I did.
It was the most wonderful month of my life.
* * * * *
The mesh cage blurred around me. I could see May Roberts through it,her hand just leaving the switch. She was as beautiful as ever, but Isaw beneath her beauty the vengeful, vicious creature her father'sbitterness had turned her into; Blundell and Carr had let me read someof her notes, and I knew. I wished I could have spent the rest of myyears in the future, instead of having to come back to this.
She came over and opened the gate, smiling like an angel welcoming abright new soul. Then her eyes traveled startledly over me and hersmile almost dropped off. But she held it firmly in place.
She had to, while she asked, "Do you have the notes I sent you for?"
"Right here," I said.
I reached into my breast pocket and brought out a stubby automatic andshot her through the right arm. Her closed hand opened and a littlederringer clanked on the floor. She gaped at me with an expression ofhorrified surprise that should have been recorded permanently; itwould have served as a model for generations of actors and actresses.
"You--brought back a weapon!" she gasped. "You shot me!" She staredvacantly at her bleeding arm and then at my automatic. "But youcan't--bring anything back from the future. And you aren't--dying ofmalnutrition."
"The food I ate and this gun are from the present," I said. "Thepeople of the future knew I was coming. They gave me food thatwouldn't vanish from my cells when I returned. They also gave methe gun instead of the plans for the Dynapack."
"And you took it?" she screamed at me. "You idiot! I'd have shared theprofits honestly with you. You'd have been worth millions!"
"With acute malnutrition," I amended. "I like it better this way,thanks--poor, but alive. Or relatively poor, I should say, becauseyou've been very generous and I appreciate it."
"By shooting me!"
"I hated to puncture that lovely arm, but it wasn't as painful asstarving or getting shot myself. Now if you don't mind--or even if youdo--it's your turn to get into the cage, Miss Roberts."
She tried to grab for the derringer on the floor with her left hand.
"Don't bother," I said quietly. "You can't reach it before a bulletreaches you."